Tale of a Party Jackass

It's May 12, 2005 as I write this, less than a week after the 131 running of the Kentucky Derby and the 7th annual bourbonhours.com Kentucky Derby Party. The race provided a real jolt, as Giacomo, an absolute longshot at 50-1, wound up wearing the roses, despite all of the money that George Steinbrenner and his ilk had thrown at the track. This was the equivalent of last year's Montreal Expos taking the pennant and beating up on the Yankees in four straight in the AL championship series: eat my payroll George!

As to the party, a rousing success once again. The Hill House was opened wide, and the event ran without a hitch that i could see. The backyard was decked out in full regalia with official Kentucky Derby balloons, flags, and Mint Julep glasses. Due to a renovation, there was a room in the garage available, and they layed out the victuals there. The food was incredible, with Kentucky Burgoo, chile, meat, Kentucky Hot Browns, a tray of cupcakes courtesy our daughter Carly, an incredible array of desserts and other items, and a lot of other stuff that i can't really remember at the moment. Indeed, loss of memory is a theme i'll have to touch on in this piece.

The hats this year were spectacular. I think better than ever. This is an area of the party that our family hasn't put a lot of effort into, but it's cool to see the effort others do put into it. There were a couple of examples that really stood out. Jim and partner came in hats that were a Kentucky version of the Hellraiser guy. (I remember a previous derby party where Jim made an important announcement: "I am Tom Waits!") And this beautiful crew showed that the party is indeed a family affair. Don said that this year's crowd was the best ever, but he always says that and means it too.

Speaking of the crowd, I was proud to introduce the party to a couple of my new co-workers. Damin and Adrian, uber-geeks of the the highest order, came early and fit right in. One of the last things i remember well from the party was Adrian giving me a quick wave and lurching for the exit. I don't know what time that was. He had a funny story himself on the way home. He took the bus, heading south on Fraser, and, er, fell asleep. Woke up at the end of the line and logically deduced that he better get off in case he fell asleep again on the turn-around and end up in an infinite bus loop. He decided to walk the 40 or so blocks to his place. Took him over an hour, but he made it. I said that he must have been more sober when he arrived home. He agreed, but added "my roomates didn't think so".

And of course there was the bourbonbong. We can't forget her, even if under her influence we forget a lot of other stuff.

They say in poker that if you're not sure who the sucker in the game is it's probably you. I think a similar adage holds true for the Derby party: if you're not sure who's the party jack-ass, it's probably you. Or me, in this case. In my defense, i will say that i was up half the night babysitting my brisket, and started in with my first shot at about 10:00 am whilst slicing the meat and preparing some of the other goodies. However, my approach this year lacked all manner of discipline. I was drinking juleps like they were 7-11 slurpies, with no regard whatever of the consequences. All was fine until, oh, say 6:00 pm or so. After that it got fairly hazy. My kids inform me that i almost took out the bourbon bong when i tried to replay a song on the stereo and lost my, er, balance. I fell backwards heavily into the bong, and the thing tilted dangerously on its perch. Apparently i sat down and put my head in my hands for several minutes. My kids tried to assure me that no serious damage was done.

Bourbonhours: the hours between midnight and armegeddon. The hours you lose when you've abandoned your good sense and abased yourself in front of the bourbonbong. Later on, i found myself on Don and Elke's couch. I felt a lurch in my stomach, and made a bee-line for the bathroom. I more or less made the toilet, and did my best to tidy up after myself. That unpleasantness out of the way, i looked at myself in the mirror. There was sheen of sweat on my brow. It was difficult to focus. But what worried me the most was that there was some residue on my johnny cash t-shirt. I had puked on the man in black. That was a devestating realization. I peeled off the shirt and stood in front of the mirror, a victim of my own excess. People came and went from the bathroom, and i stood there. Chris came in and draped me in one of Cam's shirts. This upset me greatly.

"I can't wear this," i shrieked, worried about my reputation maybe.

She stripped the shirt off me and went out again. More people came and went from the bathroom, ignoring me, or making conversation. I remember Tim came in, and then Christine, his wife. Both used the facilities while chatting amiably with me. I don't know if i responded. Eventually Elke, our co-host, returned and draped me in an acceptable - to my drunken ass anyway - sweater/fleece. Elke reports I repeated the phrase "I've soiled myself" while standing in the bathroom. Johnny, i'm sorry.... Eventually Chris led me back to the couch to rest while she collected some of our things.

The next day Chris told me that i complained to her "i wanna go home." She put a blanket over me and said, "there there". Later when she had put everything in the car she tried to get me off the couch. I wasn't keen on moving, so she pulled my blanket off me.

"Where's my blanket?" i moaned, "I want my blanket!"

Chris assured me that i would get a nice blanket when i got home. And then she led me out to the car.

Jack-ass? Maybe so, but i don't feel too bad. I still have the memories, at least, most of them. My friends can help me fill in the bare patches....

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