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Whisky River take my mind ... 

Alert the media! Oh wait, that's me ... anyway, The EpiCentre is open! Well, Dale Earnhardt Jr.'s Whisky River up-the-stairs-and-through-the-construction of the EpiCentre has opened its doors, at least.

I walked in to Kenny Chesney's "Big Star" and I felt like I had just walked into Disney World.

This urban cowgirl immediately reported to the dance floor, only to be greeted by some dude sweating like a fat kid in gym class doing the Soulja Boy to country music.

But I was in hick-hop heaven in Uptown's upscale-country bar. They have a random music selection that varies from Johnny Cash to Fergie, cowboy-boot-wearing bartenders, a mechanical bull, a spacious dance floor and a massive V.I.P. area.

The bar staff retains your I.D. in addition to your card when you start a tab. Seeing as how I write "See I.D." on the back of my credit card, I somewhat favor this protective procedure. But what does it even matter these days? I could go on a shopping spree and swipe Dale Jr.'s credit card on one of those do-it-yourself machines and the cashier wouldn't even notice.

My friend, Paige, however, was in hee-haw hell. She rated the bar's fun meter on the caliber of men that approached us. I don't pay too much mind to guys when I go out, let alone judge a bar based on it, but I'm not going to lie, some of the guys we met might have been living in a van down by the Whisky River. Let's just say, I don't think I am going to find my ghetto cowboy there. And Paige has a grudge: She forgot to close out her tab and is thus sans her license.

Speaking of openings, the Front Court Bar just opened in the Bobcats Arena (formerly 333).

It is a surreal experience, especially considering it's inside an arena -- which is easy to forget because you can't hear the game over the DJ. It has couches, a chic bar and a gourmet restaurant with dining tables lined up against windows that act as walls.

I went to the Front Court Bar, as opposed to the sold-out game against the Celtics.

There was a party ref at the bar like there was a ref on the court. My Panther buddy got yelled at for trying to actually watch the game, which required hovering outside the bar area, and the televisions at the bar weren't even playing the Bobcats' beat down; they were playing the final four games.

Speaking of the Celtics, the next day I somehow ended up on a blind date ... with Eddie House.

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