We flew into and stayed in Des Moines for this trip. We flew American Eagle which meant we were on one of those tiny planes with a 1-aisle-2 seat configuration.
Now, I'm not a bad flyer...my Dad was a fighter pilot in the Air Force, we took planes all growing up - the theory of flying does not bother me. I don't get motion sickness or need drugs to calm me down on flights, but on the other hand, I'm usually uncomfortable and never can really sleep on planes, not matter how hungover or tired I may be.
(I am currently on the return flight of said trip, in the same kind of tiny plane. Even as I write, I am nervously eyeballing the nice man in the row behind me, as he is in the emergency exit aisle. I'm particularly concerned that when I jokingly asked him if he was going to save us all and muscle open the door he told me "Nah, I'm prone to panic." Uh, I know you're joking but it's only kind of funny. As a punishment, you will give me that sports section you're reading.)
Once we safely arrived in Des Moines, secured a rental car and made it to the hotel, we did the classic iPhone google map search "bar". The query returned about a dozen options all within walking distance, so we layered up in burnt-orange and hit the town. Once we got pointed in the right direction (I made us walk a few blocks out of the way because I wanted to avoid the hobo-rapist-park) it was a quick walk to the "hip" part of town.
The 'bars' we found were not really what we had in mind: Oyster bar - no. Bars on windows - no. Then we found it... The Fourth Down Sports Bar. It was one of those fun places where you have to go down steps to enter...like something you would encounter in Boston or New York. Once inside we knew we had made the right choice: Terry, the bartender, was born and raised in Texas and a big Longhorn Fan, and his girlfriend Ashley was awesome - the kind of girl we would want to hang out with at home - witty, sarcastic, quick and fun.
And fun we had. After food, shots and five hours of drinking, we ended up with a $40 tab. Turns out Terry really does like the Longhorns....and buying them shots!
Here's the deal about shots. Kacie, Debra and I are not the spring chickens we used to be. Gone are the days of mixing beer and liquor. Gone are the glory days of drinking every shot put within reach of the bar in front of us. These days, we have rules. When some poor schmuck says "can I buy you ladies a shot?" we will say "Yes! But it has to be a non-creamy-non-minty-non-tequila-non-blue-pussy-shot." Yes, we understand this seems high maintenance, but there's no coming back from taking a shot and throwing up on the bar or in your own purse. Please, just trust us on this.
While in The Fourth Down Sports Bar we were treated by Terry and other bar patrons to a plethora of shots, including new favorites Fireballs, which are a whiskey-cinnamon mix and Rainbows.
"What is a rainbow?" you ask. A Rainbow, my friend, is a feat of pure bar-tending magic and sorcery. Terry would load a shaker up with a variety of boozes, all carefully measured in a very particular order. He then lines up nine shot glasses and in one continuous pour, fills the first eight shot glass with a different colored shot. Okay, let me make sure you understand how amazing this is: one continuous pour from a single shaker produced eight different colored shots. In the ninth shot glass he poured goldschlager as a pot of gold. It was amazing. I couldn't help it but make "double rainbow" jokes such as "what does it mean?" and "it's so beautiful." Beautiful and delicious.
If you've done an away-game road trip you're probably familiar with the scenario where people feel the need to comment on your school affiliated shirt and ask these two questions:
1) Are you from Texas?
Well, I'm in a rental car line at the airport, the day before a game, dragging luggage around with my two friends and we're all wearing Texas gear and cowboy boots. At least if you're out and about, say...in a bar, it's possible you're a local who happens to be a Texas fan, wearing your colors out before the game. It's possible. We decided before we headed out that we would play dumb. "What game?" "Texas?" Debra cracked within the first minute of getting to the bar. Eh, that was fun.
Additionally, being heckled comes along with the territory in these situations. This weekend, for example, we encountered "College Station Guy." College Station Guy went to A&M. He said he was "from College Station." Yet, he was wearing burnt-orange. I digress. Rather than fight with him, we asked him to tell us what it meant when we held our hands up to form a kind of WC gang sign. He had no idea. We told him to think about it, which I guess he did, since about three hours later he came up and said to us that they were going to "dedicate a special bonfire to [us] in Des Moines." I told him that sounded dangerous, and that Terry (the bartender) had told us they weren't allowed to have fire there. (That was true, he did say that, but he meant he couldn't set the bar or drinks on fire) Again College Station Guy insisted that there be a bonfire in our honor. So I loudly said to Terry, clueless to the actual conversation being held, "Terry, you said there was no fire allowed, right?" to which he agreed "no fire." In an effort to get rid of College Station Guy, we told him we wished the Aggies luck against Arkansas the next day. But that was a lie.
Then there was "Cyclone Guy." Cyclone guy usual roots for Texas, he tells us. "But tomorrow" he says, "I'll be doing this!" And, of course, this is the moment when he throws 'Horns Down. Very clever, you little tornado, you! I turned to him and asked "Why would you do that? It's just mean. You don't see us walking around doing this..." It is now that I execute a perfect cyclone by whirling my finger in the air. But wait! It was upside down. "What was that?" he asked me. "An upside down cyclone." "Yeah, that's just dumb," he says. "I know, right...?" I replied. Sadly, he couldn't make the connection.
Once the DJ finally shouted out Texas and played "All I Do Is Win" by DJ Khaled we called it a night. We were exhausted by the nail-biting BYU win, and knew that Saturday was going to be a long day.
Thankfully, the walk back to the hotel was much shorter when we decided to walk through the hobo-rapist-park. As we waited for the ancient elevator, the other guest asked us "are you from Texas? Here for the game?"
Yes....
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