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. 

Wills + Kate

Did you watch the Royal Wedding?  I certainly did. Probably about four times. To a princess in waiting, this is big news.  I have been in love with Prince William for as long as I can remember. Well, until Harry grew out of his awkward ginger phase into the seriously dashing, rebellious young prince he is. Really, there is a postcard of Wills that has made it’s home on my parents refrigerator for at least a decade. It now feels slightly wrong leaving it up there, being that he is a married man and all. But in any case, Harry is still available, isn’t he? I’m sorry, but on again off again girlfriend Chelsy Davy arrived disheveled, looking like a royal hot mess. Definitely no Diana.

Dominating every channel on television for days, the royal wedding was hard to escape. And seriously, why would you want to? I mean, she arrived in a car as a commoner and left in a carriage as a princess. Seriously. So even though Kate stole my boyfriend and preempted my fantasy wedding by one day, I still have Derek, and I still attended the royal wedding in my pajamas, and a tiara. I even made a union jack fruit pizza for the occasion, seen here. Recipe below.

Providing the champagne, and joining my mom, sister and I for the first royal wedding of my lifetime was my fellow fashion policeman, Cecelia. Obviously, Posh and Becks were our highlights. While Princesses Beatrice and Eugenie could have used some work. The Queen looked like an Easter egg. And Kate was stunning. Seriously, the picture of perfection. Such a major moment for Sarah Burton. A McQueen fit for a queen. The perfect combination of modern style and classic elegance. Obviously, I could go on and on.

 

But the wedding. Let’s talk about the wedding. How excruciating was that four minute walk down the aisle? I just loved when Harry turned around to check out Kate as she came closer. Obviously, because I love everything about Harry, but also because I thought it was such a tender moment between the two brothers. I’m not sure what he said when he nudged Wills, but I’d like to think it was something like, She’s far too good looking for you, or maybe Are you sure? I even read one report – yes, I read reports about the royal wedding – that thought Harry had said I bet she’s not wearing any knickers. What a charmer. And did you just die when they first locked eyes and William turned to his blushing bride with the happiest of smiles telling her she looked beautiful. Swoon. Loved that they replaced I do with I will and obey with keep. And that kiss. I mean kisses. I die. 

In case you’ve forgotten, my wedding is this evening. Obviously, I’ve imposed a mandatory fascinator dress code. I’ve invited Elton John to sing in the choir. And I plan on wearing Alexander McQueen. Or something that looks like it. I better go get ready. 

Union Jack Flag Fruit Pizza

Ingredients

Crust

1 pouch (1 lb 1.5 oz) Betty Crocker® sugar cookie mix

1/2 cup butter or margarine, softened

1 egg

Filling

1 package (8 oz) cream cheese, softened

1/3 cup sugar

1/2 teaspoon vanilla

Topping

4 cups sliced fresh strawberries

3 cups fresh blueberries

1 cup fresh raspberries

Directions

1. Heat oven to 350°F. Line 15x10x1-inch or 13x9-inch pan with foil. Spray bottom only of foil with cooking spray. In large bowl, stir cookie mix, butter and egg until soft dough forms. Press evenly in bottom of pan. Bake 15 to 20 minutes or until light golden brown. Cool completely, about 30 minutes.

2. In small bowl, beat cream cheese, sugar and vanilla with electric mixer on medium speed until fluffy. Spread mixture over cooled crust.

3. Arrange fruit over cream cheese. Refrigerate at least 1 hour until chilled. To serve, cut into 5 rows by 4 rows. Cover and refrigerate any remaining fruit pizza.

Dr. Derek York

Please forgive my absence. When you hear my extraordinary tales of eating and drinking, I believe you will. While this may be delayed, I’d love to share these stories with you in chronological order from beginning to end. So yes, that means you’ll be celebrating my birthday well into the summer, because well, I did an awful lot of celebrating. 

So let’s start from the beginning. Yes, that’s me. In the “Bride To Be” Sash. With the loveliest bridal party a bride to be could ever imagine. Headed up by my very own tour guide – wedding planner – maid of honor, Jaclyn and my partners in crime – Kelly and Andi [who I genuinely think need their own reality show after witnessing them attempt to pack up and get on the road the morning after]. Because really, if you’re going to vacation in Vegas, celebrating your bachelorette party is the only way to do it. And if you’re going to do it, you might as well do it right.

Arriving Saturday morning, we checked in to the Bellagio and immediately kicked off the celebration of my upcoming nuptials to Dr. Derek York – my ironman triathlete/pediatrician from Connecticut doing his residency at Cedar-Sinai. Obviously. [He proposed at the top of the Ferris wheel at the Santa Monica Pier. I know, right?] Heading straight to the pool, Liquid at Aria, we instantly found our home nestled in a cabana, shared with a bachelor party no less. You’d be surprised how many people are eager to convince a blushing bride out of her impending marriage.  Apparently marriage is the biggest mistake I could ever make – according to the married men on a business trip in the cabana next door. Or maybe you’re not that surprised. But my love for Derek is great – and my ring is massive – so I was not easily persuaded. After enough sun, we opted for dinner off the strip at Blue Martini, met the bachelors at Haze followed by a vodka-red bull fueled dance party at Jet. Only to do it all again the next day – Sunday, the day of rest.

So we headed to Rehab. Obviously. And let me say, I have never seen so much steroids and silicon, terrible tattoos and bad decisions in one afternoon - in my entire existence. After spending the day in an episode of the Jersey Shore, we changed out of our bikinis and headed to Bank, then to The Villas at The Mirage where we pranced around in fuzzy house slippers sipping white Russians. Monday we found ourselves back at The Mirage, back in our bikinis, at Bare - the European style pool, complete with a 39 year old train wrecks ribbon dancing the day away, singing karaoke – without a karaoke machine, but rather a plastic fake microphone. Seriously though, I’d like to put a cap on celebrating your birthday in Vegas at 30. Please remind me of this when I’m trying to celebrate the 9^th anniversary of my 30^th birthday in Sin City. Monday night, I fell in love. With this guy. Afrojack has a residency at XS and after making our way to the stage to see the action first hand, it was love at first scratch. Smoking cigarettes and chugging grey goose, Afrojack was unstoppable, and unreal. Be still my heart. But back to Derek. Right. Before pouncing right on to the turn tables, we headed to Marquee, then the obligatory strip club, and ended with a mandatory spin at the roulette table. By Tuesday we were more than ready to go.

 
In a delirious state, we went straight to the airport after lunch and jumped on the first flight available. Returning to reality, and devouring far too much greasy Mexican food any normal person should consume, midnight came and went and I turned twenty four as my maid of honor combed through my knotted, pool party tangled hair, giggling about our trip in to the wee hours of the morning. Because, really, whether you’re turning four, or twenty four, birthday slumber parties never get old.

So if you’re planning on traveling to Las Vegas, whether you’re celebrating a birthday, have a serious gambling addiction, or you’re partying the night away for your last night of freedom – real or not – I offer the following suggestions. Be prepared. Bring snacks. Pack more swimsuits than dresses. Invest in sunglasses that fit into your clutch [when you’re coming home as the sun is rising, you’ll thank me]. Be on the same page, and stick with the story. Keep your real name, you won’t remember your fake one. Don’t buy your own drinks. Don’t pour your own drinks. That’s what having a table is for. Spray tan and apply sunscreen. Make friends. Be safe. And don’t get in the water. Now if only these club beats would stop pounding between my ears. 

P.S. You're all invited to mine and Derek's wedding, next Saturday, April 30th at my family's vineyard. I really hope you can make it. We're registered here. 

t w e n t y f o u r

Vegas Vacation

This time tomorrow, I’ll most certainly be scorched, sporting a glorious sunburn – that no one will be able to see because I’ll be so incredibly spray tanned – with a giant blended drink in hand lounging by the pool in Las Vegas with three of the funniest gals a girl could ask for. That’s right, four of us wolves, running around the desert together, Las Vegas, looking for strippers and cocaine. Okay, maybe not the last part, but there are four of us. In Las Vegas. I know, I’m nervous too.

Remember when I told you nothing cool happens when you turn twenty four? Well, I lied. Aside from the obvious two week celebration that is standard with every one of my twenty three birthdays to date, apparently when you turn twenty four, you go to Vegas. Don’t worry if you didn’t know, this is news to me too. This weekend happens to be the launch of the Las Vegas pool party season and predicted temperatures are in the nineties. Fine, twist my arm – I’ll celebrate my birthday in Vegas. At the risk of sounding like a total square, I have to tell you this will be my first vegas trip. While I’ve been to Las Vegas, it wasn’t the type of weekend I’m anticipating this time around. For starters, I was twelve. I sampled flavors of Coca Cola from around the world. I rode roller coasters at New York, New York. I toured the M&M factory – and threw a tantrum until my mom purchased an M&M nascar jacket that I obviously needed? And ended up wearing to a white trash party in college. Thanks, Mom. On the agenda this weekend are pool parties and nightclubs, dinners and debauchery. Can I still ride the roller coasters? Anyway, never having been to vegas, I’m clueless in the area of preparation. Here’s what I’ve got so far. Let me know if I'm missing anything.

After dieting for about 45 minutes, I’ve opted for an alternate plan – spray tan, a serious spray tan. I’m talking Dancing With the Stars spray tan. Everyone looks better with a little color and I’m hoping I am no exception. As far as packing is concerned, my suitcase looks like Forever 21 went out of business. Or like a bag of glitter exploded. Because seriously, if you can’t wear sequins 24 hours a day in vegas, where can you? Nowhere. I also have about 47 swimsuits. False eyelashes. Cut off shorts. And far too many pairs of heels. And off I go.

So here’s to hoping I don’t fall in the pool, thus washing off my oh so natural orange hue. Come back hitched. Lose a tooth. Steal a tiger. Or find a baby. I absolutely can’t wait to tell you all about it. Or parts of it, most likely. So screw you, Coachella. I’ll party in another desert. I don’t even like Kings of Leon anyway. That’s a total lie. And I’m actually super devastated I’m missing it. But I suppose Las Vegas isn’t such a terrible alternative. So until Tuesday, Toodle loo Mother – wait, my mom reads this.