Saluting Ebullitions

God says, "smashy smashy!"

And by “ebullitions” I mean “bottles of wine.” 

Saturday was Bumblefuck’s local yearly wine fest downtown, an event not to be missed, since it’s about as close to anything cultural that goes on in this town.  Also, for a county that only last year finally voted to allow mixed drinks to be served IN BARS, it’s pretty shocking that they open up all of 4th street downtown to let the drunks roll up on multiple wine vendors.  For $20, you can have all the wine you might desire.  In 1/4 C. pours. 

Because I spend an inordinate time at my local grocery store, I was delighted to meet up with the Teet’s wine consultant while at said festival.  He was kind enough to show myself and my pals around, getting us secret sips of the good shit, and so on.  We all had lunch together, and by “lunch” I mean, “basket of fried things for $5.”  I was with two of my friends who had not previously met one another, which is always fun for someone like me, because then they end up spending quality time exchanging stories about my general idiocy.  Though, when I pointed this out, Friend A said, “You’re like Paul Bunyan.  Every time you go out, it becomes the stuff of legends.” 

Highlights of the day include (in no particular order): Me haggling down a vendor and then screaming elitist slurs about it as I ran from a hail storm (clearly God’s wrath upon the festival); Standing in Friend B’s rooftop pool and daring God to fuck with me… IN A LIGHTENING STORM; Drinking copious amounts of a blueberry wine that was to die for; Finding and breaking a housewarming present that I gave poor Friend B; Making an elaborate supper to make up for this list of transgressions using every item of perishable food in the house; Wearing Friend B’s roommate’s boxer shorts and telling him he was “the gay Faulknerian” of our graduating class; Offering sage romantic advice that amounted to, “Fuck that noise!”; Deriding the cabbie on the way home for having a cute Asian escort next to him and querying how on earth he picked up any chicks, given his occupation. 

But, stuff of legends aside, a good time was had by all.  Really, a wine festival in a small southern town is not going to turn out badly.  There is only fun to be had. 

Well, I am off to Orlando until Monday night, as I’m hosting a baby shower for Kimmy (of Fetus Fame… oh the irony).  I will back then with news of how I managed to likely ruin a young mother’s single chance of being sensibly showered with rattles and pee pads, or whatever the hell they give expectant mothers these days.