You live in Nashville. Act like it.

Last night, Mindy called wanting to know if I wanted to go to the Spaghetti Factory to grab something to eat. Since I was lying on the couch watching TV, this sounded like a GREAT plan. So I made myself look moderately presentable and off we went.

The wait, my friends, just to get seated was an hour and a half. SCORE! We decided it really wasn’t worth the wait—because we were actually hungry and wouldn’t have been able to control our actions should we have to wait that long before we ate. So off we went for a little walk through lower Broad.

I was pointing out every restaurant I knew of, reviewing them as we went. Jack’s was high on our list (and smelled delicious!) until we saw the line outside. We had really chosen a crazy night to head to downtown and the most tourist-ridden part of the city. Lucinda Williams was in concert (sorry, Lucinda fans. She’s one artist I just can’t get into. Please don’t hate me) and chaos was reigning downtown. We talked about going to get my tragus pierced, but never ventured back that way and eventually ended up outside BB King’s, hungry and ready for some live music.

My food was OK (read: the Beale Street Club did not rock my world) but the music was great. And Mindy and I picked out a couple of the musicians to be our “pretend” boyfriends. Cause that’s how we roll.

We ended the night with ice cream and a little redecorating at Mindy’s place. Cause we like to pack several nights of excitement all into one. . . . .’cause we are some wild and crazy girls.

And for your enjoyment, our “pretend blues boyfriends”:


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