Most of my weekends are pretty lazy. Sleep in, lay around in my robe half the day. Maybe do a project or two around the house. Not this weekend.
Friday, we had a small dinner party. (Five of us total). I made beef torsh (beef marinated in pomegranite and onion juice with walnuts ground to a dust) and a nice salad (my own homemade shallot vinaigrette over greens, goat cheese, and pancetta. Yum!) and Darling whipped up an amaretto cake and cherries jubilee. Oh, and the wine. Let’s not forget the wine. Four bottles. That’s an entire bottle each for those of us who were drinking wine. Saturday morning started with a headache. Yes it did.
Once a month, we get together with about six or seven other couples for a game night. We usually play Bunco and Left-Right-Center. More wine was consumed, but not by me. My liver needed a rest. I parlayed my sobriety into winning the pot in Left-Right-Center.
The weather all weekend was phenomenal. Mid-seventies and sunny. Also known as, the perfect temperature. Hotter than that is uncomfortable, cooler is no fun either. I want to live somewhere that is 70 degrees year round. On Sunday, I took the convertible out for some furniture consignment shopping. As usual, did not find a thing, but was very tempted by a huge painting that was marked down to only $300. Luckily, it would not fit in the car, or I may have bought it.
Sunday night, we went to the local Junior Leagues annual Oscar party. It’s a huge fundraiser with tons of food and booze, live and silent auctions, and people dressed in…well, I guess it’s their finest, but that thought makes me weep for a few of the people I saw. Worst dressed at this party had to go to a woman who was wrapped in some sort of silk thing that looked like she had pinned her drapes around herself. Poor thing could barely walk. Runner up was a gal in floor to chin pink ruffles who looked like she had stolen Sue Ellen’s prom dress from the set of Dallas.
Not five minutes after arriving, we were standing close to one of the food stations, me with a full chocolatini in hand, when one of the waiters ran into me. My drink went flying. All down my side, and completely all over this poor woman in a tan sleeveless number. All over her top, all down her arm, all inside her outfit. She probably had to go home and change, and if not, at least spent the rest of the night gooey. So embarassing.
There was a photo booth, complete with props. Four or five drinks into the evening, that was a blast. Witness:
Then came the live auction. They auction off wonderful vacations, commissioned portraits, fine jewelry. And, this year, a dog. Yes, a dog. Valued, supposedly, at $1200 the cute little guy was a cocka-labra-doodle. In other words, a mutt. Since when is a mutt worth $1200? My opinion is that the excitement of an auction often leads people to pay more for an item than they might normally. Such was the case when one of my friends raised her plackard when bidding for the mutt hit $1000. Luckily, she did not win it.
And, P.S., despite drinking several times over the weekend, an action that might normally result in my chain smoking, I am now nine days smoke-free.