A few friends and I spent New Years Eve of 2012 at the great house where we had the infamous Kentucky Derby Party of 2009 which yielded this recipe. Okay, it isn't even remotely infamous outside of our little circle and the events of that trip were never even cataloged in writing, so far at least. But it should be. It could probably be a movie, actually.
The 2009 trip was intended to be a small fête including a group of 8 fun-seekers looking forward to a nice afternoon, evening and next day brunch filled with traditional Kentucky fare, hosted by two women from Kentucky and a brilliant drink mixologist, in a home that doesn't belong to us. It evolved to includes some added fabulous characters, invited at the last minute because the food was ample and they were nearby. Writers, Artists, Builders, Bankers and other fascinating and fun people, hardly a pretentious one in the bunch.
It was all just too much for my ostensibly straight boyfriend of the moment, who proclaimed at one point, "They are talking about mortgages down there," gesturing to the bank of the river where a fire was encircled by several people deep in conversation. "I live in my parents' basement! I don't even understand what they are saying. I'm just going to get drunk and have fun, if that's okay with you." Who could tell him no? After all, he was, at least according to his own assessment which he shared with me later, very good looking, and very good in bed.
The fun that weekend began in earnest when two of the single gay men at the party, along with the rest of us, became convinced that not only did he most certainly share their proclivities, he was hitting on both of them almost simultanesously. There's much more to the story, but that really isn't the intended topic of this post. Suffice it to say, our relationship didn't last a fortnight after that.
This latest trip to that same wonderful house was so incredibly entertaining and filled with silliness that we found ourselves talking extensively about the events of the weekend before said weekend had even concluded. That will be soon documented, but I've worn myself and any accidental readers of this blog out already, to be sure so let me just share one bit of the great fun.
One of our friends, Andy, doesn't dance. Actually, he claims he only dances to 4 songs. The actual songs are vague and I now suspect he tells each of us that asks different titles because it seems that when one of those songs is played, he simply cannot help himself. He recently added a new song and a few of us got to see the delightful dancing; it was his imitation of Mark Foster, of Foster the People performing "Pumped up Kicks" on SNL.
The only problem is that M, who always knows when to go home had missed this performance because she also knows when to stay home and hadn't joined us on our recent ill-fated trip to Charlotte NC, where the only really good thing to happen (besides my side trip to see family) was that Andy danced. And it was such a great delight that I'd been bothered since then that she missed it.
So when M, who also always knows when to go to bed, retired for the evening I told her I was going to text and wake her up if Andy started dancing. We've been friends nearly 5 years and the phenomenon had only occurred once in my presence so when she said "Well if he starts, you may as well bring him up to my room so I can see it, because I'm not getting up," I took it as more of a reflection on the improbability of a repeat performance than a lack of interest.
But happen it did and I had a great deal of concern about how I could get her downstairs in time to see the elusive dancing, for fear that any sudden moves on my part would scare it away. So, I told our foursome that M had requested we bring the dancing upstairs, to the master bedroom, where she was sleeping and wake her up. And to my great surprise they agreed, and followed me, all the while mildly protesting: "Are you sure she said we should do this?" to which I replied, "Come on you all, I'm more scared than you are!" (A really strange thing to say because although M is "stable, but not boring", she most certainly isn't scary. I attributed the comment later to the oddly delightful mixture of bourbon and champagne that I was drinking, along with my great concern that these 3 gentlemen were going to realize exactly what we were doing and turn tale to head back downstairs before we pulled it off.)
We tiptoed, as M later described, like "loud little mousies" into the room, Davis carrying the sound system and setting it up. It was hard to tell from her lack of movement, but she was already wide awake and in great anticipation and wonder of what bizarre thing her friends were planning. So we turned on the music and danced, each in our own way - Andy doing his awesome Foster impression, J doing his classically trained swooping about, Davis and I doing some kind of attempt at backup dancing, probably sharing an invisible microphone. All while M laid in the bed in a room as large as 4 in most houses, surrounded by antiques, framed ephemera and objets d'art and giggled so hard she was shook. She also got video of the whole thing.
That's just one brief memory from NYE 2012, but it is my favorite. Much as I might consider other ways my life could be unfolding today, I would not trade a moment of the time spent with these delightful people. Their friendship makes all the hard times in life worthwhile.
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