misadventures of a wednesday in Northern California

Yesterday started out with such an intimate adventure. Just the two of us, hopped in the rav4 (avoiding the final hours of TOR's moms visit) and headed north. We hiked up rolling hills, past blossoms and banana slugs. After the back of my polka-dotted tank top was soaked through to my backpack, we turned to go back to sea level.

Cooling down, our eyes reached over the Pacific without rest until the horizon. I pulled two carrots, two oranges, and a peanut butter and agave syrup sandwich out of my bag. Nicole, my romantic playdate of the day, had packed rice and beans in a plastic rectangle.

Triplets, two girls and a boy, about 2 years old and seagulls circled and squared us.

It was a complete Northern California afternoon. Before returning to the highway, we stopped at the town market to get some chocolate. Nicole struck up a conversation with Manny. He is a twenty-something who can't leave his home town, the good surf, the bikes, and why would anyone want to?

After a pause that lasted a bit too long, a hit the unlock control. It stuck. The alarm sounded, and the serenity o

f Wednesday was taking a cosmic turn. A tall blond 18 year old leapt off the school bus from the stop sign across the street, and nodded "Sweet car alarm," as the swarm giggled as they migrated into Manny's store.

Eventually it stopped, we rode over the Richmond Bridge, and made it home just in the nick of time to see off Tashina's mom. It was a slightly awkward goodbye, lacking hugs, and they walked off to the bart. Nicole and I had about half an hour before TOR would return, mom free, and be ready to celebrate her birthday.

Zanetta came over to be lazy until it was time to grab a drink and some food. TOR wanted us to go to a champagne bar in downtown Oakland, so we did. I realized upon entering that this was the same place that Sam, Nicole, Genny and I had made fun of as we passed by during Oakland Art Murmur. Yuppie Central, or by its given name: Mimosa.

After "mini tacos" and "micro paninis," we were still hungry. Genny who had biked over to meet us, Z, Nicole, TOR and I made our way over to Off the Hook Burrito, which was as amazing as the name implied. The portions were HUGE, as you can see from Z's fried catfish/ french fry/ bread tower. But before you enjoy an extra large portion you order either Mexican or Soul Food from a middle aged Chinese couple through bullet proof glass.

If you didn't guess, you have to bus your own dishes. Unless of course someone hungry comes in, asks for money, and you hand over left overs to her. Zanetta did, and TOR was quick to follow.

As we were indulging ourselves, Ebony (Z, Zanetta... all the same), received a text about ladies night at the Den, which was only a few blocks away. Full of grease, we made our way to celebration spot #3.

To be clear, ladies night in Oakland is ladylove night. And it was poppin. Good music, groovin ladies, and pricey drinks. Since it was TOR's birthday and all, Z finagled a free shot for her. Z moved over to TOR, a tree stump in wedges, to let her know the alcoholic news. "I've never had a shot," she droned.

"WHAT." I said, head leaning in to make sure I understood the newly 29 year old, and she slowly repeated. Then I repeated. Laughed. And we made our way up to the bar. Z, a very kind soul, told the bartender she had never had a shot, and he asked how old she was. His eyes boggled out of this head, his lips parted, and he said something about making it weak, attempting to hide his growing smirk. Brown rum, lemon, and sugar water in a tumbler. She sipped it. 29, and she still has not ever taken a shot.

Dancing, booty shakin, chest pumping, and then Nicole and Brandy left to pick up Tanya, The Original Roommate - shit same initials- The First Roommate- from San Francisco airport, but not before Brandy treated Tashina to a Cadillac Margarita.

At the stroke of midnight, Zanetta ran the risk of getting a ticket on her car, the Oakland equivalent of turning into a pumpkin. Zanetta ended up running the last three blocks, and I was left to usher Tashina. "I'm derunk," she murmured, and I knew it would be a long few blocks. Barefoot down the streets of downtown Oakland, I held her hand to keep her upright. She told stories without punch lines, and I shared random thoughts.

I collected ice water, advil, and a piece of toast to feed her before she passed out. She swallowed it one by one, and crab walked behind the white curtains that separate her room from the kitchen.

cowboys t shirt

Third Saturday of every month, right here in Oakland. I've missed it 7 times, but not last night. Hella Gay.

Nicole and I were watching one of the worst movies ever made, if not The Worst. It's called Martian Child, and let me just say, John Cusack should just stop right now. The premise: he's a sci-fi writer who writes about Mars, and he adopts a foster kid who thinks he's from Mars. Maybe they were trying to recapture the magic of Bid Daddy, but they didn't. They didn't capture anything at all.

After about 20 minutes of that nonsense, it was clearly time to rally for Hella Gay. I zipped a purple hoodie over my cowboys t shirt, washed out, and worn since mom (Alyson) was a longhorn, and we crossed six lanes to get to the other side of Martin Luther King Way. We needed juice for the gin I had bought for Sam before the whole ulcer thing. We were weighing the pros and cons of Orange Juice and Lemonade, but we agreed on Grapefruit. It was almost florescent.

A tall, dark, and unhandsome man stepped too close as we were paying, as he said inappropriate things to Nicole, then to me, and then both of us at the same time. Because Nicole has made friends at the corner store, Bill, right in front of us on the register, quietly told this guy to "step away from his hotness." Not the best start, but it took a turn for the best as we returned to mix in the gin.

It felt so warm in our kitchen, and when I unzipped, I realized that I had put my cowboys t shirt on over my head Wednesday, paired with spandex, so I could be comfy for flying. It was now Saturday. Same shirt. The bra went off and on for sleeping, and underwear changed like Roy G Biv, but Yikes. Nicole poured with no regards for measurement, and I took a block of ice that used to be a store bought plastic bag full of ice cubes out to attempt to break it into its intended form.

Tashina (The Other Roommate) was in her room, only separated from the kitchen by a sheer white cloth, so I moved my project into the living room. Arms by my ears, I slammed down the bag against the arm of the futon. I stepped back into the kitchen and plopped ice into Nicole's drink, but the rest of the ice had only broken in two. Fuck it, I thought, and I started hacking away on the side of the refrigerator. Enough ice worked it's way out, and so did Tashina.

We drank, well Nicole and I did, laughed, cursed, and when Nicole's cup reached empty she went to change in her room. I walked into my room, glanced in my closet, looked down at my t shirt, went back out to the kitchen, and poured another drink. I was drunk and it was time to dance. Brandy (Nicole's girlfriend) came over just in time to give us a ride over to the Uptown, home of Hella Gay. Zanetta (the Ebony to my Ivory) was already there. We bumped, shook, jumped, and gyrated until last call at 1:45.

As the Hella Gay goers poured onto the pavement, the spicy smell of sausages turning on the fire grill cart, made it feel like a backyard barbecue. A boy I was dancing with earlier came over to me. My height, brown hair, pale skin, and a black A Line tank.

"Hey. What's your name?"
"Amy."
"Hey Amy. Patrick," he nodded.
I hoped he'd walk away. Didn't feel like making new friends- gay, straight, or otherwise. But I was drunk enough that not wanting to move outweighed anti-social tendencies.
"Hey. How's it goin?"
"Good," and then he paused, beginning a smirk that stayed on his face until after I turned away
"OK." I said looking towards my sober friend with keys to her car in hand.
"You always know how to make me feel like a girl."
"Ummm... OK."
"But you have the boobs."