Sorry I’ve been MIA, y’all. Turns out I’m not high functioning on muscle relaxers or Vicodin. If you need me, I’ll be laying on the floor of my office trying to make the feeling come back in my arm. I know pinching a nerve isn’t something you can necessarily help, but if you can– avoid at all costs. And thank goodness it’s not contagious.
My mood has been ranging from poor to moderately poor this week as well. The combination of lack of sleep, travel and a generally higher than usual stress environment at work (board meeting time!) prompted me to literally stomp my way out of the office at 7PM last night. I went to TWO grocery stores searching for rotisserie chicken at 9PM after I ran errands and made it back to the Hill. That’s a lot of grocery stores.
As I whined like a 4 year old on the phone to my mother en route from Harris Teeter to Safeway, she asked when I’d eaten last. A tried and true way to start raising hell in my family– low blood sugar. We got sent to our rooms when we were being shits as kids just so they could trick us into eating. We’d open our bedroom door, eat the banana at our feet and then waltz back downstairs the most charming kids on earth.
But otherwise, I bring to you very much delayed 10 on Thursday — The Big Southern Wedding Edition. Because if you remember, the frat boys and I drove to Frankfort, Kentucky this past weekend for Former Roommate C’s wedding. And Former Roommate C and his wife wouldn’t dream of throwing anything less then the best damn southern wedding a Yankee from Minnesota has ever seen.
10 on Thursday
1. It’s about an 9 drive from DC to Frankfort, most of which spent in the lovely state of West Virgina. Ever seen a hill billy toothbrush (nails on a piece of wood) or a hill billy attitude adjuster (wood hammer)? I now have.
2. I had my very first horse race experience at Keeneland the day before the wedding. I had to take an unofficial Facebook poll as to what is appropriate to wear to such an event, as the poll around my office gave me answers I wasn’t interested in– hats and pastels. I look stupid in hats and refused to wear high heels tailgating, so settled on cowboy boots and an orange sundress*.
3. Tailgating started at 11AM. Drinking started at 11:01AM. A couple vodkas and sprites and I was a little bit drunk before we’d even made it into the race track. Which meant I was 100% ready for a hot dog.
4. My friend Brad got the race booklet and started to explain betting to me. Math is hard for me on a good day, but betting and odds and stupid horse names that are supposed to sound cute just confused the hell out of me. My solution was to hand Brad all my cash ($3) and see what happened. We kept winning, so we kept betting. I think he still owes me money actually.
5. It was a couple hours later I realized that I didn’t see a single person I was staying with. There was a crew staying in Lexington that night and a crew staying in Frankfort that night. I was staying with the Frankfort crew and drinking beers with the Lexington crew. It was at that moment that I realized every single one of those bitches left me.
6. Now while being left at a racetrack is not great, it did bring me a particular level of fame over the weekend. The southern mothers kept coming up to me later that night at the hotel bar and saying– Oh, you’re that girl that they left at the racetrack!– in their delightful southern drawl. I was famous by the end of the weekend– because who gets left at the racetrack by their roommates? And I’m a Democrat!
7. By the time I got back to the hotel (have you ever taken a $70 cab ride?!) Roommate A had gone to the rehearsal dinner and Roommate B had fallen asleep. At this point, I was a little bit sunburned, a little bit drunk and really had to pee.
I realized when I got to the room that I’d lost my hotel key, so I went back to the front desk and got a key, went back to the room and Roommate B had LOCKED THE LATCH. So I kicked it a couple times and went in search of first, a bathroom and secondly, someone else that I knew in the hotel. They were all asleep too.
So I returned to my hotel room, sat outside the door and started calling Roommate B over and over again. He woke up on my 15th straight call, opened the door to the hotel room and said, “Oh, hi. What are you doing here?” We sat in our respective beds for a full hour alternating between yelling at each other (mostly joking) then went out for pizza. Best friends for LYF.
8. Former Roommate C’s mom gave him a Barack Obama commemorative plate and a bucket full of change one year for Christmas at a joke. So I bought him a Barack Obama card and $50 in one dollar bills. I thought I was hilarious. The southern mothers agreed. Until they realized I voted for him.
9. First rule of road tripping with boys: keep yourself actively dehydrated. Because you can drink as much water as you want, darlin’, but that doesn’t mean they’re going to stop because you have to pee.
10. I recognize that this is just a whole bunch of shit, but I’m a bit rusty. The moral of my stories is this– Congrats to Former Roommate C and his new bride! The wedding was beautiful, the weekend wonderful and the bourbon a-flowin’.
The second– if you can spend from 2PM on Thursday until 9PM on Sunday with two boys– eating together, driving 19 hours together, sleeping in the same room together and still like them a whole hell of a lot upon your return home, you should never move. Boys, we shall live in the frat house forever and ever. Get comfortable.
And in honor of the last dance at the wedding, the song of the week:
*A color that looks shockingly nice on me given my hair color.