If ever I leave for the weekend or an extended destination vacation, I have this fear that I’m going to miss something really amazing here in San Francisco. This is a legitimate fear: A loss of even 24 hours can result in significant social changes (i.e. a break-up) and/or abandoned memories (i.e. a self-proclaimed pub crawl with friends that I’m not on). To prepare myself for the absence of good times while I’m away, I like to make the weekend prior to my travels a good one, hence, the weekend before Vegas.
Friday Night:
With Friday off of work and both my roommates out of town, I felt socially obligated to do dinner and cocktails for those poor schleps who had to work all day. CUE: Carnitas and Margaritas aka Mini-Fiesta! By the third pitcher of POM-Margaritas I was actually starting to believe Mary when she said, “You know these drinks are pretty good for us. I mean, we’re getting all of our anti-oxidants in for the week.” (For those of you who don’t know Mary, she is a nurse and a good nurse, but taking medical or health advice from her after several cocktails is not the best idea.)
Saturday Morning:
Mary and I woke up feeling like shiza, convinced that the late night pizza was covered in expired cheese. We were most certain is was not due to the tequila, nor the blow job shots Dave had so kindly sent to us from across the bar.
Unfortunately for us, Mary, Brooks, Blaire and I were scheduled for our Marine Mammal Center orientation at 10:00am. We strive to make good first impressions, so we only showed up 5 minutes late. (Lucky for us, a group of teens clearly assigned there for community service, showed up 15 minutes late, making us look like the good students again.) About 5 minutes into the 90 minute presentation, I realized I was most definitely NOT going to hug a seal that day. About 25 minutes later, I realized the closest I would probably ever come to hugging a seal , would be when I got to lay on top the seal holding it down for a tube feeding. Instead I settled for this:
The rest of the afternoon we spent recovering on the beach with Lola…
Saturday Night:
Since we’re all on a budget in preparation for Vegas, we decided to do a second night in and Mary made a delicious Spinach Fettucine. What was planned to be an intimate dinner for five ended in a shit show game of Thunder with a whole mess of people. (Luckily I always have mass quantities of tequila on hand. I try to be prepared for any situation, with the exception of an earthquake. In that scenario I’m screwed.) For those of you who are unfamiliar with the game of Thunder, here’s the scoop:
Step 1: All players form a circle with extra cocktail pitcher/beer in center.
Step 2: Play the song “Thunderstruck” by AC/DC.
Step 3: Going clock-wise, the first person starts to chug when they sing the word “Thunder.” Every time they sing the word “Thunder” the next person starts to drink and continues to do so until they sing it again.
Example:
Needless to say, after only one round of this game, the group was ready to head out for the night. As everyone exited the apartment I stood on the front stoop saying goodbye to people heading home and waiting for every one else so we could head to the bars. As the front door closes Hart says to me “Money, do you need to lock the front door?” I respond, “No, it locks automatically.” Which prompts me to check my purse, only to realize I don’t have my keys. Typically this isn’t a problem as I can rely on the boys for their keys, but they’re both NOT in the city. So Christie, who lives upstairs, gets us into the building to face the task at hand: Breaking into my own apartment.
There are two ways this can be done. The first is to climb through the six inch window gap into the bathroom and the second is to go to the roof and shimmy down the fire escape in the hopes my bedroom window is open.
Entrance #1: Here’s just a quick glance at how that went down involving Gberg and Gainza:
Entrance #2: Christie and Jen (who was heavily medicated on muscle relaxers at the time) chose the roof to fire escape method. This was dangerous for not only the obvious reasons, but for the single fact that our fire escape has a very narrow gap from the last ladder down to my bedroom window, which I know from personal experience can put you in a precarious situation. Only two years ago I was trying to break into my apartment for the same reason, using this same route. Coming through this small gap my pants were caught on the wheel which releases the ladder to the ground. As that ladder pummeled down, so with it went my pants. Leaving me trapped, pants around my ankles and mooning all of my neighbors. Ten minutes later my friend had used scissors to cut me out of my jeans so I could be released from the ladders’ grip. Having learned this lesson the hard way, the girls were warned and made it safely to my bedroom window and into the apartment.
Saturday night I learned two valuable lessons: First, although time consuming, it is FAR too easy to break into my own apartment and precautions must be taken. And second, whenever I’m with GBerg I lose my keys. GBerg- Something about you makes me lose my keys!