By the end of the day, there wasn’t enough bourbon in the whole state!
In case you are new around here, you might be wondering why you see all those dad blogging buttons to your left (or mobile readers it is on the bottom). It’s because believe it or not. I’m a dad. Divorced dad, one child, she goes by the name of Sloane. She’s currently nine years old, thinks she 16, and has more mental fortitude than an illicit love child of a Zen master and grand champion chess player.
Recently the Dad Blogging Commission issued me a citation threatening to pull my credentials on the dad blogging talk show circuit if I didn’t, you know, blog about my daughter. I politely responded to them to “kiss my ass” not because this commission even exists (it doesn’t…yet), but because of forces out of my control the reason there hasn’t been any mention of Sloane is because frankly, I haven’t seen her all damn month!
That all changed on October 21st, due to the copious amounts of fun Miss Madison and I had on our Music City Mayhem tour, my employer granted me the rest of the week off work to recoup. Or I took the week off, either way the alarm clock got to wear a muzzle for the week. By the time Friday rolled around, I had laid out a plan of entertainment that would make the executives at Comedy Central jealous. First off, it was a clandestine trip through the land of the bluegrass dodging combines and tractors on the way to Snoozerville (Lawrenceburg, KY) to have myself a lunch date with my little princess. Lunch dates used to be the norm for her and I, but those days are long gone now. I arrived in just the nick of time though to see my little diva for an awesome lunch of tater tots, corn dog bites, and rectangular pizza. While the food was highly edible, it wasn’t exactly going down in the record books as “nutritional.”
Not our best work in the selfie department, but seeing her again was all that mattered!
Phase two of my plan was now set into action. With only a couple of hours to kill before school was to be released I had made arrangements with the administration to join in the car rider line. Even had a registration number and everything. I was set to hob knob with the locals pretending I give a hoot about UK basketball and when deer hunting season starts. Me being the ever polite upstanding young man my mother raised even informed Sloane’s mother that I would be more than happy to pick her up at school and rescue her from her Kentucky prison. Common sense would tell you this is a no brainer. Common sense left town back in 2014 and is now listed as missing on milk cartons all over the country. I was politely told no my parenting time doesn’t start until six p.m.
Listen, I know the rules; I know the custody rules better than the pope knows the Bible. I also know that any other given day she wouldn’t give a rat’s ass, but she didn’t have control of this situation. Thanks to lawyers, she gets to have control of the situation and abuses it worse than a Wells Fargo employee with your credit information. No big deal, when dealing with a narcissist that thinks they have the upper hand, you don’t let it ruin your day. Instead you store this hilarity for a future blog post and turn the longer than expected wait into another chapter of Skipah’s Travelling Road Show!
Playing a waiting game in the part of the country where WalMart is considered a de facto town hall, I did what any good Hoosier would do in the land of bourbon. Time to go distillery hopping! Kentucky is home to some of the world’s premium bourbon/whiskey distilleries in all of the land. Might as well go check them out. Plus, I’m sure they have gift shops and after my Nashville experience from last week, I’m ready to write a best of gift shop tourism guide. Might as well add some spirit(s) to it!
First stop, Wild Turkey right down the road from Sloane’s school and named after Henry Clay pet turkey Amos that used to get loose all the time and run amok all over Eastern Kentucky. Actually I have no idea how the name came to fruition, but at least that sounded good right? The distillery itself was rather dingy, but I’ll give their gift shop a three shot glasses out of five. It was very nice on the inside, but it only offered clothing and 52 different varieties of bourbon they bottle there. After the text conversation with my ex-wife, I was ready to max out the company credit card and try at least 30 of the varieties before I found a place to sleep in the bathroom.
This is the turkey you uncle Phil is usually talking about at Thanksgiving!
From there it was off to Woodford County, Kentucky home to none other than the Woodford Reserve distillery. The ground and surrounding area were pristine to say the least. This is horse country after all and Woodford Reserve is smack dab in the middle of it. The gift shop garnered a solid four on appearance alone. Very stately and elegant and plenty different versions of Woodford for you to buy or sample. My text conversation with my egg donor that was still ongoing had me mulling sampling some of the finest in bourbon, but no matter how the bourbon gods were tempting me I had a little girl I was bound and determined to take home with me that night so again I passed.
With Christmas around the corner Skipah might have picked up a bottle or two for his blogging buds.
Finally, is was off to the land of milk and honey or Frankfort, KY. Home of the capital of Kentucky and also the domicile of the Buffalo Trace distillery. A friend recommended for me to swing by there if I had the time. I even improvised my shot glass rankings to give this one a solid ten on gift shop prowess. Plus, their logo is a freaking buffalo! They have everything here, golf balls, cooking utensils, hell I think if you got liquored up enough in there they would show you the room where they sell Buffalo Trace condoms. There are precisely 2.3 million Buffalo Trace condom jokes I could make here, but I will just let you use your imagination. Yeah I know it’s all over priced, but I’m on a time killing mission, I’m about substance right now not frugality! My current texting conversation would have Dr. Frasier Crane begging me to sell him the script for a Frasier spin-off.
When Skipah rebuilds his man cave you better believe that bar tap is going to be included!
After my last distillery visit, we agreed to disagree, she drove an hour and half out of her way round trip for me to stop in a town that I had to pass through anyway to get home. Next time this happens I at least know where to go to kill some time. I might even bring Miss Madison with me to sample a few different varieties. All things considered I had myself a great few hours dissecting part of the Kentucky Bourbon Trail.
About it for now, we had an awesome Halloween weekend that will be explained in a future post. I’m emboldened that I’m doing everything right after another weekend with my daughter. Plus, help me out fellow blogging peeps. What in the hell are we going to do if the Chicago Cubs win the World Series? This will take over the blogging world worse than Trump-Clinton, we have to stop it!