Memorial Day Weekend, Part Two

After feeling a rush of love toward my home city after the fireworks show, I decided we should travel into the city again the following day to take in some sights and soak up the love.  We drove this time.  Fooled me once, Golden Gate Transit, shame on you. 

We picked up one of Leila's friends and had a tourist day.  We went to Pier 39, the most touristy place in the whole city.  In fact, if you are reading this and have never been to San Francisco and are planning a trip here some time in your future, do not go to Pier 39.  SAVE YOURSELF!  Except for the magnificent views of the bay, and the sea lions that sun themselves in the bay, Pier 39 has absolutely nothing to do with San Francisco.  You will learn nothing about our city by going there, except that we will take your cash any way we can get it.  I hadn't been there in 20 years, so we went, and in spite of the touristy shlock, we actually had a good time.  Doesn't mean you should go there, though. 

One of the really great things about my husband is that when I get a wild hair that we should do something like this, he doesn't cheap out on me.  He just knows that if we are going to the fair, or Pier 39, or some festival or public event, we are going to spend money, and that trying to save money during that kind of day is just annoying.  So we park in the garage, we go to lunch, we buy the kids some souvenirs (in this case, mood rings) we get some fudge, I even bought a sweatshirt because I've been wanting a zip up hoodie.  He doesn't balk, he just pays. (which is how I ended up with a $20 metal starfish.)  I like that about him.  When I was a kid, my parents might have taken me on an outing, once in a blue moon, but once there, I was never allowed to do any of the fun stuff like ride the double decker carousel, or tip the musician painted in silver, or get a funnel cake.  It was kind of a bummer.  But they also have a very comfortable retirement now, and that is a great gift to me, so maybe them buying me that ice cream cone would have meant me paying for their retirement home, so it was probably a good call.

How about those sea lions, though?  That's a never ending drama, right there. "Get off my pier!  Stop pushing me!  You smell!  I'm trying to sleep!  I don't want your stupid Amway!"  At least that's how I translated there constant barking.  Those guys have a lot to say.

After the Pier, the kids wanted to go to the Hyatt Regency Hotel where they have these glass elevators that you can ride.  You're not supposed to ride them, and you can only get on if you have a key card, but we dangle around the elevator lobby for someone to get off the elevator and then we sneak on and go wild.  I used to love this hotel when I was a kid, too.  It must be genetic.  Also, Leila loves the name.  She says, "Its so fancy, like, Hyatt."  They had a ball.  They kept checking their mood rings which vacillated between being "calm" and "in love"  The latter made them blush.

So long, Pier 39!  See you in another 20 years!

What I did over my Memorial Day Weekend

Did you all have a nice memorial day weekend?  I sure did.  I laid around on my couch for two whole days.  I honestly can't tell you what I did.  Oh, yes I can, actually:  I made turkey meatloaf on Saturday, and I made vanilla ice cream on Sunday.  And the rest of the time I laid around and watched TV.

But here's what we did Sunday night, part awesome, part boondoggle.

Here's the awesome part:

In an effort to get out of the house and do something great, we went to see our bridge celebrate her birthday.  We were told repeatedly, by every news source and every radio station, for days beforehand, USE PUBLIC TRANSIT.  So we did, rule followers that we are.  We went down to the bus stop with our exact change, and bussed it in to the city and got off on the SF side of the bridge and watched the most excellent fireworks show.  It was simply amazing, and I hate that word.  But you don't read me to see how amazing things were, you read me because little things piss me off and I like to make big deals out of them.

Which brings us to the boondoggle part:

After a fabulous and moving fireworks show (I do love that damn bridge) we and our fellow spectators made our way back up to the bus stop at the toll plaza of the bridge.  There were no buses.  There were no buses for a half hour.  Full buses drove past us, and we were completely bus free.  Let me also say here, that if you have ever been on the Golden Gate Bridge at 10 at night with fog rolling in, you know that its witches-tit cold out there.  And we can't stand in the relative comfort of the bus shelter because the 200 other people waiting for a bus are in a mass at the curb trying to be first in line for a warm bus.  So we wait.  There is one poor soul in an official yellow jacket frantically calling people on her cell phone telling them we need empty buses.  Finally, one bus arrives, and the first wave proceeds to board.  It takes 20 minutes to fill the bus, because it seems that every single passenger has never been on a bus before, and has to have a long discussion with the bus driver, presumably about correct change.  It is excruciating for the rest of us who are standing shoulder to shoulder freezing our asses off.  The one bus is filled, and we wait for a second bus.  We eventually boarded the third bus which arrived an hour and a half after the fireworks ended.

The line of angry people waiting for buses

 Mind you, I had a 10 year-old with me, and she was losing her shit.  I had to distract her by lending voices to the boarding passengers, like this: "Excuse me, sir?  Does this bus stop at the planet Neptune?  I don't have any dimes, so can you give me change back?  Oh you cant?  Well I don't have exact change, but I need to get to Neptune.  Will there be hot chocolate on the bus?  No?  I was told there would be refreshments..." and on and on.  This is where the real parenting chops come out.  I am cold and frustrated, and considering waking my dad and asking him to pick us up, but I am keeping my kid distracted from having a complete melt down by doing funny voices.  Someone give me a medal.

At 11:30, we got on the bus, and Rob and I had to stand the whole ride home.  I was burping the whole way, hoping I wouldn't barf, and, mercifully, I did not.  We were home and in bed just after midnight.  I'm still cold.

Good fireworks, though.  Gave me a great feeling of city pride.  I really do live in the most beautiful place in the world, and if you're reading this and don't live here, I feel sad for you. 

Shopping Hangover

Dude, I just went shopping.  For clothes.  For myself.  I shopped like I've never shopped before.  I dropped a lot of dough.  But when I talked to my friends and said, "Guess how much money I spent on clothes today:"  Three of them said, "Was it more than a thousand?" and I was all, "NO WAY!! Not even close!" and they were all, "Oh, then its not that bad."

Really?  Not that bad?  I feel a little jittery about it.  I don't think I've ever spent this much on clothes in one go.  Or in one year, for that matter.  I think I need some post shopping wine. 

Here are all my rationalizations for why its "not that bad:" 

1) I NEVER do this.  Once or twice a year I go to Target or Old Navy and get cheap, ill-fitting things and wear them until they fall off my body begging for mercy.  Or until I drip popcorn butter on them at the movies and can't get it out.  Which ever comes first.

2) I wear my clothes FOREVER.  I used a white camisole from the store to try on these gauzy tops, and I realized I might need some camisoles.  I bought three.  The last time I bought camis, I wasn't even married.  That's a long-ass time ago.  The things I got today I will probably wear for the next decade.  Unless I drip popcorn butter on them and I can't get it out.

3) Almost everything I bought was on sale, and I left two thirds of what I tried on in the dressing room.  So, really, I saved money.

4) I don't have a number four.  I only have three rationalizations, but, for emphasis, I'll restate the first: I NEVER do this.

Honestly, I feel a little drunk off this shopping spree; a little light headed.  I might need to lie down. 

I went with my friend, White Pants, who is a good shopping buddy because a) she always looks good and stylish and fresh, and b) she's honest.  She would never let me buy anything that looked hideous, and will beat me before she lets me walk out of a store with pants that are any looser than a sausage casing.  She's a good egg.  You know what she tried on?  White pants. 

Wha?

I had something I was going to write about, but now I forget what it was.  This being in my 40s thing is so neat.  I can't remember anyone's name, I can't remember what I walked into a room for, I can't remember lines from movies, and I used to be able to recite those things like some people recite the bible; chapter and verse.  I don't know how I ever remembered all the words to Billy Joel's We Didn't Start the Fire (but I did, in college, when I wasn't doing the required reading.)  I'm shocked that I  remembered Billy Joel's name just then.  I also fart more. 

In Tina Fey's book, Bossypants, her chapter entitled "What Turning Forty Means to Me" says: " I need to take my pants off as soon as I get home.  I didn't used to have to do that.  But now I do."  That's the whole chapter, and its a good one, and absolutely true.

This was not what I was going to write about, but I have no idea what super-topic I had planned. 

Hey, you know what?  I just finished the third book in the Fifty Shades of Grey series, and I have to tell you two things:

1) A woman in my Trashy Book Club told us that her husband said it was the best book he never read.  And if you've read it, you know what he's talking about.
2) At the end of book three, there is dossier on the main female character, and it lists her mother's year of birth as 1970.  I WAS BORN IN 1970!  So not only can I not identify with the main character's fantastic sex life and crazy wealth, but I'M OLD ENOUGH TO BE HER MOTHER.  That is sobering. 

Bras

Can I write an interesting Friday post in 13 minutes?  Let's find out!!!

Okay, so far? I have nothing.  Okay here's something.

My daughter is slowly but surely entering puberty.  I wont go into any specifics because she will one day be taller than me and will kick my ass, but I have taken to torturing her.

I say, "Hey!  Guess What!" and she goes, "What?" and I go, "PUBERTY!" and she rolls her eyes and tells me how weird  I am. 

I was relaying this story to my mother and reminisced about how I was too shy to ask for a bra when it was time so Kelly Fitzsimons and I hopped on our bikes and rode down to JC Penney and I bought a bra in a box for $3.50 of allowance money.  I hid it from my mom and rinsed it out when I took a shower.  Then one day I was trying on clothes (Levi 501s, if memory serves, and a top with ruffles that went from shoulders to waist) and she peeked through the curtain and saw my bra.  When we got home, she came in my room and snickered and said, "So lets see this bra of yours" so I handed it over.  "I didn't know they made them this small!" Said the woman with the life long A cup.  Is it any wonder that I didn't ask my mom to come with me and get me a bra?  For such a good mom, she was really terrible about stuff like this.

My mom says that never happened, and that I didn't buy myself my first bra.  She does this.  She can't remember anything, and assumes that if she can't remember it, it never happened.  She couldn't tell me how I did get my first bra, but she was sure I didn't get it on my bike with my friend, Kelly.  She finally relented when I pointed out that she is old, and I am young (er) and that I think I know what happened in my own life.

So I am going entirely the other way, by bombarding my daughter with puberty talk, and tampon tutorials, and mortifying her at every turn.  I told her the story about how I got my first bra and made her promise not to do the same thing.  She promised.  And, she hates riding her bike, so I think I'm safe.

10 minutes.  How'd I do?  Happy Mother's Day!

My Cat is a Dick

My cat is a very lovey, snuggly, affectionate asshole.  I am very done with pets today.  They all suck.

My friend has a laundry room in her downstairs and from the time she brought her cats home, they were put in the laundry room at night.  Now I have total laundry room envy. 

Not sleeping well is bad enough, but when it someone elses fault, like a neighbor whose car alarm goes off at 3 a.m. and wakes up your cat, who then starts climbing all over you and touching your face with his paw and purring in your ear and doesn't stop for hours until you pitch him across the room, its even worse. 

I also think I heard a screech owl.  That's a bad sign.

So, today didn't start well, but I can turn it around.  I will make myself some french toast, which heals almost anything, and then in a while take the dog for a bath and buy him some food.  Then I will come home and watch celebrity ghost stories, and my pets can all suck it.

Best Mother Ever - Exhibit 27

The other day I was waiting with a friend in her car, picking Leila up from school.  Another friend joined us at the driver's side window and we did what moms do: engaged in juicy gossip.  I know, we should be above it, we should all be beacons of forgiveness and understanding.  But you know what?  Eff it.  Just as we were getting to the good part, here comes Leila, bounding up to the car.

We had to stop mid story.  So, genius mother that I am, I say to Leila, "Hey! Go over to the after care place and see if your little friend can come over for the afternoon!"  Leila looks at me confused.  This is unprecedented.  Sending her back onto the school grounds to go get a friend for an un-planned play date?  Well, okay then!  She runs off, back toward the school, and I get to hear the rest of the story.  And it was a good one.  But I'm not going to tell you what it is because I'm above all that.

My payment for this act of awesome parenting was to have two girls giggling the afternoon and evening away, getting them pizza, and finding her friend's pants in my bed after we brought her home.  Totally worth it.