Wednesday, April 11, 2007

Roxie's Westlake Fiesta

The cold and intermittent drizzle at the horse races were starkly contrasted by the pleasant weather in Westlake for Roxie's Birthday Fiesta. She was ready to Bash, which surprised no one.
I didn’t go into the enticing pool, but it was tempting after six drinks.
Uncle Bob, quite possibly the greatest man I’ve ever met in my life, led the battle front with peerless vigor. The legend previously told doesn’t amount to what my eyes saw first-hand, and to be in the presence of a living legend was an honor I cannot even begin to expound upon properly.
I’ve never met an Uncle Bob before, and never in my wildest dreams did I imagine one so legendary in scope, a person that dwarfs my accomplishments with a broad and rowdy stroke.
Having most of Roxie's family there to celebrate and encourage the ensuing debauchery made it all the more sweeter.
Uncle Bob forced me to drink tequila, but later it was whisky.
Bernadette Bender, who besides myself wears the crown of Roxie’s favored partner-in-crime, continued her determined quest to achieve the perfect buzz, a trait commonly found in the best of Bashers.
Bernadette is also BFF with Jill.
Jill came to Bash without her jewel encrusted goblet for once, a significant turn of events in my eyes, yet no less stunning.
She also showed how well she gets along with kids.
Another of Roxie's good friends, Elyse, is also great with kids, a self-empowered behemoth that’s worthy of bowing in front of.
I’ve heard great things about Elyse in passing many times, and she proved to be someone I could immediately call a friend.
She exuded the kind of charm rarely discovered, and a welcoming demeanor that was difficult to ignore. What a nice girl, seems like all of Roxie’s friends are.
Uncle Bob’s mastery of the Margarator was unrivaled, his firm grip on the Bash unequivocal.
I realized that as an essential tool of the trade, it gets the job done.
After arriving home late at night, I put in an order for one of my own, a truly drunken impulse buy. According to Uncle Bob, the key is the extra splash of Grand Marnier. I think we all agreed on how potent the result were.
I quickly forgot about the glory of the race track, instead choosing to indulge on the moment, investing my hard earned attention on mass quantities of food and drink.
The food exceeded expectations by a landslide, showing that those without Spanish blood can still produce authentic fare full of flavor. Everyone got comfy after quality belly stuffing exercises.
I normally avoid tequila like the plague, for the effects on my mind and body can be perilious to others. I get pissed.
Although my often satirical remarks are cheeky and mischievous in nature, tequila in my bloodstream adds an edginess some might mistake as threatening and snide. Being surrounded by females always eases my tensions.
I even encountered the rare, once thought to be extinct redheaded monkey.
He could catch balls!
One of Roxie’s best clients lived across the street from Uncle Bob, so I joined Roxie and Bernadette for a valiant attempt at recruiting/victimizing the allegedly coolest customer.
He was absent, away on a weekend fishing trip with college fraternity brothers, but we were greeted by his three lovely doe-eyed daughters and a mangy mongrel of ill-repute.
I always marvel at kids while Bashing gloriously, wondering if my ways are indirectly encouraging their future behavior.
Part of the problem is that kids tend to like me, so I wonder if the booze in my fist becomes a point of fascination, more attractive with each noticeable pull.
To take my mind off being a role model, Uncle Bob’s wife was nice enough to give me personal tour of their sprawling estate, a spacious and beautiful hideaway in the hills.
As the night progressed, Uncle Bob’s animated joking style was side-splittingly funny, often leaving me in tears while causing stomach muscles to contract viciously.
You can’t call a party a Bash unless there’s a foul, and one came in the form of a car nearly falling over the driveway cliff.
AAA came to the rescue, chaining up the wayward car and pulling it from the muddy gorge. At first we tried the push method, but in my drunken stupor I nearly tumbled down the hill, grabbing onto the back bumper to pull myself up from peril.
I laughed it off, knowing a spectacular death was a slip away, and of course, alcohol related. I left the place noticeably sober.

1 comment:

Amanda Lee! said...

A margarator?!?!? I might need one of those! I have an Uncle Bob, too, but he is a minister!