As
BR549 once sang, it was one long Saturday night. Saturday was chock-full of fun, and as such completely exhausting.
Dr. May rallied the troops to make the most of the sunshine and warm weather by taking a roadtrip North through Olema to one of the many beaches in the
Point Reyes National Seashore.
Friday night ended unexpectedly early as the two-for-one's at Bandlands happy hour left me, shall we say, "peaking" a bit early. Thank God I went to bed early on Friday as Barney rallied us to get a move on at 9:00 Saturday morning. I picked up Shilpa, Lance (and George), and then Barney before meeting up with David Britt in Marin and caravan-ing up the coast together-- Shilpa, Barney and I in Linda and Lance & George with David in his new (and yet another)
Miata Mazda MX5.
There was a bit of lane confusion in San Anselmo and we found ourselves making a series of repetitive turns around a single intersection, and were suprosed to be stopped at a light behind this atrocity:
An enormous earth-destroying Ford SUV in "liberal" Marin County with the bumper stickers: "[Peace Symbol]: Footprint of the American Chicken" and "ACLU [with the C replaced by a hammer and sickle]: Enemy of the State." As they are so proud of these opinions as to plaster them to their SUV, I feel no need to redact the license plate.
I was so appalled that I felt the need to take a picture. The car next to us clearly agreed with our dismay, and thought that it was hilarious that we took a photo.
--- My brief rant on this: ---
The ACLU is an organization whose sole purpose is to defend the Bill of Rights and the Constitution of the United States of America. How on earth can this be the enemy of the state—it is seeking to preserve the rights and ideals of a state against those who might attack it, even those within its government. As an organization protecting the constitution, it is
necessarily patriotic. How conservative "patriots" can denigrate the ACLU without dissonance is beyond me.
And as for the other sticker, I find equating peace with weakness also ironic. War and violence are always easier than peace and resolution. Striving for peace has always required more courage than a rush to war. For me, the painful irony/cognitive dissonance in this stance is that it is often voiced by conservative/evangelical Christians. Rallying for war in the name of the Prince of Peace is not the sign of a sound mind, nor soul.
--- End of rant. ---
It was, actually, a perfect day for a drive. It was just beautiful weather with sunny skies and moderate temps.
(That's David ahead of us.)
We stopped in Olema where Sir Francis Drake finally ends and picked up some sandwiches and sodas. Barney generously treated the chauffeur to lunch and had brought several bottles of a New Zealand white for the caravan.
We finally made our way to Limatour, which required a small walk (maybe 200 yards) to the beach.
Now, originally the group thought we were headed to Tomales Bay and the Oyster farms and restaurants there, so arriving at a wide expanse of sand was a bit unexpected. Barney, instigator and planner, was the only one who knew where we were going and so was the most appropriately attired. In dress sandals and a skirt, Shilpa was much more dressed for cute than casual, and was justifiably concerned about sitting lounging in the sand. (Sand having a way of getting into nooks and [ahem] crannies.)
And of course, being me, I was prepared for such a contingency and was able to pull out beach blankets, towels, and extra waters from the trunk, as well as a sun hat for Shilpa.
It was a lovely day for relaxing on the sand and enjoying the surf:
Scenic.
Us.
Barney.
Lance and George posing for a Friendster/Match.com photo.
Shilpa and Wilson.
Sandals abandoned to the dunes.
(For some reason I just really liked this image.)
An exiled George tied to a post.
In addition to the other items
I keep in the trunk "just in case," I had a kite, which was much, much enjoyed (even if it did get that song stuck in my head for the better part of an hour).
Actually, it was just Lance and I who got into the kite flying. The others just raised their glasses and mocked from a distance. But we finally got it airborne.
And once it caught the coastal currents, it really soared:
(This is a detail- in the original photo the kite is a tiny speck.)
We were cheered on by an older lesbian couple a few dunes away. Notice how few people are on the beach. In this vast openess, while trying to recover from a downdraft, Lance managed to run over and knock down this woman who had come to compliment the kite flying effort. This was hilarious, and this photo was taken moments after they untangled themselves up off the sand.
Ultimately, we could see the marine layer making its way south and inland towards us. After about an hour of "who can best estimate the time of fogfall" the temperature dropped about 20 degrees and we broke camp. I had put a limit on the day, asking to be back in the City by 4:30 for
another event. We packed up around 3:30 and I knew we would be late. Tonight was the spring Rodeo Private Shopping Night. The pre-party, country kareoke at the Mint, started at 4:00. The bus was scheduled to leave at 8:00 sharp.
It was a long day in the sun, and a terribly long ride back to SF. And as the driver, I was the only one who didn't nap along the way.
After dropping everyone off at their respective abodes around 6ish, I managed a few minutes to chill and to take a 15-minute disco nap before showering, making the bus playlists (I had been asked to provide music for the ride), and rushing over to Duboce and Market to find parking.
The disco nap was essential. I was completely knackered from the day. I would have certainly crashed without a nap, but if I slept any longer than 20 minutes I would never have gotten up at all. Having touched the dreamspace, I felt refreshed, and as darkness fell in the interim, it felt like I was waking to another day. It felt as if that morning felt were a week ago.
I made it to the Mint around 7:30 and met up with the GSGRA Chapter President Doug and Shopping Night coordinator Scott (whose public name is Skot Land). Last time there were fairly few participants. This time Skot managed to pre-sell over 40 seats. When I arrived, they had just been informed by the bus company that the big bus had broken down and the company would be sending two small buses instead--that was much less fun than one large party barge, but it worked out all right. The entire experience, while not as surreal with the previous trip, was much much fun.
Party bus.
Cruise Director Skot Land
Other Scott, aka Loud Scott, returning to our row modeling chips and beer.
BJ and Bill
And inappropriate touching is always fun on a party bus.
This trip I tried to curb my spending--I really don't need any more western wear, and I'm already Imelda with the boots. But they were offering deals and everything at a 25% discount. The last two times I spent more money that I cared to on pair of stingray boots, but I have enjoyed them so much I have never regretted the purchases (you'll never regret spending a little more for good quality). And if I were ever to buy a pair of unusual and expensive boots (an "exotic"), I had best do so during such a sale.
Some of the "exotics."
Last fall, there was a rainbow of options and during the bus ride I thought, "maybe I'll get a brightly colored pair this time." It's amazing how beer facilitates commerce. Here's a pic from the fall trip:
The colors were much more limited this time down, but I tend to favor green in my wardrobe and started considering the lime-sherbert pair. Someone chuckled and said, "But you'll never find anything to wear with those."
Oh, please.
Like I don't have two pair of
pants and two shirts in my closet that are basically this color. I think I responded with something gay like, "Don't underestimate my ability to accesorize."
Sure enough, only two racks over was a shirt exactly that color. I held them up together and someone snaped my picture. Garnering attention, Doug rushed over and provided me with a matching, rhinestone-studded belt.
You can imagine the entire ensemble:
Alas, I did not spent the $300-plus on the green ostrich boots. (How often has anyone heard
that sentence?)
I did, however, get a couple of bold shirts (and one a similar bold green) and some short-sleeved country shirts for dancing.
And a pair of boots.
With the deal they gave me, and my great experience with my previously possibly exhorbitant purchases, I decided it was a wise, wise thing to purchase the pair of black and white lizard skins. VERY snazzy. And I they will look awesome at the formal events or El Deora shows (when they return from
their European tour).
Skot, a handsome but very tiny fellow, made off with the most remarkable purchase: a belt buckle the size of his face:
He wore it out to Sunday dancing to much attention.
Skot: "It's five and a half by seven inches. I measured it."
Me, gratutitously: "Oh... the belt buckle."
Davey: "That's not seven inches."
Skot: "It is. I measured it with a tape measure."
Davey: [Reaches in and measures the width by stretching his thumb to pinky finger. He pulls back, looks the spread fingers, and ponders.] "Wow. I'm feeling much better about myself now."
Me: "But the buckle doesn't have to be measured from its bottom edge to be that big."
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