Monday, May 29, 2017
Tuesday, May 23, 2017
Wednesday, May 10, 2017
Several moths ago I had the grandiose idea to host a Derby party for the 143rd annual running of The Kentucky Derby.
(I actually bought This dress back in January, just thinking about it!)
After attending last year, I knew that nothing was going to come close our camping, cocktailing, and sneaking into the fancy seat section, from the year before.
Even P was somewhat of a Prick, saying, "Why do I want to go to a Derby party?? I WENT to Derby"
Nonetheless I started planning away.
The dress was bought, the venue was picked and the invitations Just needed to be planned and printed. Like a pre-teen girl, I was getting so excited and awaited the news after the invited were sent on their way....and there I waited..
Rule #1 of getting a Printed Invitation in the Mail...
After asking several people, I tracked back and came to the conclusion that most of us, started receiving our 1st invitations at roughly age 5. Brenda was having a birthday party, grew onto Betsy's' Bat Mitzvah. We picked up the phone(yes we actually Called someone) and let them know if we would be able to attend. Apparently THIS is news to people.
Out of 10 invitations I sent to Grown Ass Adults, I got 1 actual telephone call and 1 text.
The other 8 people apparently cannot be bothered with their "busy" lives to reply.
I Even texted a few people saying, "We didn't receive your reply to our formal invitation we sent. Just trying to plan for food, drink, and parking to accommodate you"
If you know Me, and This Blog, that's the equivalent of me saying to you,
"Have a blessed Day"
Alas the big day was upon us and we got out P's bow tie and got ready to have some bourbon.
We arrived at the venue shortly before the rest of the Crew. The place was Packed. An hour or so into the event, and there was standing room only. We slithered our way to one of the(4) bars to get ourselves some libations. After about 30 minutes, we threw money down for our only decent drink of the day. Turns out, the deal that they had going for Derby, complete with a Copper?? Julep cup, was already Sold Out?! An hour in, and you've already sold out of one of the Promoted piece. Great.
So we imbibed on Old Fashions and off we went.
Rule #1 of a Busy Bar:
Get your Drink, and GET OUT.
There were close to 100 people waiting across the bar to get their wet their whistle.
Having been on Both sides of a bar for many years, there are a few rules of the rail to aspire to.
1.Place you order, (don't wave your damn dollars at me please) get your drink and
2.Park your patootie Elsewhere. On Saturday there were a group of sloths that decided to stronghold the bar, and couldn't be seated elsewhere. This resulted in some rather aggressive angling for a wedge into the wood counter for some Corvassier. Eventually it was over an hour wait, even for wine.
And I couldn't balk at the bartenders, they were doing their best, trying to get in between the sloths and other customers just trying to get a Southern Comfort.
And did I mention, that even before the race, they ran out of Mint and Whiskey??
So This girl drank a mint julep minus the mint and bourbon...hhmmmm..#ameteurhour
That's when it hit me...
When Did so many Elitists invade the city??
Everywhere we went there were elevator eyes. There was judging over Jamesons and there were sneers from slightly already intoxicated girls with issues. It had been a while since I'd been out in the city, and can Clearly hold my own. But the aroma of entitalism was Not interesting.
Even 2 gentlemen that I went out of my way to say something nice about their smart Seersucker suits, scoffed at my sincerity.
So I sat there screaming in my own head,
"Were All at the Same place!!"
Isn't it funny how That works?
So after This years Derby debacle, I think we've decided to do things a bit differently.
Where we Did have a great time once our guests had gathered, the gouging for "freelance" drinks was not worth it. I would rather, have some fabulous food, and let people forage from there. The Whiskey in our house never has a hole in the bottle, and there's always room for more respectable people.
There's a better chance we'll be at Churchill Downs, than spending another Derby,,Downtown.