My best fried Carrie celebrated her 29th birthday last night. Woohoo! She is awesome even though she is way more adventurous, fun, and younger than me (though, fiscally she is older, but I act older). She decided to celebrate her party on a rooftop bar downtown.
1. I don't go out after 5pm.
2. I don't go to bars.
3. I don't do downtown (except for the occasional Sunday matinee movie or Cowtown Marathon).
Being as she is my best friend and I wanted to celebrate with her, I had Daddy put the baby to bed and went out to party, address in hand without a clue where I was going.
I found the place rather quickly, but parking was atrocious. They are doing construction downtown, it is farther than my Sundance Square comfort zone, and there was some kind of even at the convention center. After 25 minutes (no joking) of driving around, I realized I had two options: park slightly closer and walk through wandering hookers and drug dealers or park in Sundance and walk the 9 blocks to the bar. I chose the later.
Immediately regretting my choice of cute high heels, I start zig-zagging down streets. I choose to walk next to the Bass Hall because the Cliburn is in town. People who go to the Cliburn don't mug single girls holding red gift boxes with can openers in them. But I get to a fence on one street and there is a small opening in the side. I just need to cross main street and I'll be there, so I pop on through. As I walk through I turn south and walk another block, but realize I've entered some excitement. The further south I walk, the louder the accordion music gets. I look around and see "Fiesta Party Supplies" vendor, a bounce houses, a churro cart, and vans from every Tejano station in the metroplex with music blasting. Another group is selling Spanish rap albums, a table is set up selling t-shirts with Spanish phrases in Gothic script, and a troop of flamenco dancers is running like they are trying to get someone on time. There were many families, but I was suddenly extremely uncomfortable. A lone white girl had somehow snuck into a Cinco de Mayo street festival.
As a started to panic, I realized that at each block, the street was blocked off with rented fencing - none of which had a gap like I had entered. In fact, reflecting, I realize there were people who were guarding the gap I had entered into, but I guess they thought I was working there or something. Why else would a lone gringo in an orange t-shirt want into a go to a Latin street festival? So panicking, I can't get out, and I'm afraid I'm going to get in trouble for breaking into the event. After three blocks of trying every street and seeing that it kept going to the convention center - deathly afraid I would have to walk down the to convention center and wander around there for an exit - I see my knight in shining Fort Worth Fire Department truck.
With desperation in my voice I tell the officer, "I somehow wandered in here and can't get out. Where is an exit?" To which he coyly replies, "We don't know how to get out either. It closes at 10pm, so I figure they'll start letting people out then." We talked a little more and sensing my panic, he offers to walk me to the end of the side street and move the fence for me to get out onto Houston street. Ahhh...sweet freedom.
But still, being on my own, and being the overly cautious ninny I am, I decided that 9 blocks back to my car in the dark (even avoiding the street festival) was a big no-no. So I stayed at the party for all of maybe 45 minutes before heading back to the car.
It was safe the whole way in the dusk and there were throngs of fat old women with toddlers, Asian tourists, and teens in Abercrombie that had been dropped off for the evening.
Back home in time to watch Jon & Kate Plus 8 and get to bed by 9:30 on a holiday night and I got to wish my best friend happy birthday in my own lame way.
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