Dallas

Now that I've slept and am no longer in food nirvana (now I'm in coffee hell.. why is the in room coffee in hotels always naaasty? And why is there never enough creamer or sugar?) I'll post a little bit more.

I rolled into the Dallas area about five last night, and immediately got lost. Not my fault! Google maps was on crack and told me to get off the interstate and then right back on and I figured that couldn't be right... so I pulled into La Quinta and tried to get my bearings. Figured out they really DID mean for me to get off and back on, so I went back and got back on, took the immediate exit after the one I'd already gotten off of, and then battled my way over to the right hand lane because I was pretty much on top of my hotel.

Got my room key, got everything hauled up (with a hug in there somewhere) and started making phone calls to let everyone know that I had arrived, safe and sound.

Got three invites to dinner (damn, I'm popular) and had already accepted the first one.... Sorry guys!

I kind of wished I had taken a minute to change when we got to the restaurant (Hannibal Lecter was giving us directions... weird!) and saw that it was pretty fancy. Hey, they said steak house, not magic meat palace (no cracks about magic meat, please) so I went in my baggy, comfy sweater, and Carhart coat.

Kudos to the staff of the place, they neither looked down their noses at my clothes nor gaped in amazement at the amount I ate... although, I was on my best behavior and there was actually enough talk at the table to distract me from the food on occasion.

I did... *cough* sort of threaten to stab someone with my fork.......... but he was trying to steal my cake!

And he promptly offered me his pocket knife to use instead of my fork.

"But if you stab me with your fork, what are you going to use to eat your cake?"

"My fork."

"Wow... that's a whole level that I'm not even going to touch."

And from the other end of the table "You're really not squeamish, are you?"

Oh, and Farmdad? Your Valentines Day present to me is a hit.

"That's my kind of dad!"

See, you can't hide redneck, and for Valentines Day my loving father gave his two girls guns. Farmmom got a Judge, and I got a Walther PPK that he'd just gotten refinished.

I didn't show it off at the restaraunt, it's not home, after all, but they'll get to see it this afternoon.

The rest of the weekend:

Party, a shoot at which I may get the guts to actually fire a weapon in front of people who are far better than I, and a Japanese Steak House. I promise to stay away from the Sake, Farmmom!