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rue-madame's Diaryland Diary

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Reader's Digest version of my trip to SF

I checked email once or twice while I was in San Francisco. Both times on the same day. There was a lot of filler in my inbox, and a couple of emails from my client.

The trip was pretty fun. I stayed at my parents’ house which was rad because they weren’t there. The house is big, has place settings for a million people so I had people over on two nights for dinner and it was really fun. One night we played Celebrity and then created a variation called Karaoke Celebrity where you had to sing songs and have your team guess the singer or band name. Watching Ed do Prince and Terence do Julio Iglesias were highlights. The weather was great—sunny but not too hot—and I had coffee every morning on the deck which overlooks the Castro and downtown. When I was a kid, I totally took that shit for granted. Now, I’m older and maudlin and marvel at how pretty it is.

The shower that I attended on Saturday was dumb and lame and retarded. The only saving grace is that we didn’t play stupid games. The other thing that helped me deal with the treacly retardation of the day was that I had to go Commando because I didn't pack any thong underwear, and the skirt that I was wearing was skintight (in a tasteful way, naturellement.)

We ate a very proper lunch of arugula and popcorn shrimp, pasta with chicken, and dessert. There was not enough wine. And we didn’t get a choice of red or white. There was only white. The waiters poured one round and disappeared. Whaaat? How am I supposed to act like I’m having fun if there is no alcohol to take the edge off the real discomfort? If I’d truly been crafty, I would have scoped out the bar area before sitting down, and snuck off for a tipple. Big mistake on my part. The food was not that good, and furthermore, the dessert was a complete letdown. On the menu, we were tempted with strawberry shortcake; what they actually served was a yellow cake with white frosting and terrible crême pâtissière and strawberries on the inside. That was not shortcake at all. As a shower favor, all the attendeed were given little gift cards that opened up to reveal two little teabags. Originally, the shower was to have been a tea at the Ritz, and I’m sure that the party favors were bought at that time. So not only were the favors irrelevant because the party was a luncheon and NOT a tea, they were Safeway generic brand orange pekoe!!!!!! They weren’t even “special” or “fancy” tea. They were just run-of-the-mill, buy it in the gigantic Family section of the supermarket teabags. The only person who was as horrified as myself was Tracy, and she and I exchanged knowing glances all luncheon long. I don’t even think the bride-to-be noticed that my and Tracy’s entries were absent from the little booklet. I briefly looked at what some people wrote, but decided that it would cause me to hurl, so I closed it and walked away.

Later, at the bride-to-be’s house, we all sat around talking and drinking and that was nice. Until the bride-to-be started reading some of the attendees entries in her little book. One line was particularly nauseous to me: “The best thing about making up is dotdotdot.” A lot of people wrote “jewelry”, and I was appalled. We shopped for bridesmaid stuff, and I splurged on a Cosabella thong (which was on sale!) because I was starting to get cold down south.

The best part of the day was meeting up with the bachelors at the bachelor party in North Beach. Being in North Beach was awful because on the weekends, that neighborhood is overrun by every manner of jerk and idiot; fortunately, we were a large group and managed to get a table at the back of Tosca, where we all drank and talked. Terence was completely blasé about the bachelor troika of golf/steaks/strip clubs, though he had fun torturing Tony who was visibly uncomfortable at Déjà Vu (the name of the strip club.) That guy is such a freaky Mama’s Boy! If you were 32, lived at home, didn’t have a girlfriend or a job, wouldn’t you want a free lap dance (courtesy of your friends)?

So here I am at Tosca, mouth sassily open, as usual...

That’s Terence next to me, looking either sleepy or stoned, take your pick.

I’m sure I’ve got more to write but I’ve got to input the final corrections for this book. I need to put this assignment to bed so that I can invoice.

3:00 p.m. - 2002-07-27

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