Current mood: breezy
If everybody had an ocean
Across the U.S.A.
Then everybody'd be surfin'
Like californi-a
~ "Surfin' USA" by the Beach Boys
Yesterday's moving adventure with "So Sassy" rivaled mine with the level of ridiculousness that it entailed. Still, with the perfection of San Diego – it is near impossible to allow a difficult mover ruin your day! I will be posting pictures later memorializing the many events in all their digital glory!
But we need to rewind a couple days to this past weekend when I was privileged enough to attend an event which has no rival. "CCR's Red Dirt Round-up". To start off, the CCR is not "THE CCR". It is "Cross Canadian Ragweed" – which apparently is a band – and an allergen. The festivities started at Noon – and I did not get there until 2 or so; just in time to be told "the bands suck – we are going to drink someplace cheap until the good bands start".
Okay, then! Off we go to PR's (which apparently is NOT the place to be on a Sunday afternoon, as it was pretty empty with the exception of our party and a few employees). Still, on Sundays, all well drinks and domestic beers are only 1.75. Cannot argue with that! I ordered a Diet Coke. It was not the tasty treat I had been expecting – but soda is not the specialty of the house. I drank water the rest of our visit.
From there, we trekked down to a restaurant at the other end of the Stockyards where we requested a table for 12. They sat us rather quickly – and much to the disdain of the people still sitting at the table where we were being seated. Apparently no one told them that they needed to leave. The table was sloppily wiped down, and the nice table cleaner splashed bleach water haphazardly wherever he could until "Iowa Boy" took the washcloth and finished wiping down the table himself – preventing the bleach solution from splashing everyone around us.
Finally we were seated. Our waitress, Gayle, stopped by to let us know that she would be back to take our drink orders. WTF?! When she returned, we all gave her our beverage choices – which could not have arrived slower than they did. Truly! When Gayle took our order, she was slightly annoyed; but it was hot out and the place was busy, so we were a cooperative bunch. The wind from the fans blew our menus, napkins, and anything else not nailed down off the table and onto the dirty and wet ground. Disgusting, I know!
Shortly thereafter, our food arrived. Gayle and her buddy are setting the food down, calling out orders, which no one is claiming. She handed me a Swiss Cheeseburger with Onion Rings and told me it was mine. I looked at her, slightly confused, as I had ordered a Cheddar Cheeseburger with French Fries.
It was then we noticed, they had only brought 6 of the orders out, but D/BFF, the birthday girl, happily started in on her fries – only to find out that we had the orders for the table next to us. "Never fear" said Gayle, who proceeded to pick up the baskets and actually DELIVER them to the other table. They didn't seem to mind – probably because they knew how long they had been waiting for food. Had we known, we would have held onto the food and made do. What seemed like eons later, our food arrived. It tasted fine – but poor Gayle was 'over us' by then. Somewhere between our table and the kitchen, she had put on bright lipstick – and lost any sense of cordiality that she once had. We were the table of 'lost souls' – a place she never wanted to visit again. And she really didn't. I went to find her to pay our bill with someone else's credit card. I left her a minimal tip, signed the receipt, then went off to return the card to its owner.
After our late lunch/early dinner, it was time to go back to the concert. It is called the Red Dirt Round-up for a reason. It takes place in a rocky field of red dirt and spotty grass. People were sitting or standing everywhere. Between the front gate and where our group was congregating, I must have passed a couple dozen classy couples making out, while sporting sweaty backs and "Hook'em Horns!" tattoos.
After a short stint near the stage, "Iowa Boy" and "Liquid Courage" wanted to go to the Jack Daniels Tent. The bouncers at the tent would not let me bring my bottle of water in – so I guzzled it down – as I was not wasting a $3.00 bottle of water. By the time I got inside, the boys had already ordered their drinks. We found a table – only to be shortly thereafter joined by a bachelorette and her friend – warning us that we could have the drink they had because some guy gave it to them and they thought it had been drugged.
When said guy showed up, wearing his two-tone fancy watch and an arrogant smirk, he reclaimed his drink and handed the very drunk ladies a hundred dollar bill to go buy more. Apparently when he is handing out money – life is good, as the giggle pair went off to buy a few more!!! Unfortunately, for us, once they returned to the table, we had a permanent party! According to "Two-Tone Loc", he's rich and can do whatever he wants! The guy was a douche and we retreated from the table as quickly as we could – though not before the fake, girl fight, which entailed two "best-friends" rolling around in the dirt "fake fighting". One (or possibly both) was 'into' girls because she grabbed my a$$ during the commotion. That was the only time I was hit on while there, though, so I took it as a compliment!
A table later, we met two sweet sisters who were huge Red Dirt Round-up fans. They were fun to hang with and we remained at their table the rest of the night. Somewhere out there, in cyberspace, there is a picture of all of us on one of their phones. I still smile at their look of dismay when they would mention a band or song at the festival, while the three of us stared at them with blank expressions. We hadn't any idea about whom they were talking!
Finally – the night came to an end – we left and I went 'home' and packed for my San Diego trip.
I did not get much sleep Sunday night – making my flight from DFW to LAX a 'really long nap'. I had 3 seats to myself, so I laid across them and enjoyed dream-world, courtesy of American Airlines!
My short flight from LAX to San Diego was on a Regional Jet – which I love, though cannot say the same for the people around me on the flight, as they made comments upon landing about "being grateful to be on the ground" as they thought the plane was going to crash. Whack jobs – all of them. The flight was 23 minutes long, at 11,000 feet. It was a cakewalk!
I had a really nice weekend and I hope that others did too! Until next time. . .
PERSONAL NOTE: Thanks again for being a go-between and interfering. Much appreciated!
