Last night I went to see the ice palace at the St. Paul winter carnival. Ever since I was little I have wanted to go and see this giant structure of ice. It seems so romantic, so beautiful, so blatantly Minnesotan.
They don't make one every year. Just special anniversaries and occasions. In this case it was the 125th year for the winter carnival AND the NHL All-Star Game took place at the Excel center.
I convinced my friend to drive me down there and trudge through ice and snow and cold in order to look at a whole lot of blocks of ice.
At night it is lit from within and there are strobes and nonesense choreographed to music while fireworks blast over the city skyline. It was very beautiful, and very cold. I couldn't really feel my legs on our walk back to the car. I was pretty sure they were there, but wasn't positive if one had broken off and shattered. I was also afraid my jeans would crack and fall off like a sheet of ice from a glacier.
The night was young, and where do you go after viewing large blocks of ice? Why a cowboy bar of course!! What better way to cap off an evening of ice chunk viewing then viewing cowboys with belt buckles the size of the very same ice chunks one has just viewed?!
The Rodeo bar is a converted roller rink. Tight pants are the dress code, if your shirt has snaps or you have excessive amounts of fringe on your shirt/and or jacket you can sit in the VIP section, and there is a minimum hair height requirement. I didn't pass, but I compliemented the bouncer on his goat and he let me in.
The bartender called me sweetie. Instead of being insulted I merely cooed and left a hefty tip. The plus side of a red-neck cowboy bar is I instantly become one of the best looking chicks in the place because I still have all my front teeth.
These people can two-step to anything. Slow, fast, techno, acid rock, it really doesn't matter. Some of them don't two-step they just walk around the dance floor...like a roller rink!!
After four beers I did have the courage to shake my tail to the double extended never ending cover of the Georgia Satelites song "Don't hand me no lines"...I think that's what the title is anyway.
Then it was time to make a prank phone call to someone named Nick who left his phone number, or rather the girl who he gave it to left his phone number, on the bar.
My friend called to inform Nick she thought she was pregnant from their love-making in the bathroom. Nick may not have been too sober, but he didn't buy that line. He did however buy that my friend was on a day pass from the group home and wasn't sure she could get another pass to go out with him again the next day.
My other friend then called him back and informed Nick that he was, "Kris's husband" and was pissed.
I nearly soiled myself I laughed so hard.
Only in Minnesota.
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