Chenin, Cheeky Old Guys, Cheetos & Cheer

So you know that moment when you wake Monday morning with Cheetos cemented and caked in your grill, one eye plastered shut, with makeup, you hope, your head a fuzzy mess of, “Is it still Saturday?” in your bra, with one sock on and a string of bright green Guinness beads around your neck? Dontcha hate that?! Ugh gawd, me too, and yet…Monday. Goddamn it. Saturday morning I was feeling feisty. Like all vibrant and saucy, feeling my inner wine nerd and so ready to get my three day weekend on, that was before remembering I was going to be visited by a south county “nearly eighty year old” that sort of scares the shit out of me because he is a friend of my beloved Michael Sullivan’s….dad, (an author and wine historian) and because he has already once been in the store and was able to pull my strings like fucking Geppetto the last time he was in. I’m rarely intimidated but I can add that cat to the short list of names like Washam, Sullivan, Olken and the like in that is confounds me, flatters but baffles me, how I was fortunate enough to land in their good graces. Not sure how I was able to pull the wool over their eyes, or charm Mr. South County but I would do it all over again… 

Got some wild hair up my rump to write a stupid fucking post Saturday morning about swimming around  the cove of my childhood, and lost like two hours pay to do so…that is a massive win as far as blogging goes, not only do I not get paid, I lose money. Score! That stupid awards business must be coming soon, I think that right there warrants a new category…So yeah, I wrote that piece, the whole time trying to put the focus on the fact that I never quite fit in the traditional, nor do my taste more importantly, go running for the extreme. I’m lucky enough to find myself somewheres in that muddy, murky, just a little undefinable middle and the older I get, the more I aim to keep it that way. As if that matters.

I popped corks on my odd little geek wines, tried to help Ronnie ready for our event, but it was the slightly gregarious and unquestionably intellectual Mr. South County that stole my attention and affection Saturday afternoon. Big, thick, wide frames on his glasses, voice powerful but smooth, always asking me “What’s next?” even after somewhere near ten wines. I let him taste, poke fun, bark and even nuzzle me, (a stretch there, for me anyway…so not a cuddler with customers, or anyone really) in order to get a better idea who he was and what he was into, a few boxes of Lambrusco and Vouvray later he was on his way and we were smack dab in the middle of our geek wine tasting and there I was, feeling already spent and a little dizzy…

Day sort of sailed past me actually. I know some folks showed up for my geek wine event, not as many as I’d hoped but the ones there were cool as hell and exuded that whole exploratory enthusiasm that inspires and feeds me. I learned…or was reminded I should say, that even in the face of a geeky wine tasting, tasty, like way fucking tasty, will always win as I poured some of the Vincent Careme Vouvray Tendre, the one I opened for Mr. South County even though I knew it was out of his typical price bracket, just because I wanted to see his face when he was met with such a sexy, curvy and down-right thrilling mouthful of wine….the one he walked out of the store with at least a half case of, yeah that wine and it was without question the hit of the afternoon. Not geeky, just damn delicious and in the end, all the intellectual chatter and geeking out aside, deliciousness is what matters…however or wherever you find it. Felt a bit happier to see that the Ca Montanari Opera, a dry Lambrusco was the runner up in terms of sales for the afternoon. We toasted the departure of a leaving employee with a bottle of H. Billiot Brut Rose, shared a gifted bottle of Redbreast Irish Whiskey, (thank you again Marilyn!) before Ronnie and I trudged off to drown my annoying funk in even more booze….why not tie the green shaded bag of over-indulgence on a day early right? Ugh…

Sunday morning found me hungover as hell and looking to dunk my head even deeper below the surface, what better way than with my beloved friend Merzie, on Main Street in Seal Beach where there were droves of Kelly green clad morons staggering about and stopping just long enough to either blather some incoherent Irish poem or barf in the bushes…perfect. I end up with a plastic goldfish, wearing sunglasses even, that was stuffed with two flavors of Cheetos, one flavor too boring and all, that I proceeded to share with anyone that would take some…strangely more takers than one might assume. There were Whiskey laced cocktails, strange white dudes in kimonos and somewhere in that mix, there was some much needed laughter. Monday morning had me once again feeling like ass but this time, rather than dunk and go for dizzy I went for holding on to the deliciousness of regalia, turning an eighty year old on to something new, the caramel like richness of Redbreast Whiskey, friends that will eat my Cheetos and the fact that I have a job where my bosses and coworkers will pull my, (somewhat tremendous) weight so I can stay at home and pound my fingers against my stupid laptop….stretch my voice and talk to any of you that are still listening. 

Things may get fucked up from time to time, including me but there is always a glass waiting, one more bottle of Vouvray to pop and for now at least, I still have this place…and a plastic goldfish sporting sunglasses. What more could I need?