Right now, we’re driving up I-35 from Austin to Fayetteville, Arkansas. We’re listening to Christmas music, in our Santa hats, the Christmas lights are on, and my knit Christmas sweater is out in full effect. Sometimes, that effect is nauseating, but the clear skies and brisk temperature are reducing the sensation.
Austin has never been a bad time. Ever. And this trip continued the dynasty.
We stayed with our good friend Tim through the weekend, resulting in a trifecta of 20-something awesomeness brought into the world in a matter of 48 hours in July of 1981.
Friday night we met up with our friend Tray and headed straight for Chuy’s, the classic Mexican restaurant in Austin, stuffing our faces with deluxe tomatillo sauce, burritos and enchiladas. People who haven’t lived in Texas and other similar border-sharing states often have a difficult time grasping the fantastical deliciousness of great Mexican food. For them, I recommend a hearty filling of Chuy’s.
Next, we met up with some other friends, Daniel, Toddy and Sarah, and went to a bar called Creekside - a bar with reasonable drink prices, a decent jukebox, and walls adorned with oil-paintings inspired by leather and bondage fetishes…seating position and directionality was crucial to avoid staring at certain, awkward, visual arts.
We rounded out the night throwing it down and destroying the dance floor at Beauty Bar. The opening act was a band that played a bit too long for those of us with our dancing shoes and feet itching for a good time. Finally, the DJ came on and opened with Daft Punk’s Revolution 909 from their classic album, Homework, and our expectations of a nuclear war on the dance floor began to become self-fulfilling.
On this night, I decided to rock out with the disgustingly over-the-top Christmas cheer of Road Trip 2.0 and adorn myself in my $6 knit Goodwill Christmas sweater, complete with dog and un-looped threads accentuating the dog’s scarf, and my deluxe Santa hat from Walgreens. The kids seemed to appreciate it, as did the awesomely cute sociology major who suggested that I take swing classes instead of salsa or tango who I will likely and unfortunately never hear from again. (Mental Note: Another situation in which having a cell phone is a good thing.)
Then, it was back to Tim’s place for more Lone Star beer and passing out on the floor.
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