In case I didn’t mention it, I’ve been in Texas this past week for spring break. I’m here in Dallas visiting my cousins, partly to get some sun, and partly to see if this is where I want to move to when I break out of the death grip that is college this May. So far I love it here. We visited Austin last weekend (more on that later), and spent the rest of the week in Dallas.
I feel that I’ve accomplished a lot this past week. First, I’ve realized that not everyone in Texas is fat. Austin is teeming with runners, and I actually have grown so accustomed to seeing thin people in Dallas that I do a double-take when someone larger walks by. Which I’m not sure is an accomplishment, but whatever. Second, I’ve forged a relationship with my cousin’s two cats — a major feat because the older one, Rascal, is apparently a punk ass bitch to most people. I feel special. Oh. Two accomplishments might not be “a lot” on paper, but it was in my mind. But onto the rodeo topic.
Being my last weekend in Texas, my cousin Laura bought us 2 tickets to the rodeo. This entailed using lots of hair spray, squeezing into tight flared jeans (which I haven’t done since I was 17), and layering on the eye makeup. I felt like we were going to an 8th grade dance.
We drove to Mesquite, Texas, ended up at a dark, empty building (wrong night), and turned around and drove 50 minutes in the opposite direction. We ended up at Billy Bob’s in Fort Worth, where we paid $12 to see Billboard’s newest sweethearts, Micky and the Motorcars. After seeing several cowboy hats, 2-steppers, and a girl in a baby tee, we decided to check out the rest of Fort Worth. = Sup tumbleweeds. Really, if you can avoid the city, do so please.
All in all, thanks for sitting through my anticlimactic story. I’ll have more interesting things to write about at a later date, when I’m not salivating over a Boboli pizza cooking in my cousin’s oven.