A Toast to Tragedy: My Champagne Evening.

So my Aunt Janet writes on my facebook wall about Veuve Clicquot: "Yesssss. Most definitely worth every penny. Life is too short. It'll transform your day/evening/outlook/life in general..." Well holy shit, she was so right! But not at all in the way I expected.

So my sister hosts this wicked party (yes, I said wicked. I grew up in the 80's.)twice a year. Its the kind of party you so don't want to miss. For starters, she lives in this incredible old church that's crazy huge, like 17000sq. ft. It's totally decked out in antiques that range from awesome to bizarrely awesome. The former owners were jazz muscians who turned the church basement into a nightclub. Pretty much every inch of wall downstairs in lacquered in posters from their performances around the world. Of course it's perfectly suited to have live music, so friends of theirs--Poor Angus--come and play the absolute best live Celtic music you've ever heard or ever will hear. How Lorri manages this party TWICE a year is beyond me, but she does every June and Hallowe'en. This year the party fell on the day after my Dad's 67th birthday, so we were especially looking forward to celebrating this milestone in high style.

Let me advise you: if you are looking forward to spending the night at a great party with family and friends, and you are considering taking champagne as your drink of choice, don't. Bad decision. Don't get me wrong, the champagne was incredible. We drank the Veuve Clicquot first. I so loved how under the foil on the wire cage was this little painted portrait of the Widow Clicquot herself. Bless her stout lil' heart, her legacy is something to be proud of. I uncouthley stuck my nose to the bottle, as I often do, upon opening. I can't help it! I love that rush of fragrance that first leaps out of the bottle! Crisp apples! Oooo! It was lovely and zingy, and yet had this nice baked bread slightly yeasty aroma that kept it from being too mouth-puckery. We drank out of proper flutes so we could get the full effect of those delicate bubbles. We shared liberally, but I was about to find out how quickly you can become light-headed drinking champagne. Prolly should have eaten a dinner too, but whoops, in the goings-on of the evening we just didn't have time and/or forgot.

When the last lovely drops were gone, the Mumms Napa Valley was opened. What a contrast! In a good way, I mean. It was also completely scrumptiously delicious, but so different than the bottle that came before it. There is sunshine in this wine; you can taste the warm weather and sun and the ripeness that goes along with it. Apart from that, I can't provide you with further description. My tastebuds and judgement were rapidly becoming numb. We shared this bottle too--liberally I might add--but again, it seems a little goes a long way with champagne.

Basically, I got drunk way, way, way to quickly. Which resulted in the subsequent arguement with my husband, which led to his angrily stomping off and yelling at my mother, followed a ridiculous crying jag from me that I'm certain bordered on operatic. My poor mother, sister, aunt and friend spent the night scuttling about trying to comfort me whilst concealing this wretchedness from my father, who was supposed to be enjoying his birthday celebration. In fact I missed the birthday portion of the evening completely. What a tragedy. I don't mean to be overly dramatic here, but Dad's not exactly in the ripest of health. I wanted to have a really memorable night with him, but it ended up being memorable for all the wrong reasons. Had I had better judgement--less champagne-impaired judgement--this could have been completely avoided. Now my marriage is in the shitter, my parents are worried sick for me, I've bewlidered the rest who were privvy to this fiasco, and I am faced with the wretched decision of "What the hell am I going to do now?" It could have been worse, I guess. Our marriage could have gone Vesuvius at say, the school play, or parent-teacher night. I suppose we've all made asses of ourselves at parties at one time or another. Please feel free to share your own 'party of drunken fuckery' story, particularly if it's worse than mine and has the potential of making me feel better about my own. Raise your glass, and give a toast to these tragic moments that make us stronger, wiser and provide us with an anecdote we can share when the details become less horribly painful. I won't be raising, mine; I'm shutting down my wine-tasting career for a while. Apologies to the 4 people who follow my blog. I'll pick it up again when life tastes less bitter.

For now,

B.