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2006-11-04 - 6:30 p.m.

Mayo, Malls and Decking the Halls

I realized this afternoon that I never told you guys that I once went on a date with George Clooney. How could I have forgotten to mention such a thing?

Could it be because it never happened and I was merely dreaming? Yep, that's probably why.

Fabulous dream, by the way. Mew to the MEOW POWER.

I could've been at the Breeders' Cup Championships today at Churchill Downs (clubhouse ticket by the finish line worth $125), but the thought of being in a crowd of 80,000 people for 6 hours didn't appeal to me.

Not to mention driving all the way there, trying to find a parking space (folks who live in the surrounding neighborhood rent out their front lawns at $20 a pop to cash in on the overflow), then sitting in traffic for an hour at sunset before getting on the Expressway back towards Lexington. Plus I'd have to dress up. And stand in numerous long lines for betting, beverages, and bathrooms.

Sure I wanted to see the BEST of the BEST horses in the WORLD run, but what a pain in the ass. I knew I'd be miserable all day, so after lunch I told the farm manager thanks so much again for the offer, but I'd just cozy up and watch it on TV. (I have no idea where he got the extra ticket from yesterday morning -- probably a friend or client, and I told him I'm sure someone else would love the chance to go). Someone who doesn't dwell on shit like parking and traffic, I'm sure.

I hate that I'm like this about "going out" and "doing things" but I know me.

Case in point:

Last year I went to Keeneland (down the road) to watch the Breeders' Cup (at Belmont Park) on simulcast. A group of the folks from the farm were given corporate sky box tickets. Swanky. VIP parking, catered food, soft drinks, our own auto betting machine, two mutuel clerks down the hallway. No lines. No crowds. No smoking. Fuck! I figured there would be a balcony up there on the 4th floor (at least for the pipe and cigar smokers) but no.

I had to go down the long hallway in high heels (click clack, click clack) to the elevators to get a beer and have a smoke on the ground floor.

My feet were killing me and my dress was stifling and uncomfortable.

I just wanted to be a normal joe. Sit down on a bench in my sweats and T-shirt with my race program and pen, scritch out some possible bets, partake in the festivities, catch a buzz, and hopefully win a few bucks.

Instead I wound up leaning against a pillar, unable to glance at my program due to ciggy in one hand and beery in the other, shifting my weight from foot to foot, and chatting with a woman who looked so damn comfortable in her sweats and t-shirt.

"Well," I said to her as I put out my cigarette under my shoe, "good luck. I've gotta head back upstairs and be froo-froo for awhile."

By the time I returned, everyone with a ticket for our box had finally shown up (right as the food was served...interesting) and I was suddenly out a place to sit at the table. 15 people squished into a long, skinny sky box is like having Thanksgiving dinner in a trailer. Once people got their food, there was no room between the serving table and the dining table to double-back to their seats. You had to wait for an opening to pass, or several people had to move to let you by.

I wound up sitting in one of the six seats facing the front window, balancing my plate of food on my dress. Makes it hard to use a knife and fork on rib roast. Especially when trying to watch a race on TV.

Once people were done eating, they scattered about to visit various locations at the track. By that time, I'd been there for nearly 3 hours. I'd had enough. The next time I go down for a smoke, I'm gonna keep walking to my car. I stayed a few minutes more to chat with work folks, then politely excused myself.

Click clack, click clack down the long hallway. The older lady who opened doors for the swanky folks said "Going for another smoke?" (Oh geez, she KNOWS me now!)

I smiled and replied "Yes, but then I'm headed home."

"Already?"

"Yeah, I'm beat. Gonna cozy up at home."

"Oh, I hear ya. Sounds good. Enjoy!"

"Thanks! Have a good day!"

Click clack, click clack.

Elevator to freedom. Navigated around the crowds to the exit. Click clack. Feet hurt. Click clack. So much. Click clack. I can't wait to get home. Click clack. And take this goddamn dress off. Soon enough I was past the exit gate and it was a blessedly short trip to the VIP parking lot. No traffic on the way out since I was leaving so early.

I was home in less than 10 minutes.

Slipped into my sweats and T, walked the dogs, cozied up in bed to watch the rest of the races, and vowed to seriously reconsider free froo-froo racing tickets again. (All that GUH, at a track that wasn't even HOSTING the event!)

It was very nice to be invited, don't get me wrong. But accepting is a whole other ballgame.

See, I have learned some lessons.

I turned down a fancy ticket for today, stayed comfy, and had a dream about George Clooney.

Plus, as it turns out, the two horses sired by our stallions, came in 3rd and 4th in their races, and the Classic race was won by a non-favorite (Invasor), so I didn't miss any big finishes that would make me look back and say "Damn, I should've been there."

But I still wish I was the type of person to have gone and enjoyed it, despite the pain in the ass stuff.

I think there are two types of people in America (besides Mayo vs. Miracle Whip):