Last year, I'm fairly certain that when I said you had never been to cat funeral like this one, you believed me.
 

But when I say, I'm sure as shit positive you have never been to a funeral like this, there is no doubt you will believe me. If you missed the background story, please read here.

San Fermin: Nueva Orleans is usually a well-anticipated weekend for the Martini Tour. This year, I was more than melancholy as I boarded the plane that Thursday night. New Orleans was the absolute last place I wanted to be. The Bull Run was the absolute last thing I thought I wanted to do. I pondered grabbing a stiff cocktail on the plane, but after evaluating the situation, I figured it might just bring me to tears.

Dad scooped me up from the airport and took me to meet up with Mom, Molly and Larry for a dinner at Jacques-Imo's {J-Dawg's namesake.}

In the car on the way home from the restaurant, we all agreed this was going to be a fun but very tough weekend.

Mom started reminiscing on one of her favorite Donald memories: their visit to the Dallas Zoo. Mom and Daddy both agree this may be their hardest Donald-induced laughing fits, as he casually commented on some of the exhibits, particularly the gorilla habitat.

Right as Mom was coming in for the punch line, a story Larry had yet to hear, we look over to find two guys laughing hysterically in their car. We look closer and realize they have a 3-foot stuffed gorilla riding, or shall I say dancing, on the top of the car.
 

In the middle of Canal Street.

That sent us into another bit of laughter and we knew that was Donald letting us know it was all okay. From that point forward, we were comforted by the fact that he just wanted us to have fun and enjoy the weekend.

And what fun we had!

Around the lunch hour on Friday, a party bus picked the crew up and we headed to the north shore to celebrate Don's life with some of his other childhood friends and family. I'd say about 75 people turned out for a fabulous cocktail hour. We shared stories. We laughed and we cried. We thanked Don for the contributions he made to each of our lives.

{I’d also like to thank Don for two additional things he just taught me, which I learned after watching my speech.

1. Holy humidity! I need to get my weave cut.

2. I should not laugh with my shoulders as George Dubya does…}

6:30AM rally call on Saturday morning for us to meet up with the Martini Tour Executives and offer up 'Donald' to the San Fermin administration. There they placed him on the statue and we began our funeral procession.

As unconventional as this 'funeral' weekend was, I will say I did tear up a bit as we fell in behind the pallbearers. The beats of the drum, the realization that this was the weekend that had been in the works for weeks, knowing that he would soon be presented to a crowd of thousands...

It hit me!

So I took a drink.

Lawd have mercy was that a good bloody mary!

I could feel the red juice lining my upper lip and had to chuckle a bit. I could just picture Uncle Don and his red-stained 5:00 shadow.

Cheers Donamann!

The opening ceremony couldn't have been any more perfect for what we were trying to do. When Dad got in touch with the executor of the Bull Run and he agreed to pay a tribute to Uncle Don, I don't think any of us could have imagined how cool it really turned out to be. Essentially, we can say that ten thousand people attended his funeral!

Post-run, we headed to a local bar to grab a few more cocktails and then moved over to Mother’s for a gut-busting Ferdie PoBoy.

Whew – naptime!

We regrouped at St. Louis Cathedral in Jackson Square for 5:00 Mass. Sitting in a church is when things became very real and the emotions were let loose.

As we exited out the front doors after Mass had ended, we were greeted by this dude and his posse.
 

Can someone give me an AMEN up in herruh?!?

Who’s ready to second line?

To Pat O’s we will geaux. Here’s to you, Donny Boy!

This is it people. This shows it all. True, gut-wrenching emotion of every sort. From pure happiness to silly jokes to deep sorrow. All in the name of our love for Donald Robert Hanemann.

{Disclaimer: While walking backwards and trying to not get run over by a car, and while trying to sip my drink and then while I was a bit emotional, I may or may not have cut off some heads a few time while filming. Whatever.}

Sunday was a long drive home. A somber cloud seemed to just hang over us. …Until in the middle of absolute Nowhereville, Louisiana, we passed a giant inflatable gorilla on the side of the road.

We were then at peace.

God Bless You, Donald!

Who's In Your Tour?

 

Two weeks ago, I hosted dinner and cocktails for two of my close girlfriends. In true fashion, the night ended up involving me, my jammies, my pals and a late night trip to the trashy bar behind my house, you know -- for good measure. Upon our arrival, we reminisced of similar nights in our past and after waking up in the morning, we reminisced of similar headaches. These are the times you can look back years later and still giggle about, share pictures of and definitely still give someone shit for. I have many of these memories with a several different girlfriends and while I've always appreciated those times, I've never cherished them as I do now. Life takes us all in many different directions, but it's these memories and the shared bond that bring us all back together each time, to pick up where we left off.

To further drive the the point home, three weeks ago, I witnessed a full-blown 89-comment virtual conversation unfold between my sister and some of her childhood friends {at the expense of my own Facebook post, of course.} It was one of those nights where you lay in your bed, laughing hysterically by yourself. There was ridicule; there were threats of blackmail; there were the memories. All the necessary components of what I consider to be undying friendships. As we all waited simultaneously from our respective homes for the next comment notification flag to pop up on our computer screens, I realized it all centered around a memory. A single, powerful moment in time that binds these girls together. Although I wasn't a part of the immediate group, just looking on as the pesky little sister hosting the location, I thought it was so special for those 3 girls to share in that time together. What a thing to celebrate -- a preexisting memory used to create new memories, new laughter,  new joy.

As previously stated, I've always appreciated the times that make me laugh to myself while driving alone in my car years later {or the time that I laughed out loud in the middle of gym class and almost dropped my weights, but that's neither here nor there...} but now I have learned to not only enjoy but to cherish and honor the historical landmarks on this lifelong journey. I will say this new-found mindset is partially a result of my recent completion of all 40 books of the Bible, but more importantly, I owe my gratitude to seven great men, with the spotlight on one in particular.

I've written before about a unique friendship between a group of men from neighboring small towns in southern Louisiana. A friendship so strong that has now grown and connected all members of their own families (as well as some cross-family marriages-gone-wrong ... hey, what are we if we aren't dysfunctional?)

Seven men. Seven careers. Seven cities. Seven families. Seven stories. One bond.

To the general public, fellow-bar patrons, Facebook friends and maybe even some of my former blog readers, these guys may just look like a group of assholes that like to share cocktails and crude language. In reality, they share their lives.

I essentially owe it to my dad for allowing me to witness and inviting me be a part of the Martini Tour (Second Generation) because this hasn't only provided me with good times that can't even be measured, but more importantly an invaluable life lesson. The events, the venues, the ideas this group of men comes up with to share with each other ... definitely off the beaten path. I mean from Thanksgivings in the middle of the swamp to being chased through the French Quarter by raging, broad-chested chicks with bats... they just ain't right. And that's what I love about them. That's what they love about each other. Especially Uncle Don...

'Unka Don' was affectionately named the Class President. He's the venue locator, the logistics coordinator and the event planner. He's the Loup Garou. He's the one who always made sure everyone was having a good time. He made the miss-fits fit. He also sometimes makes you feel like you are the smartest person in the whole world. He's the one who fills an entire hotel suite with 6-inch plastic alligators for no good reason. He makes everyone want to be his friend!

He sold his bullshit to my dad at the age of 5 and for the last 55 years, they have been partners in crime. Brothers in cocktails. Family.

For 55 years, my dad has gotten to enjoy his bunny shoes, his elementary Valentine's Day cards, his dog shit, his drunk mumbles, his Pimm's Cup rocket shooter, his crazy masks, his made-up news articles, his bloody mary mustaches and of course, his damn plastic alligators. He enjoyed all that for 55 years.

Today, my dad cherishes him.

Today, 6 men, among countless of others, cherish him.

This weekend, a city full of family, friends and strangers will cherish him

.

On Wednesday, May 25, 2011, I received a phone call that rocked my world. The voicemail my dad left asking me to call him remains on my phone. My dad called to tell me that his buddy died.

Suddenly.

No warning.

So many questions, so little answers.

I never knew I could feel such loss. I never knew losing Uncle Don would hurt so much.  I never even thought about losing him. I don't think I could put into words the shock and grief that I felt.

I do feel.

I will continue to feel.

If someone off the street walked up to me and said they were devastated over the loss of their parents' friend, I would never guess it feels like this. Because he was, is and will be so much more than that.

He is Uncle Don. He is an inspiration. A lesson. A legend to many.

Uncle Don's final wishes (however I don't think he ever knew they'd have to be put into action so soon) was to hand his ashen remains over to the Martini Tour, because they'd know exactly what do to with him. Well, a quick head-scratcher between the boys "We will know exactly what to do with him???" Of course , we do!

San Fermin: Nueva Orleans. Running of the Bulls: New Orleans. Our annual Martini Tour summer event, one of Uncle Don's favorites. There's just something he loves about domineering ladies, skates and violence... {Hey, don't ask me...}

The run is always kicked off with a parade of the Statue of San Fermin, carried by pallbearers and a drum corps. This year, a little twist was thrown into the mix. Uncle Don will be riding on the statue through the French Quarter, as the corps dons (pardon the pun) Uncle Don's initials on their embroidered armband insignia.

The Martini Tour Board of Directors, along with MT families will fall in behind, donning our special Martini Tour-embellished San Fermin shirts. I tell you what, all the MT BOD's are jumping at the bit for the next spot in Heaven, if this is what their final farewell entails.

Following a 5pm vigil mass at St. Louis Cathedral in Jackson Square, the soulful harmonies of Jay Ray & Gee will parade us through the Quarter, charming the streets with their gospel praises.

A stop at each of our frequented watering holes, and continuing on to conclude the memorial at the levee of the Mississippi River. There, we will bid our final farewell to the Class President. His remains will be physically purged from our presence but his spirit will always be with us.  His memories always in our hearts.

A Martini Tour group effort, to offer a dear friend the party of a lifetime. And while it seems ridiculous to most, it is an honor that I know he now feels while he's busy keeping the beer cold in heaven.

What was once a silly idea transformed into a signature event. And now, it truly is a memory of a lifetime!

Uncle Don, you are without a doubt, missed my many.

Thank you for the impact you have had on my life!

In loving remembrance of Donald Robert Hanemann.   

August 14, 1951 – May 24, 2011