I won’t lie, I hemmed and hawed about sharing this experience with the interwebs. But in the interests of
staying humble self humiliation sharing, its a story worth telling. Especially since you’ve already seen me do this…
what’s wrong with a little more personal shame on this blog?
Some backstory- earlier in the day my friend A (whose “therapy person”/groom/cheerleader I was) wrapped up competing at the AECs. After a big breakfast neither one of us were hungry, so we grabbed some champagne, pimento cheese, and crackers and nibbled away while
hollering at watching the Advanced cross country riders. First mistake of the day- being hella tired and having a few crackers chased with champagne for lunch.
So when we got to the competitors’ party that evening (after stalking every horse trailer leaving that day and begging for their arm band- those things came $50 a pop!), we were somewhat famished. Cue piling everything from the buffet onto my plate, and what else? A glass of wine to wash it down. The first drink was free, and I knew I only had so much cash, when the cash ran out, the booze would stop, and that was my safe guard.
At first this was a great idea. We stopped by the charity tent and attempted to bully Bobby Costello into making us a drink as celebrity bartender. We left the booth one margarita, a Bobby lesson in the books, and one total fangirl moment with Allison Springer to the wiser.
A couple drinks on the roof, admiring the view and watching the entertainment, and we headed to find my friend B, would what do you know, was chatting with her friend, who happens to be Buck Davidson’s wife. We made ourselves comfortable, and A went on to remind Buck of his antics when they were both teenagers on the eventing circuit.
Moving along, I ran into the Paynes, and just had to celebrate Doug’s (many) clear rounds that day. Because anyone who can ride 41,232,017 horses at the AECs and still stand on their feet deserves a drink. And since nobody should drink alone, I joined him in that drink.
From there, things started to unwind. Doug introduced me to the Devoucoux guy (name unknown?), and Mark Bellissimo, and from there we met the band, and Mark’s son, and toodled over to a different bar.
Here’s where it gets a little fuzzy for me. I remember being obsessed with one band member’s hair. I remember
bitching about my saddle woes talking with the Devoucoux guy. I remember telling my friends those were sleepy eyes, not drunk eyes.
I remember taking selfies, and making friends. I remember talking to Clayton Fredericks and perhaps making things a little awkward between him and his lady friend.
The entertaining part of this story, though, is probably more of what I don’t remember from the evening (and boy, were my friends happy to fill me in):
- Telling Lynn Symansky repeatedly that I didn’t realize she was Lynn Symansky
- …followed by telling Lynn’s husband that I liked his shirt, and oh I wasn’t flirting with him because I’m married too.
- Taking a selfie with Lauren Kiefer
- Discussing a hypothetical handlebar mustache on Doug with Jess Payne
- Passing the eff out in the car on the way home, then suddenly waking up and yelling “1884!” (The dressage saddle model I’ve been considering)
So there you go. One magical night at the AEC Competitor’s party. A night to remember, and a night to forget.