I want to talk about the booze.

There's a certain restaurant in town I like to describe as fancy pants.

The decor is nice. Everyone in town talks about how good it is.

My confession? The first time I ate there, I didn't like it. To be fair, I ate there a few days after I ate what I consider the best food I've ever had (out of state).

I was expecting really, really good food when I went to this restaurant in my hometown the first time around. The bar was set pretty high. I left with a meh feeling.

But hey, I'm willing to forgive, forget about the past and give it another chance.

Last night we ordered pasta, fancy pants pizza and french fries. Looking back, maybe that wasn't the best or healthiest decision, but I'm happy to report that the food is good.

Not spectacular, the best food I've ever had good, but it was pretty good (The next time I go there I need to order like I'm not a hungover college student, though).

But I don't want to talk about the food. I want to talk about the booze.

The margarita I had last night (with blueberry!) was very, very good. It had raspberries on top, which is a plus for me. The more girly my drinks look, the more I like them.

You guys, that margarita was delicious. I'm usually a frozen margarita kind of a girl, but this one on the rocks knocked my socks off.

So what if I squirted lime three feet away from me and flung my bread clear across the table. Who cares, I was too busy enjoying my drink.

I might have also told a friend that I was going to buy the lottery.

The margarita was that good.

I woke up insanely happy this morning. Dammit! That was a good drink.

I'd go back to said restaurant in the future. There's one more chicken dish I want to try. Or I could try something new...which makes me and probably everyone who knows me well laugh.

Or maybe I'll just return for the booze.