The 1st Annual Sweet Child O' Wine Weekend
Saturday, October 8th
Starts at 2:00pm until you wake-up
Meet at Chad & Natalie's house. We'll spend the afternoon at
Crown Valley Winery
Party continues back at the house till the sun comes up! Feel free to stay the night.
Please bring a snack to share at the winery.
Needless to say, the crew was amped. After dropping little Donjon at his car, Juan, Bry, and I bounced from Cape and headed to Ste. Genevieve. We arrived at Taake�s with about 10 other cars parked in the driveway. We entered the garage to the sound of Motley Crue rocking loudly. We grabbed a beer, and sat on Taake�s back porch, exchanging stories of the night before. After dealing our respective tales out, we learned that Chad was involved in a �dance-off� with a chick on the dance floor of Jeremiah�s after I left.
I re-iterate: Chad Taake was involved in a �dance-off� with a chick at Jeremiah�s.
P.S. He fucking won.
Chad Taake has already taken the title of �Godfather of Soul� (Halloween 2005) and now he can add �Lord of the Dance� to his resume.
After waiting for Jarv to arrive with his ladies for awhile, we decided to head to the winery. We had quite the convoy heading to the site of the day�s drunktacular party. Jarv arrived as we left Taake�s subdivision, and joined the end of the train.
When we arrived at the winery, There were attractive women as far as the eye could see.
I jumped out of the car, ran up to Bry and pulled out a Top Gun line, �This is a target-rich environment.� We immediately headed for the wine-line.
While in the wine-line, we saw some of the most ass-backwards outfits of all time. One dude was wearing baggy, black leather pants, and a cowboy hat. The goofy dumbfuck award definitely went to the guy wearing a Chiefs jersey, and some blue-blockers. What made him such a goofy dumbfuck was the way he was standing. He held the back of his hand up against his ribs, limp-wristed style, while smoking a cigar and laughing hysterically. Mitch and I just stood there, confused as fuck with this guy. And after a while, his hand kept creeping up the side of him, until it was damn near in his armpit.
Mitch copied the pose and said, �Hey Doerr, give me a high five.�
I too copied the fag-stance, and �mid fived� Mitch.
We got our wine, and headed out to the lawn out back, where a band was playing. I heard the opening notes to �Island in the Sun� by Weezer, and when I went to toast to the band, I realized that it was the same band from the Blues pre-game rally a few days earlier.
Natalie and her crew had covered a picnic table with a scrumtralescent array of food. Our group spread out over a blanket, and proceeded to kick it. At one point, Mitch looked at a guy that was wearing what appeared to be alligator skin shoes, he leaned over to me and said, �Hey Doerr, that guy is allergic to being not-fashionable.�
I laughed so hard that I had to take a knee.
My bottle of wine was particularly bitter, which was fine for me, because it would deter moochers from sippin from my glass. There was a red wine that was named, �The Norton� A bottle was purchased in honor of our drinking cohort Ryan Norton, who currently lives in Montana.
Having suffered through many wine-only hangovers, I began to think that our crew should incorporate some beer into our system. Adding to my decision was the fact that I had finished a bottle of wine in less than an hour. So Mitch, Bry, Tyler and I hopped in a car, and headed back to Ste. Gen to see what the bar scene was like.
On the drive to Ste. Gen, Tyler found a mixtape that he had made back in the '90's. The CD was packed with rockin' tunes of yore. At one point, while skipping through the songs, Tyler played about 0.1 seconds of a song, and Mitch and I, at the same fucking time said, "Was that the Cranberries????"
Tyler said, "Yeah?"
I said, "That's my shit, crank it!"
Mitch said (while cranking it) "I'm way ahead of you Doerr."
After rocking our way to Ste. Genevieve, we stumbled on a bar called, �Twisters,� which is owned by retired Blues bruiser Tony Twist.
We entered the place, got some beer, and set up shop in the back room, which had a pool table, and several arcade games, most notably, Big Buck Hunter.
Mitch and I battled each other in the game, and I lost badly, but was having too much damn fun to care. Every time we smoked a buck, we'd 'mid five' each other, still making fun of the goofy dumbfuck from the winery. After watching a the Astros take the lead in the NLDS over the Braves 2-1, and playing some pool, we watched the Blues game. Sadly, my homeboys lost a heartbreaker 7-6 to the Sharks by letting in four fucking goals in the third period. At one point, I was walking by the bar, when I heard a guy talking to his friends:
Dude: �How bout bein a woman, and tellin the kid the truth, that yo' momma, you was a hoe!�
Me: �TELL THE KID! Momma was a hoe, I was weekend pussy, I had you to keep the ninja, it didn't work out, that's why he ain't here.�
Dude: �Yeah, this guy knows what I�m talking about.�
Me: �You damn right, Chronic 2001.�
We were just about to jet from the joint when Bry made an incredible discovery, one dollar B-to-the-E�s. We had a few of those amplifying concoctions before leaving the bar.
We returned to Taake�s in time to watch the Cards sweep the Padres right out of the playoffs. My homeboy David Eckstein jacked a two-run homer in the game.
The only way to celebrate something as momentous as that, is Turbocups.
This highly contested affair was girls against guys. The good guys came out on top, but I was impressed with the tenacity of the female combatants. The thing that I remember most about the tournament is the fact that Bryan Linnemann was on fucking fire. The kid just couldn�t miss, which prompted me to start chants of �MVP.�
After Turbocups, everyone was comfortably numb, and business was about to pick up. Taake gave me and a few other brave souls a shot that was half tequila, half hot sauce. Think a hot wing dipped in paint thinner, and you�ll get an idea of the taste.
Before he left, I remember seeing Mitch in a bicycle helmet, which completely caught me off-guard; he was nowhere near a bike. After a while, the place started to thin out, and at one point, somebody said, �Where are all of the chicks?�
Apparently, there was something of a Pajama-Jammy-Jam going on upstairs. Naturally, a mad, drunken ambush began towards the bedroom door. The door was opened for only a split second, but in that one moment, I saw a glimpse of what heaven may look like: Girls, in their underwear, having a pillow fight.
Security was tightened, and we were not able to see more of the event. I was so depressed, that I decided to go on one of my patented Drunken Walkabouts. I left the house, and was heading out on the back porch, when I saw a bedroom window open. I was shocked to see that the side of the house that faced the woods had a glorious view of the bedroom called �heaven.�
I couldn�t keep this knowledge to myself, but I knew that if I told everyone, our cover would be blown. I grabbed three beers, entered the garage, and stepped straight to Jarv, who was having a conversation.
I said, �Jarv, follow me, now.�
Jarv started to say, �Dude, I�m��
�Jarv, just follow me for fifty feet, and bring some beer.�
Steve grabbed three beers himself, and I walked him to a spot near the woods where we had a perfect scope of lovely ladies in lingerie. We toasted each other like 10 times in three minutes. I was immediately reminded of Bluto in Animal House.
After a while, though, Jarv and I decided not to stay too long, for fear of becoming perverts; well, becoming MORE perverted I guess.
We set out on a Drunken Walkabout, and a few blocks in, Jarv began to tell me about his time at Yellowstone, and how fucking incredible it is out there. He also spoke of our bro Norton, and how he was living in Montana at the time. And just as we started talking about good old Norty, the motherfucker calls Jarv, out of nowhere. I was able to get on the phone and hear an intense BEAR story from Norton�
�how many people do you know have an intense BEAR story.
The Drunken Walkabout encompassed a few miles of real estate, which included Jarv and I spying on some people in their living room, and getting lost. We decided to turn around when we made it back to the highway.
When Jarv and I returned, all hell had broken loose. Girls were crying, girls were cussing each other out, apparently, some blood was spilled, literally. I thought to myself:
�What happened to the pillow fight?�
The cause of the animosity came in two versions, and I was not in the mood to hear either one, so I hopped in my car, and cranked some 311.
After that shit died down, so did everyone else, and it was about time to call it a night.
I found myself in the basement, and saw that Sissy Mappington was using a tarp for a blanket. I said, �That�s cute.� And walked over to the corner for some sleep. Sleep was hard to come by that night, though, as two creatures were stirring on an inflatable bed near me.
And by �stirring,� I mean screwing loudly.
After what seemed like an eternity of hearing two people GET-IT-ON, I finally passed out.
I woke up the next morning, sat up, and let out a burp that sounded like a fucking demon getting kicked in the nuts. The noise woke up the lovebirds, and the girl said, �Have you been there all night? Were you the one that was applauding us last night?�
And FROM UPSTAIRS, Juan said, �No, that was me.�
After laughing hysterically at that sequence, Juan, Bry, and I were heading home, when we stopped at a Waffle House for a much needed breakfast. If you�ve read the first three stories of Donjon�s return, you can appreciate the state that I was in when we entered the restaurant. We sat at the bar, and the hangover must have been written all over our faces, as the waitress walked up, laughed, and said, �Did you guys have a late night last night?�
I said, �And then some.�
I received my half-gallon sized water, and started drinking it, very, very loudly. I was so dehydrated, that I didn�t notice the fact that the entire restaurant was watching me slurp this gigantic water down. It took Donjon�s hysterical laughter to bring me out of my water-coma. He just said, �Holy shit.�
After finally returning home, Donjon finally got time to see his family. During his four day return from Cleveland, he told me that he was experiencing all of the things that he loves: his brothers, the St. Louis Blues, Cape Girardeau, and drinking with Taake.
The theme song for the Drew Carey show states that �Cleveland Rocks.� That may be true, but St. Louis drinks, and drinks, and drinks, and drinks�