The worst night of my life.

Not really the worst night of my life, but it was the worst I can remember for a really long time.

Each year the Houston Rodeo comes to town. Ever since I was a kid, I've always glamorized rodeos, probably because I've never been to one. I'd watch the bull and bronco riding on TV, the calf roping, the clowns getting manhandled by the bulls, the riders flying off and miraculously not dying...I couldn't get enough of it. I loved barrel racing too, because it was milder, gentler, and the horses weren't mean!

I'd always surmised those broncos were a special breed of horse that was really angry all the time, and flailed about when provoked by a rider. Same with the bulls. When I got older I realized the broncos and bulls weren't bucking just because they wanted the riders off their backs. The real reason made me uncomfortable--it sounded so painful--so I stopped watching. But secretly I still love the rodeo, or the idea of it.

So this past weekend, Jeff and I ventured to the rodeo, not for an actual rodeo, but for the World BBQ Championship that kicks off the Houston Rodeo each year.

Mmmmm. Ribs.



We were so excited. All day Saturday I ate minimally in anticipation of the BBQ feast, greater than any Thanksgiving dinner, more delicious than ambrosia itself. BBQ is the best way to cook meat. I couldn't wait to binge on succulent sausages and breathtaking brisket and palate-puckering pulled pork. Oh man, I am hungry now! And I was hungry then. Ravishing even.

Our friends, Jorge and Danielle, had our tickets, so we decided we'd meet up with them once we got to the BBQ. BAD IDEA.

Traffic kept us captive for an hour. Finally we pulled in to the old Astroworld lot. "How much?" Jeff asked. "Twenty dollars," the lady said. I gasped. "Twenty dollars? What does that even go toward?" I asked. Twenty dollars to park on some grass? NUTS! Without even making eye contact, the lady said, "Oh it goes for scholarships for the kids and things like that." Psh. Scholarship my lands, keep padding your pockets Reliant Stadium. You suck.

We prodded along with the rest of the cattle, maneuvering a rocky road, over the highway, to the stadium. And then we waited. Jorge and Danielle were stuck in traffic too. We waited, and waited, and waited. The old Primary song, "Pioneer children sang as they walked and walked and walked and walked and walked and walked and walked and walked" kept running through my mind. Except they words for me were "waited and waited and waited and waited," etc. I was going ballistic. The people watching was prime, but the whole poseur one-night-only cowboy look lost its humor pretty quickly. As did watching all the skimpily dressed girls, many of whom would've been wise to cover up. Funny how public events give certain classes of people cause for, uh, "dressing up." Or out. You know what I mean.

We waited for over an hour. If you've ever had to be with me when I haven't eaten in a long time, I'm sorry. I get really grumpy and really mad, and I hate everything and everyone. I was in this mode when we got to Reliant. You can imagine how saintly my Jeff was that night to put up with me.

Jorge and Danielle finally got into the BBQ, unfortunately on the other side of it. They maneuvered their way over to the gate where Jeff and I were waiting. Finally, I thought. Sweet BBQ is mine!! But not so fast: Jorge said, "We are leaving." What?! "Someone stole my wallet," he said. So off they went.

Jeff and I decided to walk around and start finding some BBQ. Only, all the BBQ was inside these booths, protected by policemen. What was the deal? Our tickets online said we were getting a BBQ plate with this, so where is ours? After wandering around in a starvation-induced stupor for ten minutes, we finally asked a policeman what the deal was. "Oh, these booths are all private parties. You have to have a pass to get in." He didn't know how to get a pass, and by this point, we didn't care. EVERYONE in there was drunk. Everyone was loud, obnoxious, inebriated, I probably stepped in vomit ten times. It was awful. Trying to be positive, Jeff suggested we go to the carnival. On a normal night, I would have been all over that--I'd been admired the gigantic ferris wheel on the horizon all night--but not this night. I have never wanted to get out of a place so badly.

"What's going to make this better for you, my love," my sweet Jeff asked. There was only one place that could ever do me right at a time like this, and he knew it.

On the way to our magical place, we played the only music healing enough to soothe the weary soul and stomach at a time like this: Third Eye Blind's self-titled album. We pulled into the parking lot, blasting "Narcolepsy," competing against the volume with our own singing. Two teenagers were in the car next to us. They thought we were nuts. They have no clue about the '90s.

I ate delicious chicken and dumplings at Cracker Barrel that night, Jeff had fried shrimp and even splurged with some mac and cheese. Food has never tasted so good. A night has never turned around so quickly, or so well. I love my Jeffy.

And I hate the Houston Rodeo.