By Saturday night I was in pretty desperate need of a night out with friends. I had put a feeler out on Facebook earlier in the week but as noon on Saturday approached (insert dusty main street with rolling tumbleweed and large booming clock tower about to strike the hour), no official plans had been made. Because of the hours of PNO, you are a little limited to what you can do. If you go into St. Louis, you'd better have dinner reservations and hope the restaurant is on schedule because between the drive and the fact that it's a Saturday night, time can get tight. And one thing is for certain, you NEVER know what traffic is going to be like in St. Louis.
I ended up suggesting a restaurant/bar that was relatively centrally located to everyone that was coming and we all met there at 5. Well, Megan was there by 5, but the rest of us stragglers didn't get there until slightly after that compounded by a parking lot situation. But anyway...
We didn't have to wait too long for a table, probably because we were there at grandparent's hour - especially considering it was Mardi Gras kickoff.
Oh yeah, Mardi Gras.
I have got to start watching the news for more than weather.
There ended up being four of us, Megan, Annie, Letisia, and myself. I was the only one that knew everyone at the beginning of the night, but by the end of the evening, we had vowed to do this again - and SOON - and it felt like we'd known each other for years.
The drink menu advertised that the beverages were "Cold....Refreshing....Tasty....." or something like that. I'm pretty sure coffee was included in there somewhere, though, and that can't be good for coffee sales.
I can tell you that my margarita was fantastic. And large. And, as it happens, cold, refreshing and tasty. And worth the pound or two I'm sure I'll be up at weigh in this morning
. 
We giggled and laughed and swapped stories. We watched Megan, who had the unfortunate disadvantage of sitting with her back to the bar, get butt-headed and butt-shouldered (and yes, that's exactly what I mean) by suspicious blue jeans guy, which lead to intense speculation on what was up with those jeans and where they'd been and when was the last time they'd seen the inside of a washer.
Oh, and we can't forget the crocheted chapstick cover incident with our waiter, Chris.
Unfortunately we missed the 'rubs his nipples when he eats guy' that Annie was facing, but maybe next time.
You can't make this stuff up.
But you really did need to be there.
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