Freezer Cake

Those are regular size cocktail table candles.

When planning a wedding you are faced with more decisions than you can sometimes handle. I'm sure you know of at least one bride that has crumbled at some point over something that seems insignificant. I've heard of brides weeping over the dress not available in the right color, she couldn't get a certain flower for the center pieces, or someone was accidentally not invited and the whole family was in an uproar. This moment came to the bride of my wedding, my husband, over the cake.

I spent some time looking at cake designs and decided on a pretty simple but elegant cake design. It was a white 3 tier square cake with some simple black icing design. Top with some flowers, and badda bing, badda bang, a cake! My very dear friend Janine had offered to make my cake as my wedding gift. I was over the moon! She is the best baker I know, her food always tastes fantastic, and a simple wedding cake costs around $1500 these days. She asked me what kind of cake I wanted, and I said I don't really like cake all that much, but I do love her carrot cake. And being that it was a fall wedding I thought carrot cake would be acceptable.

My husband thought that was a silly idea. Carrot cake? I stood my ground and convinced him that once he tasted this carrot cake he would understand. So I set a time up with Janine for us to come do a tasting and talk about the design of the cake. She asked me to pick a few flavors to chose from. So I ask my husband and he says peanut butter.

To fully understand the peanut butter thing, I have to first explain his fascination with Reeses peanut butter cups. It is somewhat a day off tradition to run our errand together and at some point stop for gas and a coke. And every time he comes out to the car with the latest Reeses product. There are cups, dark chocolate, white chocolate, king size, dipped in peanuts, rolled in dye no. 9 and xanax. There are pieces with more peanut butter, dark chocolate, milk chocolate centers, all orange, it doesn't matter that none of them taste as good as the original, if it says Reeses on the label, he buys it.

So I laugh and tell Janine that he want to try a peanut butter and chocolate cake along with the others we talked about. She sounds as confused as I expected but reluctantly agrees.

We arrive at her house and she does the best little presentation you've ever seen. She's a little like Martha Stewart, if Martha Stewart liked jagermeister, loud rock and roll, and had the cops called on her annual July 4th party for blowing up giant fireworks off the roof of her garage. We taste several cakes, yes including a peanut butter cake that was really good, but we all know I wanted carrot. After a long tug of war, trying to convince him that peanut butter is not a flavor you serve at the rooftop of a major hotel, he agreed that the carrot cake was incredible. Then the discussion about the cake design began.

She asked all the right questions about how many people the cake needed to feed and so on. She obviously knew what she was doing. But somehow the wedding pressures had weighed to far on my husband, and he decides that the cake needs to be more of a statement. He gets out a ruler and begins showing Janine how big he wants it. The look on my friends face was priceless. She explains that this cake is going to be really big, and will likely feed an army. But she agrees to do it the way he wants it, sparing a vital bridezilla breakdown.

When we arrive at the reception site and they show me the room all set up I was so blown away! It looked so wonderful! The flowers, the table clothes, and the GIANT wedding cake! She did such a great job, but this cake was easily 2 feet wide and almost 3 feet tall. I have about 85 guests. When they asked if I like to keep the top of my cake for my freezer I said Id love to. When they brought it to our room later I thought I'll need to rent a deep freeze.

As we are cutting the cake Janine leans to me and says, "Don't eat the black icing. It will stain your mouth." A piece of advice given to all the guests, all except my mother who's tongue looked like she licked Texas gold. The carrot cake lived up to it's rumors and everyone thought it was delicious. Several people mentioned how yummy it was over the next several months. And so did the bar full of drunk people that got the leftovers the next day when my family that went to have pizza.

So on the one year anniversary we pulled the cake from the freezer and as it thawed had a celebration of one year of married bliss, and the return of serious freezer space. My husband says that cake was way too big, with a smile on his face. Thank you so much Janine for getting a Cosco card to make the cake, and for making such a wonderful, decadent, beautiful, Mark McQuired wedding cake. It was fabulous then, and surprisingly stupendous a year later!

The Stolen Pumpkin

Every fall, my husband and I do our grocery shopping and look at the big beautiful pumpkins and he tells me of this infamous pumpkin stew he makes. I have never had said stew, but I am told it is amazing. It is a beef stew you make in a pumpkin, and bake it in the oven. Then when you serve it, you scrape the inside of the pumpkin with the serving spoon..I salivate every time he tells me about it. He says, "Honey, I will make it for you this year."

Imagine my surprise when he picks me up with a list of things to buy for the stew. On our way to Schnucks, I get so excited. We begin combing the store for all the necessary ingredients. As our cart fills, my stomach growls. Just one item left. The pumpkin. A look of panic comes over our faces as we think back to the produce section and neither of us can remember seeing a pumpkin. They must have pumpkins, Thanksgiving is next week!

We scurry around the store and no pumpkins! My husband finds a store manager and asks where the pumpkins are. He says they shipped all of their pumpkins out after Halloween. We ask if he knows of any where to get a pumpkin, and he chuckles and says, "This time of year? Maybe a farmers market."

We get on the phone and look up the numbers to some farmers markets and all we found in the neighborhood closed at five. As we are checking out all the items for the stew minus the pumpkin we have a short judgmental conversation about how no Americans make real pumpkin pie any more. I mean I don't, but all those other people out there should be ashamed of themselves! True pumpkin outta of can is easier, lighter weight, and makes a really tasty pumpkin pie, but come on! We mourn the loss of our fictional grandmothers whose hair was all white at the age of 50, up in a perfect bun everyday, whom wore ruffled aprons and served food on good china while constantly asking us if we've had enough to eat, with a European accent. Now she would have scraped her own pumpkin for pumpkin pie!

And speaking of European grandmothers.....I had a thought. It was wrong and I shouldn't have even spoken the words, but out they came.

"I bet if we drove through the neighborhood we'd find a pumpkin. I mean we are on the Hill. (The Hill is a very old Italian neighborhood, filled with restaurants, markets, sandwich shops and bungalow houses.) My husband laughs and says that he was thinking it but he didn't think I'd go along with it.

I have very few theft stories in my life. I once stole a paint brush in college because I needed it for a painting, and the store wanted $20 for the stupid thing.( Rational stealing is still stealing, but less guilt.) Also my sister stole some sunglasses once and got caught, and subsequently lost a job over it. The last instance was my favorite. It involves my brother in law stealing a phone book from a hotel running up the street screaming GO! GO! GO! as he hopped into a moving mini van. Some stories dont need explaining.

So we began our sneaky Operation Pumpkin. We drive slowly up and down the streets eyeballing up all the pumpkins. "There's one!...There's another!"

"Honey I would like to not actually go onto someones porch to steal their pumpkin."

We finally see one. Reachable from the street, no lights on. We park the car, and my husband who can't walk through living room without stomping and usually knocking things over or bumping into furniture turns into a feline and steals the pumpkin with no sound. He hands it to me through the window and I almost break my arm.

He gets back in the car and as we pull away he says. "Yeah that ones way too big!" I die laughing! It must have weighed 28 pounds! Hes laughing, I'm laughing! This wont even fit in the oven! Well maybe now we can trade the big one for someone else's smaller one.

We spot a house with a haystack and a pumpkin display. They have 2 that are the perfect size. We park and my husband approaches the door. I watch in the rear view mirror and imagine the conversation as he knocks on the door.

"Excuse me mam. Can I please trade you this lovely 28 pound pumpkin for one of a more manageable size. You see I'm making this stew." She would say sure my dear, then tomorrow when the neighborhood news letter comes out realizes that we traded her a stolen pumpkin. Antonio wages a war with her.. "Hey! Dat iz a my pompkin!" All will tell the story for years of the people in the Honda that steal pumpkins. All Honda driving white couples will be banned from sandwich shops. And eventually riot ends up on channel 2 news.

Luckily no one comes to the door. We trade for the medium size pumpkin. The stew was awesome! And the moral to the story is its bad to steal! You should never do it, but if u must, steal something that will likely never make a pie.

6 to 8 Black Men

Autumn is my favorite time of year! The leaves, the smell in the air of dried leaves and the brewery! But best of all, I am reminded that as soon as that dreadful holiday Halloween is over it will be time to start thinking about my favorite holiday! CHRISTMAS!

If my husband would let me, I would begin putting the tree up on November 1st. I abstain knowing that not only does my husband think I am nuts for wanting to do this, but so does everyone else other than my own part elf mother. So I have my secret early rituals.. You know just a little fix until the big time of cookies and eggnog.

While I am home alone, I burn my Christmas candles. Listen to not so obvious jazz versions of Christmas carols, and instead of taking a magazine to the bathroom, I bring with me a copy of David Sedaris Holidays on Ice. My favorite story is one entitled 6 to 8 black men where Sedaris fills us in on how the great people of Holland celebrate and view Santa Claus.

Apparently, in the Netherlands the children exchange gifts on December 5th. St. Nicks day. There, he dresses like a red velvet pope, said to be left over from his former career as bishop of Turkey. And also, Santa resides in Spain...not the north pole. Every year he docks in late November and is escorted by not elves, (said to be thought of as grotesque and unrealistic. Ironic from the dutch people whom embrace legalized drugs and prostitution.) but by what is described as 6 to 8 black men. I laugh as Sedaris mocks the Dutch people in the idea that with everyone he asks the number is always the same. 6 to 8. Odd for having over a century to nail down an exact number. I suppose at one point the black men were slaves, but since Saint Nicks pope attire and the fact that the Catholic church is trying to shake its former image of oppressive behavior and racism, the 6 to 8 black men are now known as St. Nicks "good friends".

So Halloween came. I am told by my bosses at my job that everyone has to dress up, and that my response to "What are u going as for Halloween?"....."um...an adult." was no longer funny.
I borrowed a costume from a friend, a very cute lederhosen Saint Pauli girl kinda thing. As I am getting ready for work my husband calls and says that the car has been stolen. My first response is laughter followed by absolute rage.

I own a 1998 Dodge Caravan! I just had about $700.00 work done on it in the last 15 days! Who wants to steal a mini van! In broad daylight! On a major street! The police are called. Evening approaches and I find my Heidi costume to be even more annoying now that I am sitting on the curb waiting for a taxi cab. Some trick or treaters walk by and tell me I look like Lady Gaga. This is a comparison I am getting really used to. Anyone over the age of 40 says I look like Marilyn Monroe, and anyone younger or homosexual says Lady Freakin Gaga! I smile at them.

I arrive at work to find that I am the only person dressed up! No joke! And everyone I tell that my car is stolen and missing says.."Yeah I hear those are easy to steal." After the 3rd time I wanted to ask my community that if this is such common knowledge, why did no one buy me a Club for Christmas the last 3 years I owned the car? I look like the most uncomfortable sad little beir girl you've ever seen. Finally the phone rings at 5:30 pm.

It is my husband calling to say that they found the car. It was totaled. Witnesses on the scene describe it as going 55 mph in a 30mph zone outta control, and hit a traffic sign. At which point "6 to 8 black kids" were seen running and scattering from the vehicle. They had stolen it, and drove somewhere to throw away anything that wasn't bolted down, including the head rests. They then picked up their friends and threw a 3 gallon gas can in the back just in case they needed gas I suppose.

When the tow truck brought the van back to my house my thoughts were on one thing! Did they know about the secret CD box under the passenger seat? I furiously run down and climb in the mangled broken carcass of the van and open the drawer! Eureka! There they all were! My Harry Connick Jr When Your Heart Finds Christmas, Christmas Cocktails, Have Yourself a Jazzy Little Christmas, and Mary Mary CDs! All there.

I breathe a sigh of relief, but cant help but wonder..did St Nicks "friends" steal my car? The evidence...
Inability to get an accurate number of people fleeing from the scene...6 to 8
Everything thrown away.....except Christmas and gospel music?

Perhaps this year, the Netherlands hot Christmas items are insurance papers, recyclable grocery bags and head rests from American cars! Ahh yes! Santa stole my mini van!

12 Hours and a Beatle!

My husband and I both were in a state of absolute frustration when we looked at our $200 Verizon wireless bill, and then looked down at the crappy out dated phones in our hands. He has been carrying a red crazor with no working screen, and I could only talk on speaker phone with my LG smartphone. ( Courtesy of a late night with co workers where someone spilled jagermeister on the ear piece....okay that may have been me.)

I laughed as my husband would use his phone to call people using the memory game.

" If I press this button it goes to my contacts...Arrow down once and I am in the search bar, then I can type the persons name and then hit send, and 90 % of the time I have dialed the right number."

The look on his face was one of pride, then quickly turned to a smirk of realization that this is ridiculous.

This is ridiculous! How do we pay $200 a month and have these things as our contact to the world!

Hubby says that he saw an add on TV for the motorola droid as a buy one get one free. I was very excited because when I had my palm phone, he called it stupid on a regular basis because he didn't know how to work it. Finally! He was ready to move on with technology.

"You like the droid phones?!"

"Yeah! They're really cool. My brother had one."

"Well okay! Lets see what we can do."

After several attempts on the phone and placing an order on the internet I finagled the buy one get one for $50. They would be there the next day.

Phones arrive and I immediately get to work on setting mine up. By the time hubby comes home I have my email, facebook, and entire contact list programmed. Watching him unbox his phone with excitement quickly turned to disgust and hatred..I kept laughing as he would yell that he hated the phone and that it is absolutely assanign that they would make buttons that small! And that the phone technology world is prejudice to left handed people. The more and more he went on the funnier it became to me and more mad he got.

We had a day trip planned to see Paul McCartney play in Nashville. He had arranged for us to borrow a car from his Dad and get me off work. It was all suppose to be a big surprise. We were all set to go, got sandwichs in the car, sodas, flasks for the show, and money in our pockets. I'm standing in the doorway with a hand full of stuff and ready to go when he says to wait a minute he needs to print out the map.

Determined to sell him on our new phones I tell him that he doesn't need to print out a map that the phones have internet, google maps and GPS. He agrees and we are off to Nashville!

Tunes are going, traffic is flowing. We figured if we made good enough time we would be able to go to the Country Music Hall of Fame before the show. We get about and hour and fifteen minutes outside of St. Louis and he turns to me and says...

"Did you get the tickets?"

Silence, followed by panic, and soon loud laughter! Neither of us had grabbed the tickets from the refrigerator. So several miles later when allowed to exit the highway, we turned around and headed back to St. Louis.

We arrive home and get the tickets, grab some CD's, over feed the cats, and return to the road. The drive was great! We had good talks and were buzzing with excitement when we arrive outside the city. Hubby asks me,

"Okay, can you please get directions on the phone?"

I begin to try and use the maps function on the browser which just kept showing me where we were. I then just used the internet to get directions from the arenas web site, which proved to be useless when we missed the turn onto the correct highway. He was very irritated at me at this point. He just kept saying got to mapquest! But the phone wasn't allowing me to go to the task bar. Finally, we pull over and he manages to out navigate me and gets mapquest directions on his phone. Ive never been prouder.

We arrive at the arena, find a place to park. Changed our clothes and walked around the shops on broadway to avoid the giant line that had formed outside the venue. By the time the doors were scheduled to open, there were tornado sirens going off and the sky was green and wet. Long security checks were deduced to nothing more than making sure you had your ticket. Ive never seen so many people pushed through doors in such a small amount of time.

The concert was absolutely amazing! Words cannot express the feeling! And thanks to the new phones, we can relive some of the moments through video. Long live technology!

Derby Debunck Final Disasters

We arrive at the hotel lounge where the party was being held, and looked and felt great! I had some mac and cheese in my belly, champagne in my hand and a smile on my face! Kip had a painkiller in his belly, his fourth cocktail in his hand, and a smirk on his face that says, We both know I'm better than this.

He was reeling at our vodka friend for suggesting that he and I had acted like, "Scared little kittens" at the Michael Jordon party because we didn't want to socialize with entouraging hanger on pieces of hookerdom. This made Kip very angry as one could imagine. And me too for that matter. The truth is that I could spend all day BS ing with almost anyone and get them to find me charming, but I didn't want to waste my time!

I am introduced to a gentleman who was married to my friends boss, and had also married his eyes at my chest. He was rich and boring, and his wife couldn't stand me...shocker! I look around for Kip and can't seem to locate him. He was chatting up a nice guy and I went out to smoke.

While outside vodka friend comes out all a flutter about some stupid someone, and I decided that I was going to introduce myself to everyone there till there was no one left. I met all kinds of people! Politicians, PR guys, publicists, and another male model. This ones name was Sterling, or Stephan, or Stupid....I don't remember.

We begin to talk, and I am almost immediately regretful. He was very stupid, and very uninteresting, but very nice to look at. So I did that thing where you act like your listening to the person in front of you, and really your listening to a conversation across the room. I noticed that he was looking me in the eye. He appeared to be looking at my chin, or probably my mouth, when I turned to bob my head around to locate Kip. I could tell he was going to say something sexual. Then he sniffed me! Yes that's right! The man sniffed me! I had to ask!

"Did you just sniff me?"

"Are you staying at the hotel?"

"No."

"I am."

As I lock eyes with Kip and give him the HEEEEELP look, the model man bites my neck! Thank God for my Kippy whoms voice could be heard from all across the room as he leaps in my direction shouting,

"Okay! Time to go!"

I agree, and tell Kip and vodka that I will be using the ladies room and then hailing a "cab".

I come out of the bathroom to find vodka propping up Kip as he laughs histerically! And Kip says,

"Oh my God gurrrl...I'm that guy....I just fell down!" (laughing)

"What?!"

"Yeah he fell, and into my boss!" says vodka.

I laughed the rest of the night. We arrive back at the motor home and both fall fast asleep. We wake up at around 1 the next afternoon and laugh once again! Once for Kip saying over and over again, "Was I really that guy!" and secondly because when we looked outside, and all 400 RVs and tents were packed up and gone! It was like we were the one VW bus you see still in the parking lot 2 days after a grateful dead show. There we were. Me, Kip, and our neighbor boys. We packed up and left for home two hours later. It was a really good time, and priceless in stories!

Here's to you Kippy, the boys, and especially International Male Model Brad! Love you all!

Derby Debunck Part 2

Eleven thirty a.m. Derby Day I awake feeling fantastic! (Probably because I am still a little drunk.) Kip yells to the back bedroom, "Oh my God! What time did we go to sleep?"

"Uh....7 ish?"

"No way!"

We both start laughing. Kip raises the blinds and reveals the crappiest Derby day ever! It is raining, it's cold, and it's dark! I wanted to cry.

We decided that a good breakfast and some primping and we would feel different about it. Boy was that a mistake! Kip made breakfast for me and the man Kip will only refer to as "International Male Model Brad". One of the neighbor boys. We had some omlettes with Gruyere cheese, and a lot of rich ingredients, and that did me in. I immediately felt like absolute ass! Hangover in full swing!

I look outside again, and my stomach sinks. First of all, there is no way I am wearing my gorgeous hat and dress in the weather similar to the movie "Cast Away"! Secondly, there is also no way I'm not going! I spent $80.00 on the tickets and we are going to the Derby!

Kip and I both slowly begin getting ready. Then the parks lead toothless meth head on a golf cart, comes by to inform us that the race has been postponed an hour. I lay down till the last possible minute, and see the boys all lining up outside in their seer sucker blue and white suits. They looked adorable. They had cigars hanging out of their mouths, and manners to match. I came out of the motor home in one of my proudest impromptu outfits ever. I won't bore you with the details, but I looked fab...and felt sick.

We all were miserable! We arrive at the Churchill Downs grounds, and begin walking in the rain. And walking. And walking. The downs is full of very loud drunk people. I mean DRUNK! We get cattle prodded into the infield, where as far as I could tell was similar to Mardi Gras on hillbilly heroin at a Garth Brooks benefit for High School kids. It was loud! It was wet! It was muddy! It was the country version of the 1999 Woodstock. It was so not my scene!

Kip helped me search for a bottle of water, that we never found. He wanted something to eat. Couldn't find that either, what we could find is bourbon and beer, and drunk minors. Apparently they don't card anyone Derby weekend. If they were out of the house and could grow arm pit hair, they were drunk. Kip and I look at each other and keep asking one another, "What do you wanna do? I don't know, what do you want to do?"

Finally, I threw in the towel and was the first to say Uncle. I kept looking around and couldn't see the track. Apparently, everyone but me knew that you can't see the track from the infield. Why go see a race you can't see?

So Kip and I walked out. There was also a line to leave! That's how crappy the weather was! We get out of the grounds at the Downs and catch a ride to in our words, "any bar with a TV."
The bar was also loud...loud with good ole country music, loud! It was at the bar that I learned the words and audience participation words to a song called "Why do you Drink"...(audience) "Get Drunk!", "Why do you blow smoke?" (audience) "Get hah!" (That's 'get high' to those of you still speaking English.)

I watched a middle age woman dance a jig bare foot on the bar floor to "Good Old Rocky Top". I couldn't help but think how much she would come to regret that decision the next day. Everyone clapped and hooped and hollered. Finally at 6:30 the race began! 90 seconds and an upset.

I begged Kip to let us go back to the motor home and take a nap. He obliged. After a nap I felt a whole lot better! I told Kip that we came here to look fabulous and sit on white couches and sip cocktails, and that is what we are going to do! Our vodka friend promised us free drinks and fanciness, and we are going to get it! And we did...sort of.

Derby Debunck Part 1

A friend of mine is a regional party planner for a major vodka company in the mid west. he told me one Friday evening in April that he was planning an event for the Kentucky Derby. My gayer half Kip was all aghast, as was I, at the idea of sipping mint juleps and betting in the most fabulous attire in Louisville, on the studs. Hoping to become one of those people on the news that win big and forget the little people.

We (and by "we" I mean Kip and his fancy phone.) begin to research what is was going to cost us to go to the Derby, and it turns out...Hotels are stupid pricey! Like $1500 a night stupid. I gave up on the idea, and my gay came through! He suggested that we take his fathers motor home. Perfect!

So many many phone calls later between a gal and her gay over which seer sucker, which hat, what shoes, and then we had to talk about my outfit, and we are off to the Derby.

It was a time of many firsts. My first trip without my husband that didn't include my parents. My first trip with my friend Kip. And my first time in a swanky motor home. (Just to fill you in, this thing was the Cadillac of motor homes! It was 47 feet long. Full kitchen, full bath! Even has ceramic floors! ((Funny how technology has gotten ceramic tile to work in a motor home, and the tile in my bathroom is cracked everywhere!)) This thing is so nice you can take a number 2 while driving!

I slept most the way there on the white leather sofa. We arrive in Louisville KY just in time for the sun to come out. As we enter the motor home park, my friend Kip and I exchange a look that I will never forget. His look was "sweet", and mine was "I hope I'm not raped."

I've never been to a Nascar event, but if I had been, I think it would look like this! It was a proverbial sausage fest! As we pulled in tens upon tens of men without shirts held there beer cozys in admiration to the motor home! They were fascinated at the the size, at the celebrity of the whole thing. Tent after tent and RV after RV, I think I saw 3 woman and probably close to 400 men.

We get into our parking space, and Kip true to his Susie Homemaker form, starts getting out citronella candles, rugs, awnings, and patio lights for the outside of the motor home. I was told to stand there and look pretty. After all was setup, Kip made me a fabulous steak dinner. We got acquainted with the neighbors and got in the shower to begin the parade of derby fashion.

One of the coolest things about Louisville on derby weekend is that as far as I can tell the entire city shuts down for 72 hours, except for the bars. They stay open from Friday to Sunday, and absolutely everyone is a taxi cab. Apparently it is not against the law to give anyone a ride to anywhere, as long as you don't charge a fare. You can however ask for a donation or a "tip". Everywhere you go people ask you if you need a ride.

So we get in our shuttle and are driven downtown to a hotel where we were going to a party. Us and our very drunk neighbor and cab mate from Knoxville jammed out to some hair metal from the 80's, hopes were high, and so was our driver.

Arriving at the hotel we find our friend, and begin on a journey I like to call red carpet denial. We walked from club to club with our friend trying to get into these celebrity clubs and getting very cranky! It seems our vodka friend wasn't as well connected as one may have been lead to believe. I, being under the impression that I would be laying about on white leather couches and fanned by jockeys somewhere, wore four inch Betsy Johnson heels. Block after block we walk and finally get into the Michael Jordan party.

The venue was gorgeous! Must have had 120ft ceilings, and it did have a complimentary bar...of vodka. (I don't drink vodka.. It makes me nuts.) The crowd was very well dressed and the DJ was awful. The food was crappy, and I saw no celebs, unless you count the hookers that entourage for T.O. celebs. Honestly, I had never heard of a T.O. until this night. And still couldn't tell you what he looks like or who the hell he is.

Kip and I spent this part of the night letting our eyes roll in unison, and looking for the door so we could smoke and make fun of everyone. We then went to the playboy party, where there were actually girls dressed like bunnies and tanned like Cheetos. We stood outside with the creme de le creme of worse than B celebs...... rich people. Freaking really rich people. They ooze money and look down at us all the while pretending to like us and buy us drinks. It's an odd feeling and one I'm sure they do on purpose. It's sort of like they are letting you know not to get to comfortable in their world cause you'll be cast away soon. I think I saw a woman reach for Purell in her purse after shaking my hand. I wanted to tell her that friendliness isn't contagious so she need not worry. Needless to say, the party sucked. I once again found a door where I could smell cigarette smoke and told the boys they could find me there.

I found a wirey and very uneven bar stool on the cobblestone in what was pretty much the alley behind the bar with umbrellas and speakers, and sat down for the remainder of the night. Not because I wanted to, but because my feet at this point have swollen to twice their size and no longer have feeling in them. I met a couple of nice people, and asked Kip if he was ready to go several times. I finally discover that he was waiting for last call which never came. I was after five am when we left and I was pooped!

We arrive back at the trailer park...(cough)...motor home village, to find our neighbor dudes still awake, very drunk, and sitting in lawn chairs on the roof of their motor home. Kip, never one to miss and opportunity, invites them into our motor home, where they seemed to camp out in until we left the state. One of these boys was named Brad, and he was from Knoxville TN. He said it best when he said, "Honey we're Southern, if you want us to leave, your gonna have to make it real clear." He was very charming and informed us that he once made his living modeling in Milan. Yes folks....a male model. And funniest part, not the only one I met that weekend!

We drank and laughed till six thirty. Kip made them all food, and they loved it! It was like he was taking care of the dirty boys. Telling them what to wear to the derby, and making sure they ate something etc. I am not a country girl, I hate camping, but I had more fun drinking beer with the boys then cocktails with the important. And I had the Derby day hangover to prove it!