Lucky in Kentucky

I just returned from a long weekend at the Kentucky Derby.

I got in at noon.  I slept on the couch until 3:30.  Did a few errands, washed some laundry, and made dinner.  By 9 I was legit passing out on the couch and needed Mr. G's assistance to get to bed I was so exhausted.

But let's start at the beginning...

Every preconceived notion you have of the derby, get rid of it.

Or at least, get rid of dreaming you will ever be able to afford it.

Yes, there are grand stands and box seats and celebrities and jewels.

But we could barely see them through the naked mud wrestling, the red necks, the costumes, and the frat house style shenanigans that go on where the mere commoners go to watch the derby.

That's right, the infield.

Of the nearly 140,000 people that come to the Derby, my guess is 120,000 cram into the infield.  It is set up similar to a tail gaiting event.  Tents and lawn chairs everywhere.  Booths galore selling juleps and cocktails and beer and food.  Some people like our fine selves dress up derby style.  Others wear costumes.  Others wear their undies.  Others wear jorts and not much else.   It is the second largest party in the US, beat only by Mardi Gras (barely).  Someone was murdered.  By the end of our 3 days, we were exhausted, had no voices, were covered in dirt and sweat, and our room looked like "The Hangover."  Except replace Caesar's Palace with Nasty Roach Motel.

Because this was not just the derby, but my dear friend Mary's bachelorette party, what happens at the Derby stays at the Derby.

So I will sum up in suitable-for-work images.

Warning: yes, we were the hottest bitches in the bluegrass state.

No, we didn't win any money.  No, we hardly slept.  No, we did not consume anything healthy.  No, we did not pay for a single drink for 2 days.  No, we did not make our parents proud.

Yes, we had the most epic weekend you could have ever imagined.

Still recovering,

Granny