I have created a new word to describe this past weekend: rockstartastic. It was just that fun, and I was just that done by the time I crawled into bed last night, loathing the fact that Monday was undoubtedly going to be way less awesome than the weekend. Beakey, my dear, dear bff-in-law-to-be (another Stefanie created term of the day) turned 30, and requested to do it up in Allston with me and Matty. We started with dinner at the Fat Cat, hands down my favorite place to eat that isn't La Paloma in Quincy, and then headed back to the city limits in time to get a table at Deep Ellum and continue the barrage of drinking. As all good nights in Allston end, so did we at The Model, whiskey soaked and cigar smoking until well past the time our brains actually stopped creating functioning thoughts. Fast forward a few hours when Matty and I woke up on our couch to Billy Mays yelling at us through the tv, with leftover Irish pizza in hand, and 5:30 glaring at us from the clock....mission ...