Being the shameless opportunist I am, today - Kentucky Derby Day - is the one day of the year I'm more inclined to name-drop my Lexington horse-country half than my Pacific-Islander half.
And once the cool of the silver and the punch of the Early-Times-saturated mint hits my senses of taste and smell, respectively, my pretension has a tendency to elevate a notch or three higher with a very conscious transition from my everyday, non-regional diction to my Daddy's unmistakable "Lull-ville, not Louie-ville" affectation.
Having missed the opportunity from 2002 to 2004 to indulge in Derby debauchery due to my decision to live in the slushy dumpster known as the People's Republic of China, and then again from 2004 to 2006 while I wasted my wit and charm drawing up 16-indicator East Asian military transparency analytic frameworks, you can understand why I was more than thrilled to accept a reader's invitation (a decision clinched by the brilliance of the last line of her Evite: "Bring friends provided they are not boring, terribly unattractive, or children") and finally pull myself out of this only-Dido-understands-what-I'm-feeling heartache, slip on a preppy-sexy ensemble (I'm thinking this vintage sweetheart-strapless dress paired with these also-vintage platform faux croc peeptoes - both items chock-full of him-related memories and in dire need of a style ablution of this sort) and get ready to talk derby - reeeeal derby - with some new, "not terribly unattractive" faces.
Tipsily-written style report to come later on tonight. Actually, the more I look at my hot legs in these hot shoes (with Montesquieu's hot dog bed in the background), the more likely I think I won't see y'all 'til tomorrow...