Trough Times

Dear Internet,

Can 2009 be over soon? What's that you say? Just 50 more days? Ok fine, but let's make it quick, shall we?

You see, I've been having a tricky time as of late. Not only did my pretty blue wallet disappear on the 14 Mission bus on Halloween night, but then someone charged all sorts of festive items to my missing credit cards. It's true! And according to the purchase history, they really whooped it up that night. Based on the charges at "The Smoke Shop" on Mission, I'm imaginging that they bought a vaporizer, which is kind of funny, my imagination has to admit.

And since my license and house keys were IN my wallet, I had to change my door locks to prevent the stoner party from moving to my apartment. Luckily, this adorable boy that Sherry and I met at Burning Man a few years ago works as a lock smith and came right over to hook a sister up, installing very fancy new locks. Who knew there was such a thing? Seriously, my front door now sports the Rolls-Royce of dead bolts. So...I got that goin' for me, I guess.

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Luckily, I was back up and running in time for Rick's annual birthday extravaganza . Since I've known him, the theme of Rick's birthday has always been "pork," which really gives one a lot to work with. Falling on the heels of 2 wildly successful urban pig roasts, his wife Zetta stepped it up a notch this year and added a dash of sophistication to the birthday marinade.

Not only did Ms. Zetta rent a house in wine country for a weekend-long fiesta, but this year's pig was served on real plates at an actual dining room table...as opposed to the traditional Dixie plates balanced on your lap while downing a keg beer with one hand and deflecting flying pig parts with the other (this is not a tame crew, mind you). And to top it off, the meal was concepted, prepared and served by team Robert and Barbara, who should maybe consider blowing off their respective careers as a technology powerhouse and fabulous arteest to become celebrity chefs! Talk about bringin' it. Robert even wore a monogrammed chef's outfit while prepping the meal. Meanwhile, Barbara power bottomed, complete with an authentic German accent. GoodGodIlovethosetwo!

Seriously, this badass home cooked meal was truly one of the fanciest I've ever had in my life including that one time?...in Bali? Check out the menu as written by Robert:

Rick's Pigtastic Birthday Dinner

Starters: olives, chive creme fraiche, salami
Course 1: Ginger-infused pumpkin soup
Course 2: Oink Oink (pork tenderloin wrapped with sage and prosciutto accompanied by cream roasted potatoes drizzled with manganista gravy)
Course 3: Roasted manganista pig served with bacon-wrapped green beans and parsnip puree topped with fried manganista pig and a veal reduction sauce
Course 4: Vanilla panna cotta smothered in quince sauce served with warmed Guinness whiskey and Bailey's Irish Cream Cupcakes

After a weekend full of wine, pork, and lots of laying around with full bellies and big smiles, our birthday crew returned to SF. And on the drive home, my celebration of pig came to a squeeling halt. Enter the swine flu. For realz.

As for life with the H1N1, my experience is that the test for it was WAY WORSE than the actual virus. Seriously, The United Nations Convention Against Torture has been barking up the wrong tree, dear Internet. Waterboarding, shmorderboarding. The "nasopharyngeal swab" is what deserves massive global outcry. The way it works is that your doctor sticks a throat culture-sized Q-tip up your nose, through your sinus and all the way into your swine-infested brain (or so it feels). Meanwhile, you have the flu and practically pass out from the procedure. It's all very dramatic.

But I have to admit it is exciting to get the positive results back 5 days later once you're feeling a lot better. Because then, you get to tell everyone you have a legitimate, confirmed case of the infamous H1N1! Heb and I agree this makes me sort of fame-ish. Kinda of like having Anthrax poisoning in 2001...minus the terrorism.

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Anyway, here's to 2009 wrapping up in 50 days...and counting. Enough with pigs, already. Bring on the year of the TIGER!

A Life Lesson

While I was visiting Heb, James and little James Sinclair in The OC this past weekend, James Sinclair learned a hard lesson: sometimes life just isn't fair. Like when you try your very best to follow the "everybody be gentle" rule and your dog acts like it doesn't apply to him. That's really not so fair.

Let's Get Naughtycal, Naughtycal

One thing about me is that I take my birthdays pretty seriously. And by "seriously," I don't mean in the sense that the approach of October 18th launches me into a grave state of concern fueled by existential crisis and an unforgiving milestone-meeting evaluation. Not that these things aren't guaranteed to happen on an annual basis. (Lord knows I'm a sucker for a good existential crisis, which is fine...as long as I stay away from a certain book during said crisis.) What I did mean by "seriously," however, is that my birthday celebrations are no joke. As my friend Rob likes to say: "haaaayells naw."

After last year's San Frantastic Tourist party and the prior year's Pumpkin Carving Olympics, I thought it might be well received if I introduced a nautical theme for 2009. You know, to take advantage of the very bay that inspired our fair city's enduring tag line: The City by the Bay.

So out went the invitations for my "Let's Get Naughtycal!" party, a ferry excursion to the Hangar 1 vodka distillery in Alameda. Within minutes, messages came back with responses like "I'll shine up my seacock and meet you at the Pier" (eww) and "All aboard the S.S. Hot Mess!"

The sun was shining for our big day at sea, which meant we didn't have to bundle up for the ferry--all the better for getting getting naughtycal (see above pic). As we sailed Eastward with a warm breeze blowing through our hair (and marine boas), we enjoyed several thermoses full of hot toddies (my favorite! Ahoy, Tim!). Note: looking back on this beverage selection, I'm realizing that the hot toddies served a dual purpose as both a delicious birthday treat and also a nutritious tonic to ward off scurvy as there were quite a few lemons in the mix.

We made it successfully across the deep waters of the Golden Gate despite the fact that we were assaulted by fierce Somalian pirates along the way. Luckily, the pirates liked the sound of flavored vodka and wanted to join us for our day of tasting.

Our motley crew, consisting not only of sailors and pirates, but also a large crawfish, a handful of swimmers and one Miami Beach glamor girl, disembarked at the Alameda port and began to make its way to the Hangar 1 distillery--on foot. Just then, a VW bus drove by and stopped dead in its tracks when it spotted us trudging along the side of the road. "You guys going to Hangar 1!?" the driver yelled to us. "Yes!!" we belted out in unison. "Well hop on in, friends. It's your lucky day!" she replied. A few minutes later, we were standing around her tasting table, sipping a "seasonally appropriate" spiced pear vodka. Ahoy!

By the end of the several hour tasting, we had convinced the Hangar 1 employees to get naughtycal. And they were very quick to get their sea legs, which pleased us to no end.

After a birthday picnic complete with anchor napkins (ahoy, Leah!), a naughtycal stopover in a local park and an impromptu visit to a nearby tiki bar, our crew returned to the Alameda port, prepared to brave the waters yet again. Narrowly avoiding 2 buses full of pirates (not a joke--there had to have been at least 100 of them in full costume...waiting for a party boat to pick them up), we shoved off, headed due West for San Francisco.

Despite a disorienting day with no compass in our possession (other than our moral compasses which weren't exactly pointing in the right direction), the S.S. Hot Mess docked at the Ferry Building and the voyage was deemed a naughtycal victory.

"It Takes a Lot of Beer To Make Good Wine"

I've been up to Dayle and Larry's vineyard lots and lots of times...but never for Harvest. For the past 2 years, Harvest weekend at Tryphon Vineyards has either fallen on my birthday or on the Bluegrass Festival in Golden Gate Park, neither of which I could exactly blow off, now could I? (Dear Bluegrass Festival, I love you more than I love Seasons 1-5 of Lost combined, which you should know is a LOT. No promises re: Season 6, though. Sorry. Muah!)

It turns out that harvesting your own grapes is one of the best! things! ever! Not only do you get your own shiny little hook tool that looks like it should affix to the end of a pirate's fake metal hand, but you also get to dump your grapes from your personal collection buckets into a dump truck bed that empties into a grape crusher.

Then you get to watch hard working boys shovel things while Larry and Dayle ride around in their tractor! The entire experience is a 4-year old boy's dream: pirates, tractors, shovels and crushing machinery. Someone could make a fortune with a childrens' book on the subject. Pop-up perhaps?

Meanwhile, waking up at 6am to Dayle's farm-style breakfast kind of made me feel like Fern from Charlotte's Web (more along the lines of my 4-year-old dream). Though sadly, I was neither sporting cute overalls nor harboring a pet spider with magical weaving powers (note to self for next year). While we sipped our coffee, up came the sun, on went our wool hats and out went our crew of 15 into the fields, armed with shiny cutting hooks and a keg of beer.

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By the end of 8 hours, Team Tryphon '09 had picked 4 tons of grapes. This meant that Larry and Dayle were happy, although exhausted from days of prep work preceding the event. Our fingernails caked with dirt, shoes covered in vineyard dust and cheeks pink from the mountain sun, we retreated back inside for a homemade dinner of smoked pork and butternut squash soup. (A well executed meal, but not the best choice for those of us working within the Charlotte's Web framework.)

Kicking back later that night, it felt wholly satisfying to have a long day of real farm work under one's belt. (Somehow, completing a long day of interactive copywriting doesn't quite result in the same degree of "hells yeah!") And it felt even better to take off said belt and get in my favorite hot tub West of the Mississippi (complete with a blue disco light and a moonlit view of the Sierra Foothills).

And just when I thought the awesomeness of the situation had reached its peak, the Tahoe Forest firefighter boys (the badass kind that fly around in helicopters and sprint into flames with axes and chainsaws) stopped over to check in on our day's progress and wish Miss Dayle a happy birthday. (I'm learning that everyone knows everyone in Camptonville, CA.) True to their mission, the "elite, multi-skilled professional wildland firefighters" upheld their tradition of excellence and kept us and our freshly crushed grapes very, very safe...

Another Fine Jersey Girl Off The Market

Since last I wrote, my life has pretty much been dedicated to Heather's wedding. Well, that and a brand new job (info to follow soon). You know, things like planning fun surprises for the bride, writing my Maid of Honor speech, and placing the standard bets with the Jersey crew on who would do what at the event (i.e. blackout, hook up, cause some sort of regrettable scene, etc). After a year of colorful anticipation, we had arrived at the final countdown. And I was ready.

Rather than walk you through the ins and outs of the Donahue-Koehler affair (a success story spanning several days), I've decided to present a few highlights in Top 10 form:

10) Realizing just how well I know the bride's personal style upon gifting her what I thought would be a transformational garment: a pair of hanky pankies for secret debut at the rehearsal dinner. Surely, she didn't know about this change-your-life-forever brand of underwear as I had just found out about them in the last year from a friend of mine who tends to be "in the know" when it comes to the latest in intimate apparel. And I just knew Heather would love them.

When the bride-to-be opened the little package, she started laughing. "What?!" I questioned her, perplexed at how she could laugh in the face of high art. It turned out that not only did she know about this bar-raising underwear, but she was wearing a pair at that very moment in the exact same color that I had picked out for her. Now if on-the-money undergarment selection isn't indicative of true friendship, I don't know what is.

9) Discovering a fantastic new candy bar, hailing from the Garden State.

8) Learning first-hand what the groom and his groomsmen do the morning of the wedding while the bride and bridesmaids are busy with the make-up artist and hair stylist: eat horrifying amounts of fried chicken while screaming at the football game on TV. And all these years I had been thinking they were sitting around, talking about what the groom should name his future babies!

7) Successfully not laughing at the alter during the serious part of the ceremony, which is more than I can say for prior bridesmaiding endeavors. (Sorry, Trace. I owe you forever. Plus, I blame Jill.) Turns out the strategy is to never make eye contact. With anyone--especially not my mom. No matter what.

6) Getting to sleep in the bridal suite the night before the wedding...just Heather and I...in our pjs. Do I lose points from my Maid of Honor score if I failed to notice when the bride woke up in the middle of the night and ordered The Hangover on demand? Not exactly the movie you want to watch the night before your wedding.

5) Busting an unnamed male friend for knowing every last word to It's Raining Men while singing along on the dance floor.

4) Hanging out with the old school crew on the bank of a lake (where the reception was held) around a bonfire...in a bridesmaid dress, high heels and full make-up. Note: there's something about kickin' it in the great outdoors that makes it ok to drink a glass of wine that accidentally got sand in it, heels or no heels.

3) Watching the audience's faces when the best man introduced his speech by announcing that he would be reciting a poem that he had written for the groom called, "Love Is Like A Kitten's Breath by Nathaniel Chase Millett." Let's just say there was some serious laughter/relief going on when he followed this announcement with "What? Come on, already. I'm kidding, you guys. But what I will tell you is a story about this one time when Todd got so wasted that..."

2) Sending the bride off to the church in an antique car with her proud dad sitting next to her. The sound system was playing "Going to the Chapel" and champagne was chilling inside so that it would be cold for the bride and groom after exiting the church as Mr. and Mrs. Koehler. And that it was.

1) Watching Heather double fist an Amstel Light and a sparkler while wearing her wedding gown. Sitting in an Adirondack chair underneath the stars, she had a huge grin on her face as her husband, brothers and oldest friends proceeded to rip on one another with everything they had. And that moment, my friends, is the first page to Heather and Todd's story of happily ever after. See photo below.

Ode To Funemployment

One day I came to work to find...some vodka on the table.
A meeting had been called to let us know if we were stable.

It turned out, no, yeah...not so much. Our jobs would be no more.
But why not share a cocktail before heading out the door?

At first, oh shit, I had no job. But soon onset enjoyment.
With endless time to bounce around--enter funemployment!

One by one my friends sent texts "my boss just dropped the ax."
Well come on, pal, fear not, ole chap, get ready to relax.

From NYC to Bali with a stint in The OC.
Camping out in Guerneville drinking mudslides, 1, 2, 3.

Shooting guns with Dayle, at her vineyard in the hills.
Living every moment, stirrin' trouble to the gills.

Trader Joes, why not? You bet. Let's meet at 2, OK?
You know there'll never be a line in the middle of the day.

Bikram yoga, Double Dutch...and Bootcamp all the time.
Kinda feel bad for my buddies, workin' 9 to 5.

Famer's markets, Headland hikes, you name it and I did it.
Loved the freedom, read some books, savored every minute.

But no more restaurants, fancy clothes or facials at the spa.
Thankful for my friends who bought me champagne with framboise.

Then out of nowhere came a job. I'm back to workin' life.
So long, dear funemployment. With good times you were rife.

Farewell suntan, goodbye walks for coffee with my crew...
...of buddies outa work like me, how fiercely I'll miss you.

Hello MUNI, good day race to get to work on time.
At least I'll get to step it up with quality red wine.

For those whose time will still be spent chillin' on the porch,*
As the funemployment master, I bow and pass the torch.



* with a New Yorker and a latte. I am already jealous!

Not Just Anyone Can Be a Professional Partier. You Gotta Train, Man.

As you know, I've been a participant in BootcampSF for the past 6 weeks. Yep, a few days a week, I've been up and out the door, beginning an ass-kicking 1-hour outdoor workout by 8:30am--drill sargeant style. The experience has been eye opening for a number of reasons such as learning where you fall on the continuum of fitness in 3 different areas (arm strength, core strength and long distance running ability).

Regarding my personal fitness data, let's just say that if I were in running school, my placement test score would land me in the remedial class...probably with a private tutor paid for by the state. And I'd get to take the running SAT test untimed. But the important thing, I guess, is that I got better, ultimately shaving 2 minutes off my 1.5 mile run time.

That may not sound like a lot (and it probably isn't), but it meant that I ran by Tartin bakery a little faster each time, mortified knowing that the stylish neighborhood patrons were watching our motley crew huff on by in sweaty shorts. It took everything I had to not to stop for a much needed walking break while passing the outdoor tables where the hip parents congregate, casually sipping lattes from oversized porcelain bowls. "Do not trip," I'd repeat to myself for the entire block.

Anyway, what was funny about Bootcamp (other than how people's big happy dogs would sometimes chase us while we suffered through puke-inducing sprints across the park) was that I got a glimpse into the lives of my fellow San Franciscians--at least those who were also signed up for the 8:30am class in Dolores Park. When asked by our instructor on the last day why each of us had joined the class, following were some of the responses. Mind you, I was expecting to hear answers like "I'd like to lose some weight before my wedding" or "I'm training for a marathon."

Responses (delivered 100% deadpan):

Mid-thirties tall guy: "Well, Burning Man is coming up and I'd like to improve how I look with my shirt off."

Mid-forties butch woman: "I play hockey and need to be able to kick more ass on the ice."

Mid-thirties graphic designer: "I want to be able to dance all night without getting tired. As you might imagine, professional partiers need excellent cardio endurance."

God bless San Francisco.