Moonshine & Wanderlust

I got a phone call last week and I always know it’s going to be something interesting when this is the question that is asked:

“What are you doing this weekend?”

Well, I could be doing lots of things. Like cleaning the house or seasoning cast iron. I can always be doing something. So, in addition to everything else I’ve been doing this year I am really trying to say YES more to life. This is a new season for me so if I truly don’t have concrete plans… let’s go do something!

“Ummm… Nothing? Why?”

“How would you like to go to the Kentucky Derby?”

WHAT. Heck yeah!!!

I need to clarify this (saying yes) for anyone else like me who can have the tendency to be door matted by other people. There is a difference to saying yes to coming and sitting with your drunk ex-boyfriend at 4am and saying yes to a fun and exciting opportunity. Not that that’s to say you shouldn’t help people but those of us who often have had a difficult time saying no because we felt bad need to know the difference between the doormat “yes” and the “yes” that is good for us or truly helpful. Sometimes you just gotta let the past stay in the past and stop trying to fix everything (or everyone).

I learned this lesson in a very hard way but it is just like a switch was flipped inside of me. I have no issue with saying no or being brutally upfront with people who try to take advantage of me. Especially when other people are involved. It’s been AWESOME. And, in that same regard I have learned to say YES to all kinds of wonderful things and really jumped off the deep end into a rich life. Several people have asked me what I’ve been doing, etc. Um… just living life and saying yes and having fun. And, changing what I can change and leaving the rest to kick up the dust and settle behind me. That’s pretty much it. I don’t worry as much as I used to. There are days that seem incredibly difficult, but as I told someone recently… I let ONE TEAR shed and then I get the heck over it.

I can’t think of anything I’m really scared of doing (okay besides skydiving maybe) – I want to chase life and have fun and do as much as I can. I’ll always be sensible and I’ll always want to save my money and I’ll always be an INTJ but I’ve trimmed the fat (no pun intended) and changed my ways for the better.

Okay back to the Derby story… So I agreed to come to Kentucky and Derby it up. This is one of those long stories so I’m going to break it up… Read on!

Getting There

“Lets just dress casual.”

“Sure. Jeans and a tank top!” <– me

Who was I kidding? This is the KENTUCKY DERBY. I knew I already had the shoes and hat I just needed the right dress. I knew I’d know it when I saw it. And, I did.

Friday afternoon I left work early to head up on a 5 hour solo ride. Riding alone isn’t horrible – I actually enjoy blasting the music and just being alone with my thoughts. It’s a good time to think about blog topics 🙂

About 2 hours into my ride I receive several picture messages of what is to be our suite. Not a room, a suite! I’ve never stayed in a suite in my life and all I can think about is what the bathroom looks like. I’m a sucker for a nice bathroom. The bigger the tub, the happier I am. Put me in a one bedroom house and give me a big bathroom and a space for my shoes and we will be good.

It was about this time I was chased around on the interstate by a car full of guys. I’m a beast at ignoring other cars but they just wouldn’t relent at staying right next to my window until I looked over at them. Not sure what a cell phone to the window means – I’m assuming they wanted my phone number but I’ll never know. Hey, at least they didn’t have a sign held up that says “You’re a 10. BOOBS?” True story. #noboobsforyou

The resort, Belterra, was right out of Kentucky in Indiana – it was in the middle of nowhere. We’re talking train tracks and broken down general stores nowhere. But, then there it was… HUMONGOUS. With this glittering lit up sign that said “Belterra” – it’s part casino and they actually have a lot of events and big name artists come for concerts.

                

So after lusting after the bathroom what do you do when you’ve never stayed in a suite and you’re really super excited? Jump on the bed, of course.

Derby Day… the beginning

So a few people have heard how we got into the Derby. I’m not going to share the whole story on M&W so I will just say the day started in white polos and khaki pants… and wound up like this…

 

Anyone who remotely knows anything about me knows I love high heels. So, of course if I’m going to the Kentucky Derby I’m bringing a pair of my favorites, right? I guess in certain circumstances it’s wise to do a little research. I may want to be surprised about the nitty gritty of mudding but I probably should have read a little bit about what to do/not do at the Derby.

Like… DO NOT WEAR STILETTOS. Or, if you do bring a pair of flip flops. Or, be prepared to go barefoot (I don’t recommend this – you’ll see why later in the story). I knew I had made a huge mistake when I watched all of these classy, sophisticated women dressed to the nines and they had on flats. Unless you’re one of the elite sitting in a box or in the stands… do yourself a favor and bring backup.

Lesson #1: Wear comfortable shoes or at least bring a second pair to change into later.

The big race isn’t until almost 6:30pm but there are many races throughout the day starting around 10:30am. Since we were there at 8am we had a chance to walk around, visit the gift shop, take in the sights, take pictures, etc. before the crowd started to arrive.

One of my favorite parts of the day was going to the paddock and watching the ponies being brought around to be seen before going out into the gates. They are so beautiful!

                                                      

After watching the horses parade around and head out into the gate area, the bugle call – “The Call to Post” – sounds and it is time to go place your bet! I picked this feisty chestnut colored horse because I liked his spunk. He looked like he was ready to win.

Since we were still in The Plaza area, we stood and watched the first races on the big screens. I’m not a big “hoot and holler” type gal, but man something just comes over you in these types of moments! There was some definite heel hopping and cheers and “come ons!” coming from me.

There are several types of bets you can place. If you’re curious, you can read about them here. I stuck to “Win, Place, Show” types of bets. I spent a grand total of $5 on my first one and ended up winning $15 from my spunky little redhead!

After a little while, we headed back down into the Infield. Oh, the infield! So… all day when people asked where we would be watching the race and we said, “The Infield!” we either got a laugh, a good luck, or “Get ready to meet 70,000 of your newest friends.” I think this was kind of like the shoe thing… we should have been a little more prepared. I’ll explain more later. At this point in the day it was probably around 1pm so things weren’t too crazy. We roamed around, watches more races, found some food, and then tried to find a place to sit.

Lesson #2: Bring a chair.

If you’re a normal person, you’re going to be in the Infield. There is no seating. Churchill Downs allows you to bring chairs, etc. so definitely pack up some chairs and make a day out of it. That brings me to…

Lesson #3: Bring your own food.

You can always bring your own food as long as it is in a clear container. This is especially a blessing if giant turkey legs and $10 BBQ sandwiches the size of a Happy Meal burger are not your idea of a good meal. Nothing wrong with a little track food, but just know the option exists to bring in outside food.

Since we did not know about the whole seating thing we found some cardboard boxes to sit on. Listen, I may have been dressed up but I have no qualms about sitting on the ground.

After sitting out in the blistering heat for about an hour and a half we needed to find some shade or somewhere else to sit… so we left the Infield and mosied back into The Plaza area. And, this is where things get interesting, my friends.

By now, Churchill Downs was getting pretty crowded. Luckily for us, we found an abandoned golf cart in the shade. We weren’t the only people who had this idea so four of us sat on the golf cart and participated in my favorite pastime… people watching.

I Ain’t Your Filly

As the two and a half hours we sat on the golf cart floated by there was a distinct decline in the sobriety of my fellow Derby patrons. So distinct you would find yourself watching a rather nicely dressed middle aged woman sitting on the ground next to you, surrounded by a puddle of liquid crashed out of a broken mint julep glass, screaming the F word over and over and over and over and over again.

The afternoon wore on and more and more college kids were coming in and as they came in, the dress hems came up. They came up so high I saw more bare butt cheeks than a quick flip through Instagram.

Of course, sitting in a golf cart for hours on end and being one of the only stone cold sober people around, you get to meet lots of interesting folks. There was a point I had my shoes off and in my lap and this lovely little old man staggered over to me and proceeded to pick a shoe out of my lap and molest it. We’re talking rubbing it, stroking it… Never mind I tried to grab the shoe back from him his drunk death grip was pretty intent on giving my shoe some one on one time. I. Was. Pissed. I have a few simple rules for strangers:

1. Do not touch me.

2. Do not touch my shoes.

He finally gave my shoe back and walks off, only to come back and poke me in the arm and say:

“I’ll see you later.”

Yep. I will see you flattened out on the ground by the gates while I hobble out of this Armageddon. Trust me, IT GETS WORSE. I know all of my girlfriends were having grandiose dreams of men in seersucker suits and looking very southern and dapper and actually being gentlemen but those guys are taken, ladies! Those guys aren’t coming to the Derby to pick up ladies. The ones coming to pick up the ladies are the ones that grab your shoe and try to touch your ass. Hate to break it to ya.

The End Times

Around 6pm, my aunt and I decided to split up to divide and conquer. AKA: I needed to go find a place to charge my phone and she needed to go find some of our belongings we had left with someone. You have to remember… almost three hours have gone by since we were last in The Infield. The big race was about to start, people were placing their bets, etc.

To get to The Infield from where we had been (The Plaza), you have to go under a tunnel. If you’re curious to the layout, go here. She’s gone, I’m standing in a corner behind some ATMS charging my phone… and then I go to find her. We had decided to meet beside a spot we both had been at earlier in the day. I start walking under the tunnel and come out on The Infield and it was like the end times. Or, what I would imagine the end times to be… full of eaten, giant turkey bones everywhere and beer cans and broken glass and screaming sorority girls.

Trivia Time! What’s worse?: Screaming, drunk sorority girls or drunk men?

Answer: Sorority girls. I know how to handle a drunk man – I see screaming sorority girls and I want my mother.

So I began my navigation of beer cans being tossed at my legs, trying to dodge huge turkey bones, dodging groping arms… all while trying to hold on to my hat and not step on broken glass. Rabies, anyone?

I’ve likened this whole escapade to a scene from Gone With the Wind. If you’ve never seen it, keep reading, but if you have… remember the scene where Scarlett is running down the streets of Atlanta while bombs are going off and people are grabbing at her? That’s how I felt. Except there were no bombs and no Rhett Butler to come rescue me.

I finally found my aunt and we proceeded to the fence to watch the last race. But, not until after we were stopped by a group that had another lovely man in it that puts his hands out to my face and proceeds to exclaim to the whole group:

Man (not Rhett Butler): “You have the most perfect lips!”

Me:

What do you even say to that? Of course I said, “Oh, thank you” and laughed. Not the first time I’ve heard that however not from a total stranger who was pretty inebriated at this point. Be gracious and continue. So, we are talking to these people and he comes back and puts his hands out towards me again and says:

“Seriously. Oh my God. Your mouth is perfect!” and then he grabs my arms.

Come on, man! You should have just stopped at the pretty lips.

So I did this little maneuver I like to call the shrug and back away. Which I think kind of pissed him off, but what else do you expect? Again with the touching. Not on a date. Not dating. I’m not even flirting with you. For the love of God, keep your hands to yourself.

The race ended and I won about $13 (big spender!) which meant we got to wait in an hour line with a bunch of cranky, hot people who had more important things to do… oh, like collect $150,000!!!!!! What is life.

We finally made it out of Churchill Downs in one piece…

And, as we walked down to the car lots and saw half naked frat boys waving their shirts and thrusting their hips atop RVs, inflatable pools filled with mysterious liquid and beer bottles, and more trash than garbage day in New York City… I was more than ready to come back to my sleepy little town and put my hat away.

until next year?… xoxo, patty lauren