Scott and I spent a little less than a week in San Francisco in mid-April, visiting very, very good friends we haven’t seen since our wedding day, Tracey and Nick. Before we left on April 9, I’d been working without a day off since March 24, so we (I) needed some downtime, some funtime, some goodtimes — the kind you only get with friends who you can fart around*, or at least talk about farting around.
My one request for the visit was: Let’s go to a Giants game! This was my fourth time in SanFran, and I’d gone to zero games (yes, I know — I live in DC, and I don’t plan on going to a game at Nationals Park, um, ever). But you really can’t deny the beauty of the stadium, which I cannot remember the name of. It isn’t Candlestick anymore, and it can’t be just Giants Stadium, so I shall call it the Yahoo Center, which can’t be far off, because Yahoo ads infiltrate the place just as AOL ads cover the MCI/Verizon/Whatsit Center here in DC. Like I said, it’s pretty, though it is a stadium built for ants, apparently:
After the game, we miraculously had energy for some clubbing, which meant stopping by the Comet Club. The last time I’d visited, we’d had a rather drunken, sweaty dance club time at the CC. Turns out, it’s not super busy on weeknights, but there was still some drunken dancing. (To a Rihanna song, in particular, ‘SOS,’ I think, and when the song stopped abruptly, I believe one of our party shouted, “PLEASE, don’t stop the music!”) Visual proof:
Not too long later, some of the lightweights among us passed out. Others debated how many calories were in McDonalds cheeseburgers.
The next day, we headed to Napa/Sonoma for a tour through wine country, another thing I’ve never fully experienced before. For some reason, I’ve always been a little dismissive of day trips and wine tours. I have done a complete reversal there. I heart wine tours. I heart five dollars for a few sips of a few different wines. I think my favorite of the day was the Blackstone Winery, where we bought a few bottles of wine, probably because the tastings were choose-your-own-vino-adventure. The funny part is, we found Blackstone wines at our local Trader Joes when we got home … for about $10 less a pop. (Yes, Tracey, we got shrunked.) Regardless, we took a break to snack at a pretty picnic area outside some castle-like winery, where filming was in place for a show on one of the home/garden networks, which we got in the way of once or twice.
That night, we crashed in a little cabin on the Russian River in Sonoma. The deck was built around huge redwood trees, and we could see the river from the windows (along with naked ladies making their way upstream for some reason we couldn’t figure out). It will someday be the setting for The River House, the sequel to The Lake House, because everything about it was sweet and clever and adorable.
When we got back into San Fran proper the next day, I’m not going to lie to you — there were hangovers and upset stomachs. (They were mine.) We took it slow. A little bit of shopping, a small lunch, and a lot of bocce in the Golden Gate/Marina Park. Scott took this one during lunch, because he was thrilled to be able to get everyone in the photo. I had no idea it was being taken; that look on my face is “Oh my Beer, I hope I don’t puke/poop myself RIGHT HERE.”
After bocce, it was our last night in town — we had an early flight the next day, so we played it low-key, just hitting up a few bars in Tracey and Nick’s neighborhood that we liked on previous trips. This photo is what 95 percent of Scott’s vacation snaps look like:
The other five percent are just photos of his balls, and you have to go to an entirely different kind of Web site to see those.
*I don’t think we’d really farted around each other before. We’re now on a new level, one that also includes peeing with the door open.
**I’m sorry these photos are so small. It was my first time using Picasa. Picasa is stupid.
