San Francisco, the first part of the story

Sorry it's taken me a week to write about it. You see, SF was gorgeous and all in bloom ... and I was incredibly allergic! So the extreme allergic reaction turned into a nasty cold and today is the first day I feel like a person again. Yay!

So. We drove up taking the 5 ... and there was lots and lots of nothing. Hey, I'd never done it before, so ... OK. Now I have. Got in, checked in rather painlessly, and had dinner at the first restaurant we laid eyes on - which thankfully was a really yummy Thai restaurant.



Woke up Saturday morning and decided to take a walk and see what there was to see. It was an absolutely stunning day ... yeah. The weather was amazing.


One of the things that was so cool was discovering what a dog-friendly city it was - and seeing all the dogs romping about the beach (and some taking a dip!) There were puppies everywhere! I was in dog heaven.


Back to the hotel to get ready for the wedding. We were a little nervous, as traffic was perfectly horrid (that Oakland bridge ramp being out made for some interesting traffic) but I pointed out that the official shuttle from the main hotel to the wedding left around the same time as we did so they were stuck in the same traffic we were. (We didn't stay in the official hotel. We couldn't afford the official hotel. We stayed in a Travelodge for half the price.)

And sure enough, we got there before the official shuttle bus.

The wedding was out on Treasure Island, which also was lovely. There was a little chapel ... and it came with this organ player who clearly had no expertise in playing the organ. I kid you not. It was the kind of thing you'd see in a movie or a sitcom and say "Oh please, that never happens." We tried to figure out whether the regular guy got sick and this was the best replacement they could get, or this WAS the regular guy and no one cared. I can't really describe this with enough accuracy. Missed more notes than he hit. No sense of tempo at all.

But the bride walked down the aisle with a smile on her face, clearly undisturbed by it all. (We later learned she'd had a four-hour disaster in the hair salon, but you wouldn't have known it at that moment!)

Dick and I didn't exactly know a lot of people at the wedding. Like, outside the bride and her immediate family ... no one. Which left me a little apprehensive as we searched for our name cards at the assigned table.

Oh. Did I tell you how we even KNOW the bride? This would be a good time to mention it, as it came up quite a bit throughout the introductions at the table. "Do you know Kevin or Molly?" "Molly." "Cool. How do you know her?" "Well," says Dick, "I was her first boyfriend."

Blink. Blink. Blink. "Well. Um. That's really cool that ... " (Pause. Turn to look at me.) "And YOU are really cool!"

Well, I am. But honestly, Molly is pretty fabulous. I wish she lived in LA, 'cause I'd hang out with her more. And her parents are so lovely.



Anyway. The bride and groom have a sense of fun and whimsy ... so there were some fun original aspects to the reception. For example, there were a variety of postcards sitting out, all addressed to them, with a pail of markers. The idea was to write out a congratulatory note, and they'd be mailed out at different times during the next year.

Also, there was to be a photo competition. Each table was assigned a set of poses, and you'd have to figure out exactly how you were going to execute the assignment and go to the photographer's area. (Winners will be announced after they're back from the honeymoon). Our photos were: rude multicultural gestures; at least three men had to drop trou; and as one of the women at the table was pregnant, the assignment was to get as many faces around the belly as possible.

There was a couple across the table from us who we'd talked to throughout the night (as much as possible, across the table). Her dress and mine were actually very very similar - black with pastel flowers. We talked about that as we walked up to the photo area.

When we got to the part with the faces around the pregnant belly, everyone got down on the ground, lying on our backs, heads next to the belly, like flower petals, sort of.

So we're lying there, and I'm actually in between this couple. Well, the guy starts reaching over and trying to tickle me. I keep moving his hand away, thinking "what is this guy's deal?" (Bear in mind the music is blaring, and I keep thinking we're going to be done any second now.) He then reaches over and grabs my breast, at which point I grab his hand, hold it away from me, and think - "Ah. I know what the guy's deal is. He thinks I'm his wife."

At that moment, the photo session is over, we all sit up, and his face goes white. And then red. "Oh my god. I'm so sorry. I ... I thought you were my wife." "I figured as much," I said, as I headed away towards my husband.

It became a running joke throughout the night. He's Canadian, you see, and he can't help but apologize. Over and over and over. "Seriously," I tell him, "I grew up in theatre. I'm quite accustomed to inappropriate touching."

The next day I found out he had had a band in Canada in the 80s; Molly says he's underplaying it quite a bit, and that he was actually a one-hit wonder. (Thus my last post - "I was groped by a Canadian one-hit wonder.) ;) I'm still trying to hunt down the name of the of the band. I'll post when I get the scoop.

More later ...