The best part about a Girls Weekend is right there in the title! It's a weekend devoted to what girls like to do. There was a lot of shopping, talking and coffee drinking going on. And not one person asked me to wipe their butt.
The weather was beautiful so we went to the Oktoberfest celebration. Oktoberfest in Nashville is exactly like it is everywhere else except that it's completely different.
Instead of Bratwurst and Wiener Schnitzel, they served barbecue and Dippin Dots. I heard some of the best non-German music around coming from one of the three performance stages. I walked by hundreds of booths of local artists displaying their paintings, handmade jewelry or Tupperware. "Tupperware" must be German for "people still sell this stuff?"
I saw two feathered hats, one pair of Lederhosen but over 3,000 short floral dresses with cowboy boots. Good thing I decided not to wear my beer wench costume after all.
Come to think of it, I also saw three guys dressed up like zombies and one Transformer. Not sure how they fit the Oktoberfest theme, but who cares?
|Melody seems to like Transformers almost as much as Brian does. He's a HUGE Transformers fan! |
Or, maybe he just told me that so he could watch Megan Fox on the big screen.
Oktoberfest taught something: I'm a total rockstar from 2 pm to 8 pm. Then, I become the opposite of a vampire, because when the sun goes down, I desperately look for a coffin to crawl into.
Somehow I pushed through getting ready, dinner at a local brewery and dancing at the bars on Broadway. This miracle ranks right up there with turning water into wine.
|The guy standing behind us asked, "Is that a PBR? Are they good?"|
And I said, "Oh, yeah. As long as you drink six decent beers first, they're really good."
The rooms were too crowded, the music was too loud and my feet hurt too much. How did I ever have fun in a bar?
One thing hasn't changed: Guys get obnoxiously drunk and then do something really impressive to get your attention. For example, one fellow "accidentally" brushed up against Laura's chest and another guy butt-bumped Melody, practically knocking her to the ground. I've heard of a fist pump, but a butt bump? Pfft. Kids these days. Who does this stuff work on, anyway?
My age was clearly showing - and not just because I offered somebody fifty bucks for their bar stool or the fact that I kept covering my ears - but apparently, I'm starting to look my age as well.
Queue the depressing music and the chocolate.
While waiting in line to get into Robert's, we struck up a conversation with the sweet bouncer who was seventy-two years old if he was a day. I couldn't help but wonder if he was a country artist before the guitar was invented.
I guess he was thinking the same thing about me, too:
Grandpa Bouncer: "Okay, girls, let me see those fake IDs."
Grandpa Bouncer after checking Melody's ID: "Are you sure that isn't your older sister?"
Grandpa Bouncer after checking Laura's ID: "I would have had you pegged for about twenty-seven."
(I was wild with anticipation wondering what my compliment would be. Maybe my outfit? My young spirit?)
Grandpa Bouncer after checking my ID: "Okay, darlin', have a nice night."
Seriously, people. You can't drink enough beer to counteract that buzz kill.
I decided that my disappointment would feel much better if it were scattered, smothered and covered, so we hit up the Waffle House. The late night binge felt exactly like it did in the good old days, except this time, that bacon, egg and cheese sandwich went straight to my hips.
Laura, Melody and I talked until the sun came up. This was, by far, my favorite part of the trip.
I loved my girl time, but I was so happy to see my husband and children when I got home. I sure missed those guys! Whenever I travel without half of my heart, there is a noticeable part of me that stays behind with them.
Hopefully, this is the same part that makes me look like I'm twenty-seven with an older twin sister.