I won't pretend to be the out-all-night rager I used to be. In fact, last Thursday night's events are still a little blurry, but certainly not what was planned.
I was doing my standard sales hustle on Thursday afternoon when a colleague contacted me with tickets to that night's pre-season baseball game. I won't pretend that I enjoy baseball either, but what I do enjoy is ballpark $6 dogs and ballpark $8 beers and the surprise of finding out who we're sitting next to. I especially like when I go to games with guys and they buy me whatever I want to munch on or drink. After all, the dogs are $6 and the beers are $8, and I can suck a lot of those puppies down. I once in the past 4 years or so went to a Giants game with my parents, and at one point my mom said "YOU are an expensive date."
Being a single girl in her early 30's, my circle of male and female last minute rabble-rousers has decreased exponentially since those foregone "wild" days. So I called my gal pal WR, otherwise known as my alternate date to all things festive, and even though it was 2pm and the game started at 7:15, she was in. Yippee! But she was only in on 2 conditions: 1) we had to arrive at the game late so she could go to an art show at the W Hotel for a bit first, and 2) I had to be in charge of bringing items of warmth and possible water-proofing from impending rain (uh, yeah, have you heard it's the rainiest spring since 1904 out here? 1904!!). I conceded, as I am such a good negotiator, and we agreed to meet at 7:45 in front of the W.
As the sales day was slow due to lack of inventory, and the ballpark is on the other end of town, and additionally the ballpark is surrounded by limited and expensive parking, I decided to drive super early to my office and park there, then walk 1.25 miles to Union Square and pick up some over-due make up replenishments at Sephora (since you have to pay for parking to shop there too), and then finally stroll my way another half mile or so South of Market to the W Hotel. I brought my digital camera so I could take funny pictures of us freezing our asses off at a rainy night game. Ha ha.
Well, I must walk a hell of a lot faster than I expected, because I found myself with 20 minutes or so to kill before meeting WR, and nothing to do. So I took out the digi cam and snapped a few retarded pics, got bored, and decided to go up to the XYZ bar and see if I could sneak into the art reception that I never RSVP'd for but RW did.
"Walk in like you own the place." That's the rule. Works 99% of the time and worked like a snap in this case as well. So I waltzed in like I had been there for hours, dropped my Giants Game Preparedness Bag and jacket, grabbed a complimentary glass of white wine, and searched for WR. I found her by the olives (no surprise). What was a surprise was seeing me already with wine in hand and early for our date.
We agreed to finish up our wine before heading out, which would leave us a little behind schedule. But hey, it's a pre-season game, and we both are neutral about baseball, and this drink/snack gig was free, so why not? I started taking pictures because the set-up was really cool and mosied around. WR mingled as well. We finally decided it was time to pry ourselves away from the free shit and get to the other free shit - the box reserve seats at AT&T Park.
When we got outside there was a significant drizzle.
Me: "Shoot, it's raining. Sort of. Do you think the game is rained out?"
WR: "Oh no! I don't know!"
Me: "Shit. That's quite a walk to make in the rain to get there and find out that the game's rained out."
WR: "Shoot! What should we do?"
Me: "I wonder if the game is on TV, then we could see if it's rained out."
So we crossed the street and went to Chevy's which is sports mega bar, and Wendy was about to go in and check the stats when I wondered: "Do they televise pre-season games?"
She went in anyway. At that very moment it started to pour. I saw WR waiting to talk to the host (what? who asks the host of a restaurant if the game is on? Like he'd know. Sheesh). She was impatient standing there, and I tapped on the glass and waved for her to come out.
"It's totally raining, Dude. If the game wasn't called off before, it is now."
What to do, oh what to do? Go back into the art reception and free it up some more! So we retreated to the swank comfort of the W Hotel once again.
Back at the reception, we felt alive. Celebrity, even (well, I did anyway. There's something about telling people you're leaving and then making a double guest appearance). We grabbed more wine and went in with full gusto.
Since I was feeling a little arty myself, I was still walking around with my digi cam and saw WR talking to some people at a little round cocktail table. Click. Closer. Click. Closer. Click. Clos-"Excuse me!"
Woops. I had just inadvertantly edged Mr. Hot Guy and his friend Mr. Indian Engineer 8 Feet Tall out of their station at the table [note to self: do this behind the camera, didn't see you Mr. Hot Guy more often]. I started up a convo with these two nice fellows for the duration. I found out Mr. Hot Guy does research on dog poop as reusable fuel. Imagine that! And that he has a girlfriend. Oh well. I also found out the 8 Feet Tall runs and would like a running partner.
The lights started getting horrifically brighter, a clear sign that the clean-up crew was trying to get us out en masse. Exit Gertie, WR, the Nster (another girl gone wild from days of yore who was present). Well, shoot, we're all fired up now, with a game rained out, on the wrong end of town. What are we girls to do?
JohnColins. That's right, JohnColins. This is a cool bar that a few blocks away that I really enjoyed last time. It looks like an old farm house inside. And, for some assinine reason, all the guys in there are good lookin'. So I start to tow them along.
The Nster decides to jump ship when we reach the alley. Man, she doesn't know what she's missing, I think to myself. Ends up, she didn't miss much, as WR realized that the hot guys leave after work. Probably because their girlfriends or personal trainers are waiting for them.
We have a pleasant enough drink there, chit chat and start taking silly pictures because, yes, we're a little on the buzzed giddy side. We decide it's best for everyone if we leave after one drink. And on the way...on the way... well see, this is where things get a little fuzzy.
I think we were on the way to my car, back at the office. But, if we were really intending to go to the car, we would have exited the alley to the left. But we exited to the right. The next thing I know I have stopped to take a picture of a street sign, and I turn around, and WR is gone.
I do a 360 looking for her on the sidewalk. And then I see her, giving me the "come in here" finger from inside this bar on the corner. Oh no. Here we go.
"WR, I've been here before! This is the Motorcycle Tiffany bar!"
WR, laughing: "The what?"
Me: "Yeah, this is the crazy bar I went to after Work's holiday party. There are all these vintage motorcycles in here. And see those lamps? They are real Tiffany lamps! AND! You can SMOKE in here!"
The next thing I know (only from the pictures I snapped), is that WR is at the bar looking at the selection. Then, fast forward, I am being handed a beer by a fine young gentleman, who apparantly, along with his other friend, had bought WR and I a drink. How did that happen? Way to go, WR.
Anyway, the one who had handed me a beer must have been tons drunk, because he began flirting heavily. And obviously. And heavily. I couldn't believe his infatuation - it had to be beer goggles. But it's only 11pm!
I don't know. I guess we stayed for another drink. It's hard to pull away from someone telling you how cute and adorable you are anyway. But we did. We did. Not without slipping him a business card, but still.
So I then convince WR, who lives in my old neighborhood and could take our lame-ass public transpo home, that instead she should walk with me to the office and I would give her a ride! After all, we were 1 block from the public transpo and my office was only a "few" blocks more.
Now, WR had never been known to be a night owl. Nor has she ever been known to handle her cocktails as well as I. I can count the times that WR and I had agreed, before sharing a cab, that we would stop for a nightcap at such and such place, and she would be asleep on my shoulder in the taxi within 5 minutes of pulling from the curb. Needless to say, there was a point between the Muni stop she would have taken and the walk to my car where I truly thought I'd have to carry her.
But she made it. And I gave her a nice sleepy ride home. And I got home at 1:30 am. From the baseball game I never saw.