Nelson. Byron Nelson.

Super psyched about going to le Byron on Sunday. I don't care about golf, but I DO care about margaritas. And the people-watching. (Okay, the DUDE watching.) They are out in full force, in all their polo-shirted, khaki-ed glory. It's like being back at a college frat party but sweating the whole time. Actually that probably happened to me at frat parties, too. I might have some sort of body cooling problem.

Seriously. Two years ago I got severely overheated at the Byron Nelson and probably sweated off like 12 pounds. My friends couldn't stop laughing, and when I laughed with them, it just made me sweat even more. I couldn't take off my sunglasses for fear that my mascara had sweated off. I couldn't sit down for fear of ass-sweat marks. So I found a giant industrial-sized fan and just stood there, gulping down $8 bottles of water. Good times!

And last year I think I spent like $85 on drink tickets. It goes fast when it's 100 degrees out and you need liquid courage to talk to the frat-tastics around you. Wish me luck, peeps.