Thursday, December 23, 2010

It was like high school...

Or the version of high school John Hughes sold to me in all his movies. Because it didn't actually resemble any of my high school experiences. Still...

So here's what happened: Yesterday I was dragging, doing my usual schtick. I was cranky from the day before dealing with my brother and my mother and running errands. In order to get past this, and to stop talking to myself out loud in public, I made plans with my friend Cheryl. I thought a thousand different times about canceling these plans but I also convinced myself that getting out of the house was necessary. After dinner at a Japanese joint with my parents, I got gussied up and headed to the Marina to meet Cheryl.

We first went to the Brick Yard. I wanted to check it out because apparently it is the unofficial LSU bar for game watching. I want to go out to watch the bowl game because it's on a Friday night. I wasn't that enamored with it, at least not this night, so after one drink here we moved on.

It was nice to chat with Cheryl though, as someone who also failed the July bar and is on the same, "Wtf are we doing?" trip that I am.

We headed next to Mauna Loa. It was definitely more lively and laid back than Brick Yard. And they had a bunch of people in Santa hats there. Festive! I hadn't been to Mauna Loa in years but remembered liking it. And we had a pretty good time. We made fun of what must have been the WORST pool players in the history of the game who seemed to scratch on nearly every single shot. We ran into a fellow law school classmate there, the wonderful and fabulous and so fantastically sweet. We talked for a  bit about our future and what's going on and where we're going and our other mutual friends. I really wish I'd gotten to spend more time with her in law school.

After enough of Mauna Loa, we headed to our old standby, which is really my brother's bar: Bar None. (Btw: Hysterical it has just 2.5 Yelp stars but is always packed. The Marina was fairly quiet on this Christmas week Wednesday night but Mauna Loa and Bar None were fairly hopping. Also: Even though I on the one hand claim endlessly that I am *not* a stereotypical Marina type, and I'm not, I have fun at these bars because I can make fun of everyone else, it's fantastic people watching, and the drinks flow. It's got that college vibe, ya know? I mean, where else am I gonna go out? I am SO not cool enough to hang out in the Mission.)

We were at Bar None for, I dunno, ten minutes, when this Irish guy, like IRISH, like I can barely understand half of what you are saying do they have subtitles for your accent Irish guy comes over and starts talking to me. He's sort of full of shit but ever so occasionally hearing that your eyes are "focking gorgeous" is really nice. And he's not bad looking and he's, ya know, got an Irish fucking accent. Considering I spent all my underage years in SF, home on breaks, going to hard core Irish bars in the Sunset and the Richmond where I learned to nod and smile to the guys with the thick brogues, I still drink a shit ton of Magners and I can use "bollocks" in a sentence without sounding like a complete ass, I've got a nostalgic fondness for the accent and the salt of the earth, rough hands because they're all construction workers Irish guys.

Irish guy wanders off with his friends. I am having fun with Cheryl. This is also about the point in the evening when I notice NATE FUCKING SCHIERHOLTZ is at Bar None again. The last time he was there, the place was packed and I couldn't just, ya know, go over and talk to him. This time the place is not packed and Nate is talking to my brother's good friend who is going to be at my house on Christmas. Still. I get all fangirl and can't make an ass out of myself and go over there and just say hi. I know, I know. Sometimes I am amazed by my own lameness too. He leaves. I never say anything. Just stare at those shoulders in that light grey hoodie thing he was wearing. Sigh.

The Irish guy comes back over and chats for a bit. But then Irish guy and his friends are going to leave. Not much of a loss I figure, it is what it is. *shrug* I turn back to Cheryl and our conversation when Irish guy and his one friend come back. I could see out of the corner of my eye that there was apparently a discussion about this. Heh. I have power. Or something.

We drink, we chat, Cheryl talks to the friend whose accent is even thicker than the guy I am talking to. She keeps looking at me to translate. I look at her and give her the advice from my younger days, "Nod and smile. Nod and smile."

Bar closes, I drop Cheryl off and Irish guy and I set out on more adventures. I mean, it is only 1:45 a.m. But it being 1:45 a.m.: I can't get beer anywhere. Stupid not knowing where liquor stores in the Marina are. (I never am the one who wants to stop drinking, even though I was not anywhere near drunk this particular night.) So I head to the sunset (I have a plan) but the 7-11 on Judah at 1:59 won't sell us any beer either. Seriously? I have a backup plan still though and go to sneak into my dad's house to steal the Corona I *know* will be in his fridge. Except my dad is home and wide awake. Which leads to a fifteen minute conversation with him. While the Irish guy is in my car. Awwwkkwaarrdd. This is the price you pay for being a grown ass adult and not having your own place. But the summary: our 15 year old boxer mix is on her very last legs (sad face) and my dad is proposing to his girlfriend (happy face...third time is a charm or something). Also do adore that my dad doesn't even balk that his grown ass daughter comes in at 2 a.m., grabs 4 coronas and leaves. Thanks, dad!

I then drive to my most favoritest nighttime spot in all of San Francisco: the palace of legion of honor. Folks, in the hypothetical world in which I ever get married, it will be here. What those picture links don't show you is that when you face away from the building, you see a fantastic view of the Golden Gate Bridge and a lot of the bay. Last night the moon was fairly full, the sky had cleared, and it was crisp and cool. And I sat on the railing that borders the parking lot and made out with the Irish guy. Like MADE OUT. Like I was a teenager. Until the cops rolled by and told us to leave because it was night time. Now I REALLY feel like I'm a teenager. In the fictional world in which this shit happens when you are in high school. Because it was certainly NOT, as mentioned, my high school experience. (Confession: I kissed exactly zero boys the entire time I was in high school. Seriously. Yep. I think we've remedied that particular wrong at this point, no?)

After getting kicked off the grounds of the Palace, we went down the hill to the beach. Where you are also not supposed to be parked at night, but whatever. And me in my bare-feet on Ocean Beach at 3:30 in the morning is now seriously asking for a cold. And I made out on the beach. Something I never did in high school either. And the lights of the shipping lanes twinkled red and green like Christmas lights which I could because it was super clear out. Then it got cold and we made out in my car. LIKE A FUCKING HIGH SCHOOLER! I finally dropped the Irish guy off after our PG13 high school hook up. I woke up this morning, after getting home at 6 in the morning, giggling like an idiot.

Oh, I emailed Andy when I got home. He IMed me shortly after I sent it, before I went to sleep and said, "I find it pretty disgusting that I'm waking up for the day and you're going to sleep buzzing about magical making out."


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