Weekend Recap: down home southern cookin' part II / by LD

The question on everyone's* minds, I'm sure, is: How did the mint juleps turn out?

(*Everyone = The regular readers of this blog, amounting mostly to me, myself, and I. But from two different IP addresses! Legions, I say!)

Well, the mint juleps were a hit and I have to say, Jess and I can really maneuver our way around a makeshift bar. The cups were especially a hit, almost garnering more praise than their contents. Almost.



Southern friend 'Gundo was everything I expected it to be, and more. In fact, I'm listening to BRMC right now as a fitting tribute (Howl, of course) to a weekend that was all things Southern and all things Rock n' Roll. Okay, less rock n' roll and more stuffing my face until I couldn't move, washing it down with Maker's Mark, then starting over again. But if you saw the bountiful spread laid before us by the loving hands of Mrs. Millar, then you'd know that it's impossible to resist when you're faced with all of your favorite foods in the entire world. Corn on the cob! Ribs! Deviled eggs! I'm getting lightheaded. In fact, for kicks, here's the spread, to validate my claims:


See that? All that food? Yeah. I know. Look away and compose yourselves. And stop drooling on your keyboard.

The way I felt about all that food is akin to a story that Mike told on Saturday evening as he, Ty and I had pillow talk from the Millar's living room floor at 2am before trying (unsuccessfully) to sleep. 

(Seriously, could my stomach have thrown a bigger fit for all the food I so lovingly fed it all day? Ungrateful, I say. See how you like living on lettuce, Diet Coke, and napkins the rest of the week, Stomach. Yeah, not so powerful now, huh? I can't remember the last time I writhed in such agony [silently, because really, moaning would have been highly inappropriate, not to mention the fact that the room was so silent, my hair moved against the pillow and the neighbors had to knock on the door and make sure everything was ok. Ok? Okay? No! My stomach is about to crawl through my intestines, emerge from, um, somewhere, and make a mad dash toward the sea. Would YOU be okay? I think not.], but I'm fairly certain that childbirth will be a breeze now that my stomach has put me through gastrointestinal Boot Camp. )

Uh. Parenthetical aside within parenthetical aside. I am in fine form today. Where was I? OH, yes. So shortly before my stomach waged an angry war with the rest of my body, Mike, Ty and I were giggling like kids at a slumber party over a story Mike shared about his childhood. It involved being a child prone to hyper activity, drinking an entire Slurpee with a sour licorice straw (Mike swears this is possible, though I'm skeptical because those sour straws hardly seem wide enough in diameter to support the icy girth of a Slurpee. But then again, he was hyperactive), puking the entire thing up almost immediately after, then being so hopped up on sugar that he ran into his backyard and started beating a flagpole with a wiffle bat repeatedly. 

Anyway, that's what this weekend was like. Too much goodness. And instead of puking it all up and going berserk, we slept it off and started all over again the next morning. 'Cause we're adults. And we know better now.