I got to play hostess to a friend who came in from out of town Saturday.<br /><br />Actually, having moved from Tulsa to a distant, remote land of Indian casinos, a total lack of edible take-out and zero QuikTrip availability, she not only knows her way around Tulsa quite well, but she knows exactly what she wants to do when she gets here.<br /><br />So, rather than allowing me to feel like a dignified know-it-all, she led me around my own dang town all Saturday long. She also insulted me, flashed me (many times) and bought me clothes along the way.<br /><br />Without further ado, this is my friend:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_tZVufRlMtzM/SINPovreZJI/AAAAAAAAAQU/ogpnA8B1Ll4/s1600-h/DSC01923-1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_tZVufRlMtzM/SINPovreZJI/AAAAAAAAAQU/ogpnA8B1Ll4/s400/DSC01923-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225107554092082322" border="0" /></a>Come on, don't be shy.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tZVufRlMtzM/SINO1ethEyI/AAAAAAAAAQM/RfBpT0hS39o/s1600-h/DSC01921-1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tZVufRlMtzM/SINO1ethEyI/AAAAAAAAAQM/RfBpT0hS39o/s400/DSC01921-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225106673363915554" border="0" /></a>That's Amanda. Sorry I blew out all the color in your face, Amanda. I'm still getting the hang of my camera, Amanda. Thank you for understanding, Amanda.<br /><br />In those pictures, she's getting ready to split a delicious lunch of sausage and mushroom pizza with me at The Stonehorse Cafe in Utica Square. That pizza continued Stonehorse's flawless track record of supplying me with fall-on-the-floor amazing food.<br /><br />The dining room is cozy, too:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tZVufRlMtzM/SINObuojeoI/AAAAAAAAAP8/JWsNL8YZNDM/s1600-h/DSC01919-1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tZVufRlMtzM/SINObuojeoI/AAAAAAAAAP8/JWsNL8YZNDM/s400/DSC01919-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225106230961470082" border="0" /></a>That's half of the dining room. Hey, so what if there's not much seating? You won't need a seat at Stonehorse; you'll be too busy flailing about on the floor in fits induced by overwhelming deliciosity.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tZVufRlMtzM/SINOrQOpsZI/AAAAAAAAAQE/FY1Y3qRU5S0/s1600-h/DSC01920-1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tZVufRlMtzM/SINOrQOpsZI/AAAAAAAAAQE/FY1Y3qRU5S0/s400/DSC01920-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225106497677668754" border="0" /></a>The bar area. Lovely, huh?<br /><br />We fell into Stonehorse only after spending the previous hour at Ihloff Salon and Day Spa, also in Utica Square. Amanda will come clear from land-of-no-shopping just to get her hair trimmed there.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tZVufRlMtzM/SINMsCk-P0I/AAAAAAAAAPk/_BfObRDX8nI/s1600-h/DSC01913-1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tZVufRlMtzM/SINMsCk-P0I/AAAAAAAAAPk/_BfObRDX8nI/s400/DSC01913-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225104312169807682" border="0" /></a>See that? That's a smack-bottom awesome hair cut.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tZVufRlMtzM/SINNJRAkJII/AAAAAAAAAPs/jiGb_GgVe1c/s1600-h/DSC01914-1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tZVufRlMtzM/SINNJRAkJII/AAAAAAAAAPs/jiGb_GgVe1c/s400/DSC01914-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225104814259840130" border="0" /></a>That is...well, that's me. Not even an Ihloff stylist can rein that in.<br /><br />Amanda was dead-set on spending the day shopping for new pants. Since the first of the year, Amanda has lost 20 pounds and 4 pants sizes, so pants that fit are now in rare supply at her house. Punk.<br /><br />This is what Amanda looked like last Halloween: <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tZVufRlMtzM/SIPbB03-MSI/AAAAAAAAARU/vHQa9TQpydA/s1600-h/amandaandtashaii.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tZVufRlMtzM/SIPbB03-MSI/AAAAAAAAARU/vHQa9TQpydA/s400/amandaandtashaii.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225260817099665698" border="0" /></a>See her there, hiding her body behind a Nike sweatshirt and a lovable attitude? Sad. Just pitiful.<br /><br />By the way, I am nearly five months pregnant in that photo, so if you make fun of me for being fat, well, you're mean.<br /><br />Here's the last photo I have of us from back in the good ol' days when I weighed less than her...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tZVufRlMtzM/SIPcGGd_6PI/AAAAAAAAARc/tp6mhyjMzAA/s1600-h/tashaandamanda.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tZVufRlMtzM/SIPcGGd_6PI/AAAAAAAAARc/tp6mhyjMzAA/s400/tashaandamanda.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225261990053669106" border="0" /></a>...which was nearly three years ago.<br /><br />Sigh.<br /><br />Here's what she looks like now:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tZVufRlMtzM/SINRE6bgihI/AAAAAAAAAQc/MrLVR4RycV8/s1600-h/DSC01928-1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tZVufRlMtzM/SINRE6bgihI/AAAAAAAAAQc/MrLVR4RycV8/s400/DSC01928-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225109137525869074" border="0" /></a>So hot that she can even pull off one of those dresses that looks like a UPS uniform. She wanted me to put, "What can brown do for you?" under this photo, but I thought that might come off, I don't know...racist.<br /><br />Can you tell Amanda likes to try on LOTS of clothes? Yeah. She's sort of awful to shop with, at least for a girl who wouldn't name shopping to her top-ten list of favorite pastimes. In fact, shopping is on my top-fifty list of favorite pastimes, right under washing pacifiers for the third time in a day and looking down at the scale in the morning only to realize I outweigh Amanda by 30 pounds.<br /><br />Sigh again.<br /><br />Amanda's shopping prowess comes in handy enough, I guess. She helped me find a super-nice suit jacket that had been marked down nearly 90 percent. It's a good thing she was with me, or else I might have purchased something more along the lines of: <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tZVufRlMtzM/SIPaRY3yM5I/AAAAAAAAARM/s5URY9jPKds/s1600-h/PineappleSuit.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tZVufRlMtzM/SIPaRY3yM5I/AAAAAAAAARM/s5URY9jPKds/s400/PineappleSuit.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225259984948966290" border="0" /></a>This. Ooooohhhh this.<br /><br />That suit is real. I found it at Stein Mart, right here in T-Town, during a self-piloted shopping trip. I didn't buy it, but I should have. My kitchen is now decorated in pineapples, solely because of this photo and the family joke it has become.<br /><br />After three or four hours of blitz-style shopping activity, I had to bail. That's kind of hard when the Woodland Hills shopping mall is this busy:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tZVufRlMtzM/SINTZStCDmI/AAAAAAAAAQs/gWFLUjBD_ik/s1600-h/DSC01933-1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tZVufRlMtzM/SINTZStCDmI/AAAAAAAAAQs/gWFLUjBD_ik/s400/DSC01933-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225111686662458978" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tZVufRlMtzM/SIPf2aUpZiI/AAAAAAAAARs/R7M-15i6g9I/s1600-h/DSC01930-1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tZVufRlMtzM/SIPf2aUpZiI/AAAAAAAAARs/R7M-15i6g9I/s400/DSC01930-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225266118551758370" border="0" /></a>I go to the mall maybe - MAYBE - three times a year, so I was sort of caught off guard by the size of the crowd. All of these people can't believe that the best thing to do in this town on a Saturday afternoon is to go to the mall...<br /><br />Can they? I don't know. I did for a day, I suppose. But it was all Amanda's fault.