The Sombrero Chronicles

And now for some humor. Or – hopefully some humor. The two anecdotes I am about to share may fall under the “you had to be there” category – but what the hell – since “Don’t even try, Chips” went over so well, let me give these two a go.

They both involve a sombrero, and both stories come from the same alcohol-soaked weekend house party in, oh, about 1989.

THE SOMBRERO CHRONICLES

The Set-up
My first boyfriend, a wonderful man named Antonio, had a grandmother who lived in a spectacular ocean-side house in Rhode Island. During Hurricane Gloria in 1985, Antonio sat in the living room, and literally watched the waves rolling up to the side of the house. Antonio lived there during his college years and had some pretty legendary parties there. As you can imagine.

Bonfires down on the rocks, Frisbee on the lawn, late-late nights spent in utter and complete hilarity.

An Antonio Party at the Grandmother’s House was always an event.

At one of these house parties, which lasted an entire weekend, a sombrero was unearthed from somewhere in the house. It was used as a prop in many of our crazy games over the weekend.

Sombrero Anecdote # 1
Now this one may be the most difficult to describe. You know those moments when something strikes you so funny that you laugh so hard you feel you might die? Literally? And then later, when you try to regale people with the tale, you are met with relatively blank stares of incomprehension?

There are only a very few people who have heard this anecdote in second-hand fashion and really “got” why Antonio and I found it so funny that the two of us felt compelled to literally throw ourselves down in the driveway, and writhe about in the gravel, laughing so hard that we begged for mercy.

To this day, if I’m ever asked, “What’s the hardest you have ever laughed?” the “sombrero moment” is one of the first things I think of.

I warn you : it is completely idiotic. And absolutely STUPID. Which is mostly why Antonio and I lost it so completely.

My friend Brett, who is, hands down, one of the most apocalyptically funny people I have ever met, was at this party (of course). What makes Brett funny? (Bill, you met Brett. He is the man who coined the term “bitch-wipe”.) Brett is funny for SO many reasons but his brand of humor comes from the fact that he almost never ever edits what comes out of his mouth.

Early on, on the first day, Tonio and I, already rather tipsy – but in a sloshy loving FUN way – were standing outside by the front door. I do not know why we were there. We were drunk. We were enjoying the salt-breeze. Whatever.

Anyway, Brett emerges from the house, also a bit drunk, and he is wearing a sombrero. With a blithe and mildly manic expression on his face.

The three of us stand about, we talk, we laugh, we do not mention the sombrero because – it doesn’t seem all that odd to us. I mean, Brett always made us laugh, sombrero or not.

And then – in a moment of inspiration – or a moment of supreme stupidity, depending on how you look at it – Brett took the sombrero off his head and threw it into the air.

Almost as if in slo-mo, the sombrero came down – and landed directly on top of a big fat bush of pink flowers.

The three of us drunkenly and silently stared at the absurd tableau – the sombrero resting on the “head” of the pink flower bush. Nobody said anything. Silence ensued.

And then Brett said, in a tone of a commercial tag-line, “Mexico….The flower of Europe.”

We let the stupidity of the words sink in … neither of us said a word. Both of us were actually trying to silently make sense of Brett’s nonsense…

“Mexico…? The flower… Europe, Brett?”

Brett obviously doesn’t think that Mexico is in Europe. Brett just opened his mouth and that was what came out.

25 minutes later, Tonio and I were still unable to speak, unable to move past it … It kept replaying itself in our brain:

the slow descent of the sombrero…
its perfect placement on top of the pink flower bush ….
Brett’s calm infomercial voice…”Mexico. The flower of Europe.”

You had to be there. But if you HAD been there, maybe you would have felt compelled to lie down in the gravel driveway and writhe about in spasms of laughter, too…

Sombrero Anecdote # 2
Same weekend. Same sombrero.

The party had been raging for 8 hours straight. It had gone all day long. We had started off with Bloody Marys, we switched to beer with lunch, we had wine with dinner … we played volleyball, we played improv games, we cranked the music … and we continued to drink. All. Day. Long.

And Mitchell – a friend of mine mentioned on this blog many many times – was directly responsible for ending the party.

At least for THAT day.

And again, the sombrero played a role in all of this.

It was 11 pm. A bunch of die-hards were sitting around in the kitchen, talking, laughing, being crazy, being drunk. I was there, Tonio was there, Brett was there, Mitchell was there, Tonio’s great brother Philip, a bunch of others. Many other revelers had long since retired, and were camped out all over the house, but we in the kitchen could not stop.

The sombrero lay on the table, forgotten by the group.

But then Mitchell noticed it.

Mitchell, with a slow drunken (BULL SHIT) sense of ceremony and self-importance, picked up the sombrero, and put it on.

And then – he began to do a little bullshit dance step – with a cha-cha beat – “1-2-3, 1-2-3…” and he said, in a BOGUS Mexican accent:

“I have lived—” (1-2-3) “many lives…”

I have lived many lives.

We all watched this occur, no one said a word (I mean, what could we say?), and then suddenly, Philip, Mr. Party Animal, stated, “That’s it. I’m going to bed.”

The party dispersed. We are still laughing about that today.

“I have lived” (cha-cha-cha) “many lives.”
“That’s it. I’m going to bed.”

A girlfriend of mine recently called me up, out of the blue, and said, “What is that story you told me once about a sombrero? And you laughed so hard you fell down in the driveway?”

All I needed to say to her was, “Mexico. The flower of Europe” and she understood.