I Lovett!

Following fourth of July weekend (please recall the poo story and the fact that I drank 60 beers over the course of 4 days) you'd think I'd return to work on Wednesday with a mission to relax, hydrate and look into rehab facilities in which to hunker down for the weekend. And if it had been a normal weekend on the horizon, I might have. But it wasn't. You see, Saturday night meant one much-anticipated, awesome thing:

Lyle Lovett at the Chateau St. Michelle winery!

I know you're expecting a joke, but the truth is that I've been a Lovett fan since long before the Julia Roberts wedding fiasco, and I was really looking forward to it.

So I did some conditioning Friday night. You know, light lifting, a drink with a couple friends, and before I knew it, it was Saturday. And I was beside myself with joy.

Part I: Lyle Lovin'ett!

I kicked off the day by going with L to purchase an 8-foot kiddie pool, which I proceeded to blow up almost single-handedly. We then filled it with ice-cold pool water and layed in it in our bikinis all afternoon in the blistering 80-degree Seattle weather.

By 3 p.m., tanned and showered, I was ready to start the evening. My Lovett partner in crime picked me up and off we went to the winery - a beautiful outdoor venue with, you guessed it, LOTS of my two favorite things: wine and food. OK, three favorite things: wine, food, and Lyle Lovett.

We bought a bottle of vino, some fruit and cheese, and settled into our 9th row seats. Now I don't know if you're familiar with Lyle and his fan base, but I learned some very interesting things at this concert, besides the fact that he's one of the best live performers I've ever seen and his huge band kicks ass:

1. Men at a Lyle concert are very likely to be with a woman who is significantly better looking than them. I've never seen such an incredibly high number of "eh" men to "wow" women before. Staggering. And something to think about, guys. Maybe pick up a CD sometime, huh?

2. Booze + proximity to Lyle + voyeurism = pure entertainment in the form of interpretive dance. When Lyle plays at a winery (booze) and the dance floor is at the front of the seating area close to Lyle (proximity) and directly in front of thousands of people (voyeuristic), women will dance. You cannot STOP a woman from dancing in this situation. And as most Lyle fans at this particular concert were white and middle aged and seemingly very aroused (??) by Lyle and/or his music, this translated into lots of really awful, drunk dancing by overweight women who seemed to be imitating strippers, sometimes actually grinding on the courtesy ropes and poles that sectioned off the dance floor. I actually captured this on my phone and may well post it here if I can figure out how to. Priceless stuff.

3. Red wine goes down very well at an outdoor summer concert. We finished bottles one and two without blinking.

By the time we left, we were understandably tipsy (read: sloppy drunk). But we still had a second item on the night's agenda -- a very important item and one I felt very passionate about not missing -- a "welcome back to the social scene, Liz" karaoke party at the Horseshoe Tavern.

For those of you unfamiliar with me, I'll clarify: karaoke (watching it, singing it, whatever) makes the world go 'round. I understand it can be tacky and classless and showy. Normally those things would bother me, but karaoke is the exception to the rule. With the right people, it's the absolute most fun you can have when not snorting cocaine off the chisled bodies of rock stars or purchasing your third multi-million dollar estate.

By the time I got to the Horseshoe (in a cab, thankyouverymuch), I was done. D-O-N-E. I waltzed into the place wearing my sunglasses like a moron (it was dark) to much ado. After obligatory air kisses, bear hugs and beer ordering, I proceeded to totally fall apart, insisting all my friends dance with me (swing, I guess), swapping my sunglasses for corrective glasses for bifocals for a trucker hat for a cowboy hat and back to sunglasses - though not mine, pinching the nipples of a particularly large male friend of mine (he wasn't a big fan of that) - repeatedly - and generally causing ruckus.

By the time I left the place, air kisses turned to poorly aimed half-cheek-half-lip kisses and dancing looked more like some sort of pirate peg-leg swagger. But we were happy. And I was so relieved to be back on the map after a 3-4 week social hiatus driven by my weird work schedule and exhaustion.

I got a ride home, of course, and passed out.

Part II: Sunday

Woke up with a remarkably mild hangover, presumably because alcohol has been coursing through my veins pretty consistently for the last two weeks straight, so I'd begun adapting.

Decided it sounded like a good idea to do breakfast. Which I did, with a friend, and a bloody mary.

Walked around a bit, discovered the World Cup final was on, and pushed into an Irish pub, where I drank a Guinness (why?) and watched Italy win (yay!).

Working on drink three, now, my friend and I determined it was time for lunch. Where else but the Red Hook Brewery? That's right, folks. Nachos and another beer. And then, the tour! $1 for a brewery tour, history lesson, and 6 5 oz. samples of beer. Delightful.

After the tour, we went back down to the brewery pub, where we split a Stout Float (If you haven't tried one, you must. Red Hook's Stout beer (on nitro!) in a big glass with a scoop of vanilla bean or coffee ice cream. Heaven in a cup.)

So yeah, that was the day of the Lord for me. After the float, it was nearly 8 p.m. We closed out the brewery, took a walk around the grounds, and I headed home. If you're my Myspace friend (please don't lecture me), my current profile picture is of me at the brewery that afternoon. See how happy I am? I know, I know. Just makes your heart warm.

A long, beautiful weekend.

And this weekend, guess where I'll be? Back at the cabin, for pant-pooping-pong-playing-pricelessness, round II. Ding!

(I love the summer.)