Bay to Breakers

Bay to Breakers 2011. Rad picture. Thanks, Marco.

 The past few weeks have been a whirlwind. After getting out of the plastic bubble and traveling up north for two weeks, the last place I ever expected to find myself was back in the bay. But I guess that’s what I get for expecting.

Let me preface this by saying while I grew up in Northern California, I had never experienced a Bay to Breakers. But I guess twenty four is all about firsts. Let me also say, I’m an incredibly easy sell. Like I buy juicers from late night infomercials that sit in their original packaging in my storage closet. So after a day of recovery bloody mary’s, complete with a bacon garnish, I was game for a road trip. After being picked up from the rooftop bar at the Huntley Hotel in Santa Monica, I made myself a bed in the back seat and woke up in the city. Without a plan. Without a costume. And without a clue as to what I was about to expect. But I shouldn’t expect anything, remember?

Have you experienced a Bay to Breakers? Apparently it’s a race. I’d guess it starts in the Bay and ends at the Breakers, concluding with the wildest party in the park, complete with costumes and debauchery, reminiscent of a Halloween in Santa Barbara, except much earlier in the day. Without time to prepare a costume, and after a few bloody mary’s, I was without the wherewithal to put one together. I employed plan B. Runner. And let me tell you, partying in Lululemon is the way to go. I mean, marathon day drinking is practically a sport, right? While we opted out of participating in the actual race, we made up for it when it came to the post race festivities. Unless of course, I met you at B2B. Then yes, I actually did run the race. Twice. Because I got bored after I finished so fast the first time. And I’m not wearing a medal because I gave mine to a kid in a wheelchair who didn’t finish fast enough to receive one of his own. Obviously. But back to partying. A sport I actually excel at.

Joined by two pals, one being a green crayon, Screamin’ Green to be precise, we started on Haight with shots in paper Dixie cups and cocktails in red keg cups. I wish I could say they were sparing their usual stemware for the rowdy occasion, but I have a feeling that’s always how this place operates. Super classy establishment. It was at this lovely joint where we met a perverted sailor with a sick, masochistic fetish for being whipped, a gnarly bartender with a goatee longer than my ponytail, and two gals I went to high school with. I would have never expected to run into friends amongst all of this chaos, but there I go expecting things again. And I’m sure glad I did. I wish I could say the others were unique to Bay to Breakers, but I have a feeling they’re always there too.

With our growing group we headed down the street. And when I say we headed down the street, I mean we followed a boom box parade led by my little green friend to our destination. It was here we narrowly escaped a bathroom brawl, met a few Elvis’s [is the plural of Elvis Elvi? Hmm.], chatted with Dotty and Kit of a League of Their Own, and drank out of actual glasses. Our B2B drink of choice? Jameson and pickle juice. I know, but remember when I said I was an easy sell? And if you can get passed the vomit factor, it’s actually quite an unusual tasty treat for your senses. After a quick stop at a beer garden, we wrangled a sober red bull rep into giving us a ride to the marina where our group doubled in size. With Screamin’ Green leading a bar top dance party, we worked up quite an appetite. See, partying is a sport. After eating about 12 slices of pizza, we continued at Matrix Fillmore before reconvening at a friends house, falling asleep, and hitting the road in the morning. Phew. That was exhausting. Thanks for driving, Alex. And thanks for leading the mission my little green crayon herself, Sedona. Let’s please bring your costume back for round two next year? 

Momma.

Did you have a wonderful Mother’s Day?  I hope so. I’m not a mother myself, but I have one. I actually have the best one. Really. And she had a wonderful day. While I wasn’t there to celebrate with her, I was just home for two weeks, so maybe the best present I could have given here was leaving. And cleaning out my voicemail box. Which I did as well. So mom, please feel free to leave me a voicemail telling me how much you love me, or how thankful you are to finally be able to leave me a message – but maybe do so sparingly, because I can’t guarantee the next time they’ll be cleaned out again. In any case, I spent a lot of time with my beautiful momma while I was at home.  Without embarrassing her terribly, or embarrassing myself even more for admitting my participation – I’d love to tell you about one of our evenings together. Obviously sacrificing my humiliation, purely for your entertainment. So selfless of me, right? I know.

If any of you know my mother Patty, you know she is responsible for educating our youth, specifically the brattiest miniature seventh and eight grade students in the areas of leadership and world history. And she does an incredible job at it. Seriously. Obviously she doesn’t think they’re the brattiest miniature people, in fact I think she kind of likes them. And they’re pretty lucky to have her. Except for when she accidentally calls them Samantha when she yells at them, because she’s just so used to it. But that’s beside the point. What you may not know is that prior to becoming a teacher, my mommy dearest was a Mary Kay consultant. With big dreams of driving that coveted pink cadilac, and even bigger hair, my mom was equipped with a power suit, hot pink lipstick and a compact. No longer a consultant herself, trading in her brush set for pens and pencils, my mom now has a consultant. A consultant who insisted on educating my mom on skin care, color matching her foundation, selecting the best palette for making her eyes pop, and finishing with complementary lip color. All while I looked on in amazement, sitting around a table with two other Samantha's, two Patty's and a handful of other people I don't remember because their name wasn't Samantha or Patty. No joke. Opting out of a consultation myself, I was just along for the ride. And boy am I glad I came. Not only because I scored a killer brow gel and sunless tanner – thanks, mom – but because it was hilarious. 

My mom was adamant I try the loveliest shade of bronze eyeshadow. Applying it to my eye lid with a disposable brush, it was then my mom, within inches of my face, whispered I’m so happy we could share this time together. My cheeks cramping in an effort to not immediately burst in to laughter, and fearful the tears would ruin my new look, I was able to keep composure before completely losing it on the ride home. Before you start thinking I’m some rude, insensitive creature ruining a tender and sentimental moment between mother and daughter, please note that I’m sitting in a rumpus room, eating break-and-bake chocolate chip cookies, with my mother who, with the exception of her disposable cloth headband, looks like she could be stepping on to a red carpet at 6pm on a Tuesday evening, and realize the hilarity of the situation. It might actually make the moment even sweeter. Because that moment, both of us poorly attempting to hide our laughter, looking like clowns and taking our turn in the circle telling the other ladies how much we enjoy their hibiscus lip color {which it totally the shade of summer, btw}, was maybe one of best ever. 

Risking my own safety, this is my mom the Mary Kay consultant, circa 1989, complete with her makeup tool box. 

Mom, please don't kill me. 

I love you. 

Birthday Girl.

With my twenty fourth birthday celebrations finally coming to a close, I could not be more exhausted. I wish someone had warned me how much twenty four would take out of me. Maybe it’s because I celebrated for two weeks. But doesn’t everyone do that? Brining in twenty four with a bang, I can honestly say, I have the best family and friends in the whole wide world, and I am so thrilled I was able to celebrate with every last one of them. So let’s start at the beginning, shall we?

My actual birthday was full of everything a birthday should be full of. I slept in late, had ice cream for breakfast, champagne for lunch and Mexican food for dinner. If you’ve ever enjoyed the salted caramel organic gelato from N’Ice Cream on Abbott Kinney, you’d know why this is the obvious choice for a birthday breakfast. Bubbles at The Other Room was mandatory, and oh so sophisticated, being that I’m in my mid twenties. And when isn’t Mexican food the best thing ever? Never. Joined by some of the best friends I could imagine spending the day with, birthday or otherwise, it was even better. But may I please take a second to gush about my cake? The cake that we most definitely ate before departing for dinner. The cake that I took one look at and assumed came from some super amazing, uber chic bakery. The cake that my friends just had to top with trick candles. Well, that cake was made by Heidi – who last year made me the most delectable cookies and cream cupcakes, and decorated my house with balloons, streamers and confetti, confetti that makes me smile every time I vacuum up a straggler trapped in my shaggy rug. If this blog had existed at the time, I would have told you all about it. But I didn’t. Sorry. But I wasn’t lying when I said I had the best friends ever, was I?

Continuing the celebration, the very next morning I flew home to the Napa Valley. Going home for Easter, the timing coinciding with my birthday was pure coincidence. And I couldn’t have taken better advantage of it, celebrating everywhere I went and putting candles in any dessert possible. Red velvet cake at Tyler Florence’s Rotisserie & Wine, champagne toasts at Mumm, oreo ice cream sandwiches at Rutherford Grill, apple side cars at Farmstead. I could seriously go on and on. My short trip extended itself in to a two week vacation, so you can imagine how keeping this up can be quite exhausting. But well worth it. With so many impromptu celebrations, I almost forgot about my birthday party. Inspired by this party, I had a few girlfriends over for bubbles and Brie. Lounging in my parents kitchen, circled around the most delicious spread, we could have stayed there all night. But we didn’t. After accessorizing with the most beautiful floral birthday girl headband courtesy of Cecelia, we headed downtown to Morimoto, the Iron Chef’s latest spot on the Napa riverfront. Drinking juicy pineapple cocktails and sporting the most hilarious moustaches, my traveling birthday party was even more fun than I could have even imagined. And I have a pretty great imagination. I really don’t know why I was ever so worried about twenty four. It’s been a blast. Twenty five, now that will be a tough one. 

And now if I may, a mustache montage.