A Day in the City

Yesterday Larry got an offer to go out on a sailboat with an old friend.  I am always super grateful for these invitations, because Larry loves to boat, and I DO NOT BOAT. 

I get very seasick and the ocean terrifies me.  I made this clear when Larry proposed marriage to me many years ago, and I have not altered my position on this subject.  I also said I never wanted a dog, and now we have one, although I still don’t want one.

Susan and Amy enjoy boating, so I drove the three of them up to the St Francis Yacht Club and they sailed off. 

I found a ten-year-old Frommer’s Guide to San Francisco in my car, and started reading up on the Marina and Pacific Heights neighborhoods.  It was warm in my car, so I took an inadvertent nap in the Yacht Club parking lot for about an hour.

Then I put some Sudoku puzzles and an extra sweater in a tote bag and set out to explore.  My first stop was the only restaurant on Chestnut Street that was both listed in my old Frommer’s Guide and still in business. 

It was an Italian restaurant called A16. I ordered a very avant-garde wood fired pizza with an arugula-walnut pesto and roasted potatoes on it.  It was served with a scissors to cut slices, so you know it was trendy and cool.

I was enjoying my latte and working a Sudoku when a bridal party of world-weary 26-year-old complaining women was seated behind me.  I had to leave because I was afraid I might stab them with my pizza scissors.

I wandered all the way up to Lafeyette Park in Pacific Heights.  San Francisco has some crazy steep hills.  Luckily, I was alone, so I was able to climb the hill extremely slowly, stopping often so my bra wouldn’t get sweaty.  When I attempt this strategy with my family there is always a lot of griping.

Lafeyette Park is where a lot of people camped out after the earthquake and fire of 1906.  I know this because the night before I had just finished the Laurie King book “Locked Rooms”, which is about a family that survives the earthquake and its aftermath.

So it was very cool to see the actual spot where much of the book takes place.  And it is also a very beautiful park.  Then I had to hoof it back to the Yacht Club for post-boating cocktails, the one part of boating that I enjoy.

Another Wasted Day

Today was one of those days that was mostly about my red wine hangover.  Huh, I just realized that after a wasted night comes a wasted day! 

Amy’s friend Isaac was here for dinner last night, so I cooked Italian.  Me and Susan and Larry had a fair amount of red wine.  Amy and Isaac abstained because after dinner they drove to another friend’s house.

Once they were gone the battle for domination of the remote control ensued.  Larry is on a documentary kick, but Susan and I joined forces and insisted on a dumb Netflix movie.

We watched Dumplin’, a movie about a plus-sized teen whose mother is a pageant-obsessed Jennifer Aniston.  It was a surprisingly fun movie that featured a Dolly Parton soundtrack and some drag queens.  More wine was consumed.

This morning I was feeling pretty rocky, so I skipped Mass.  I’m turning into one of those Christmas and Easter Catholics that the priests complain about.

I went to the Pancake House.  Amy called on her way back from her polo practice to suggest getting pancakes, and I got to say “I’m one step ahead of you, I’m already here!!”  I stayed and did Sudoku until she got there.

After my hours long stint at the Pancake House I returned to my car, contemplating a car nap as the sun was shining and my car was in a good spot.  But on the seat I noticed a latch hook rug kit that I purchased for $1 at a library sale.  The color key and design picture are missing so I had to hook for a while to figure out what it was.

It’s Santa’s face!  And it’s very ugly.  But I can be very persistent about very stupid things, so I hooked in my car until it started raining and then came home and hooked in front of the space heater.

I took occasional breaks from hooking to do a few loads of wash and make soup, but basically this was a totally wasted day.

Men at the Gym

It’s January 18 and I have finally acted on my New Year’s Resolution to go the Elks Club for something besides drinking $5 Manhattan cocktails.

It only happened because my lunch plans fell through, but God works in mysterious ways.

The Elks Club gym is great because there’s hardly ever anyone in there.  Today it was myself and another woman until two buff guys, one older and one younger, came in.

Because it is a small room, I could hear their entire conversation.  It transpired that the younger one was the personal trainer of the older one, and they hadn’t seen each other since Christmas.

Young guy: “I had an OK Christmas, but the big news is that my wife just found out she’s pregnant!”

Older guy: “Congratulations, I guess.  I mean, are you sure it’s yours?”

If I had been holding a free weight, I would have dropped it on my foot.  Is this how men talk to each other??

Young guy, uncomfortably laughing, “Um, yes, pretty sure it’s mine.”

Older guy: “Welcome to the shit show, then.  What should I set this machine for?”

Emotional constipation? Or is he just a terrible person?  Women should probably just be raising babies in women-only communes.

This is How it Happens

It is 9:00 pm on Sunday night, and I just completed a very enjoyable buzzed run to Safeway.  Buzzed Safeway is super fun, and I am now enjoying a chocolate frosted rainbow sprinkled donut that spoke to me through the self-service display case.

(If donuts were not self-serve at Safeway, how many would be sold??)

So how am I slightly drunk on a Sunday evening?

This morning I drove with Amy to her polo practice in Gilroy.  Even though she has a car and a license, I like to accompany her on Sunday mornings because 1) The ranch is beautiful in an earthy, junk-filled way, and 2) We get lunch after.

I missed Amy’s polo scrimmage this morning due to an extensive car nap.  We then had a highly caloric lunch at the Black Bear Diner, during which my husband texted me to come pick him up at our Croatian distiller friend Davorin’s winery and farm in Morgan Hill (a few minutes north of Gilroy).

Larry and Davorin sang in the choir together at church this morning, which somehow led to the two of them drinking massive amounts of red wine and driving Davorin’s new farm vehicle around the property.

When Amy and I arrived, we also had some red wine, because it is impossible to visit Davorin and Lucy’s farm and not be holding a glass of red wine, which they make on-site from their own grapes.

Amy pleaded homework, so we got back in our car to drive back to Los Altos, at which point I received a text from Jeanette and Ita to come over for a cocktail, which I did.

Two dirty martinis later, I found myself procuring dinner for the family at Safeway, and this is how the perpetually slightly drunk state happens.  It’s not too shabby.

A Whole New World

My daughter Amy has been playing equestrian polo for four years.  There is a lot more to be said about that, but not in this post.

As you might imagine, there are very few equestrian polo players.  In all of Santa Clara County, for instance, there are less than ten high school polo players.  So we drive to Gilroy, 37 miles away, for practices.

Gilroy is where your garlic probably comes from.  It is old California ranch country, but it also has one of those outlet malls that spring up on the edge of densely populated areas.  The outlet mall is only a few minutes drive from South Bay Ranch, where Amy practices.

Before she was able to drive herself, and even now on weekends, I go down to Gilroy with her.  I love to walk around the ranch and watch the horses, but it is primitive there, and sometimes I am overcome by the urge to drink a latte and use a flush toilet, so I head to the mall.

One of my favorite stores to waste time in is Skechers shoe store.  My daughters mock me mercilessly about my Skechers fixation, but I mean, if it’s good enough for Demi Lovato, it’s good enough for me.

As I was wandering around the store, taking advantage of the self-service aspect and trying on women's shoes that were too narrow for my fat foot, I suddenly had an inspiration.

In Crete last May, I needed sandals because my old Skechers had gotten so smelly that Ellen refused to be in the same room with them, and I had to throw them out.  The only shoes that fit me in the beach shop were men’s sandals.

Aha!  I thought.  Why not try the men’s Skechers???  I spent a happy hour trying on all sorts of men’s Skechers, much to the bemusement of the actual men who were also trying them on.

I tried work boots, loafers, sneakers – and they all fit!  I am now the proud owner of a pair of brown leather men’s sneakers, and access to a whole new world of fashion.

I tried to use this new trick in the Macy’s men’s shoe department, but it confused the lone salesman, a dapper seventy-year-old Cuban man, so much that I had to leave.  He could not wrap his brain around the fact that I wanted to wear the shoes.  He persisted in believing that I was trying them on for my husband, suggesting styles he might like better, and asking me to go retrieve my husband.  Oh well, at least it works at DSW.