What A September to Remember

So I figured by now I'd have written several entries about the BFCW.  It was MAGICAL.  But any basking in the afterglow was truncated by the need to flee Hurricane Irma.  Today is the first time I'm in front of a proper desk top computer, at the office.  I'm the only one here.

The BFCW.  I hoped it would be the best night of my family's life, and it was.  As far as I could tell, 260 plus guests had an awesome time.  I only heard of one person who didn't, and I had fully expected that.  Her complaints were comical, and provided humorous relief for the days that followed.

D1 looked beautiful.  My now official S1 was dashing.  D2 and Wifey were beaming.  S1's family was overflowing with love and happiness.  S1's brother Bob, normally a pretty staid CFO of a major company, became, around 2:30 am, the Spanish speaking Wedding singer.  My college buddies, with the exception of Dr. Eric, who had left, did the worm.

It was a night I will think about forever.  Every single person who means anything to me was there, with the exception of Wifey's sister of another mister Edna -- medical issues put the kibbosh on that.  But it turned out fate would have us bring the wedding to her, a few days later.

The night before the BFCW I hosted a cocktail party at Trulucks, for my friends and family who were staying in Miami.  We drank -- a lot.  After Trulucks, I kept the party going at the East Hotel rooftop bar.  We truly had a room at the top of the world, that night, to steal from Tom Petty.  Eric and I danced together, with my nephew Henry, and our buddy Dave from England, along with Geoff, an adopted brother in law.  Eric may have been as wasted as I ever saw him.  He rallied the next day, though.

Monday morning, I held court in the East Hotel lobby.  We drank coffee, and shared the warmth of the night before.  Barry reminded me that he was unable to make it to the rooftop bar, and for that reason I questioned his sexual orientation.  Just today I invited him to another rooftop bar, at the hotel we are exiled to by Irma, and I told him indeed his sexual orientation will be in question unless he joins me tonight.

After we checked out, D2, Wifey, and I took nephew Henry and Val back to our house.  Val napped on the front porch.  They are do delightful -- I was very grateful they made the trip to the BFCW.  The Ds and S1 have a biological cousin after all!  It's a nice thing to know.

And then came the storm warnings.  Having lived through a Cat 5, Andrew, I pledged to never be in town for one of those again.  So at 3 am Thursday, Wifey and I took the special needs Spaniel, strange rescue dog, and some extra gasoline, and fetched D1 and S1 and the spoiled Spaniel.

S1 and I make an awesome team.  We strategize well together, and we WAZED our way to Atlanta -- a normally 11 hour trip that took 17.  We arrived late at night, fetched some pizza and subs, and descended on Edna and Marc's house.

They opened up their home to us -- three dogs to join their pug Inky, and two couples.  I know people who wouldn't let guests stay in their garage -- our friends are the opposite.  We ate, and drank, and watched "Narcos" , in honor of S1, who is Colombian, and a great new HBO show called "The Deuce."

Marc and I went to the Marlins/Braves game -- they gave free tix to any Florida refugees.  We had a blast.  The next night, Edna's girl Erica joined us, and we went to the best restaurant in Sandy Springs -- Rumi's Kitchen, a Persian place.  We truly feasted, and relived the BFCW, and gave thanks for our well being.

But S1 is a working man, and he was a bit antsy to get back to his company.  As if on cue, damn Irma followed us, now as a tropical storm, and knocked out Atlanta power.  So we left the dark hurricane hole like thieves in the night, at 4 am Tuesday, and started back for the 305.

We got coffee and breakfast in Gainesville.  I pledged to never visit again, after MULTIPLE trips there during the Ds' combined 9 years in college and grad school there.  So much for proclamations.  But there was no gasoline, and S1 and I wended our way through the back roads of Gville and Ocala in search of an open station.

It started getting a bit dicey - we were down to 1/4 tank, and nothing was open, except for stations with lines of 100 cars.  But once on the Turnpike, the plaza was flush, and the staff handled the rush with military efficiency.  We topped off S1's Explorer and knew we'd have enough.

The trip home was "only" 14 hours.  S1 and D1 had power.  We had booked a room Downtown, at the historic Langford, a 1925 Miami bank building now a hotel.

Power at Villa Wifey is still out -- supposedly coming back by Sunday.  I have doubts.  But for now, we're comfortable and well fed.  There's a rooftop bar, and last night I bought a round for 10 federal agents staying there en route to the Keys, where there is true devastation.  I thanked them for their service -- they were most appreciative.

One of the fellows, a buff 30 something from Missouri, asked me if he was just missing his girlfriend, or where the young women he saw in Miami atypically beautiful.  I assured him his observation was indeed accurate.  He promised to return, he said, after this mess was over...

So I now have an S1 to go with my two Ds.  My house is dark, but intact.  Everyone I care about is fine.

I look forward to a return to normalcy, and plenty of time for a delayed basking in the afterglow of the BFCW.