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Horses stampede, but not for me…

September 1st, 2009 Leave a comment Go to comments

Well the weekend has come and gone yet again. On Friday I went to a show at Joe’s Pub with some friends and on Saturday loaded up the car with the dog and the Alex and sundry snacks and bolted out to the Hamptons. The weather was better than expected which was awesome! I contracted some sort of stomach bug though which was not awesome. So Monday was spent moaning and groaning to anyone who would feel pity for me (and maybe walk to the kitchen to get me snacks) and watching tennis. Hence the ever-so-slightly delayed posting of Monday’s musings. Apologies.

It was the Hampton classic this weekend and in many ways it was vastly different from the Kentucky Derby I went to in 2001. But in one way it was precisely the same: I didn’t really see any horses. This year they were requiring tickets to get to the grandstands (where the little people not connected enough to get a bracelet to be admitted to the tents sit). Well, those tickets were sold out. So I apparently am a member of the newest class of Classic attendee: those unworthy of even glimpsing the action. The solution, of course, was to sweep my Vuitton-clad buddy Steven into the “public bar” tent and drink. Because I am good at math, ‘n shit, I quickly realized the $39 bottle of white wine was a crappy deal against the $7 glasses of that very same white. So when Steven and I ordered 4 glasses of white and the bartender nearly drained a just-cracked bottle into said 4 glasses, I did a little victory dance before handing over my trusty Amex. Only in the Hamptons does one feel such splendid satisfaction for spending $7 per glass (plastic cup) of wine that, in all likelihood, sells for $6 a bottle in liquor stores.

After the wine, plus several vodkas, had been consumed, we made our way to Two Mile Hollow to join those gays intrepid enough to venture out despite the aftermath of Tropical Swish Dannie. The tide was high, really high, so when we ran into mutual friends on the beach we gathered near that sea grass stuff (don’t step on it – you’ll get a one million dollar fine!) and discussed how the weather was “really not that bad” as we huddled together for warmth. Mattie and Alex showed up and Jasper attempted to make friends with a dog who subsequently bit Mattie. As my bout of stomach upset was beginning to rear its ugly hyrda-esque ┬áhead, we decided to use that horrid bitch of a dog’s chomp as an excuse to make haste off the beach and eat a light dinner. One enormous pile of nachos and a pizza laden with artichokes and black olives later, a stop at the Carvel on 27 was all I needed to ensure a day of total and complete misery on ┬áMonday. Je ne regrette rien. That chocolate shake rocked.

So today was spent suffering. But the tennis was rather good (Venus: will her knee hold up?) and tomorrow morning will hopefully bring an end to my stomach’s little rebellion. Think good thoughts, dear readers.



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