SATURDAY.
Work the morning shift with Nick. Poor guy's got allergies. Mellow shift, thankfully, and afterward I'd had no plans so Jenny's idea of heading out to Davis seems like fun. We head out around 8:00 to this dinner party with her friends to celebrate Miriam's birthday. I'm wearing a pilfered Hugo Boss jacket and my nicest clothes, Jenny's in her blue-purple flower dress that everyone compliments because it fits her so well. I like your haircut, they say. Well, you know... She brings flowers and (Tuscan) crackers and marinara goat-cheese dip (thanks Paul). Someone plays Washed Out on the speakers. Mingling around the cheeses. Candles. Table set up nice. Everyone looking snazzy. I'm Alicia. I'm Dave. I'm Jenny (she came to a bonfire a while back). This is Brendan. I'm me, you're you, it's nice to meet new people. Forgotten a lot of their names. Champagne of the white and red variety. I open a bottle of pinot noir and rip the cork in half. Use this: a snorkel, it aerates the wine. Don't drink too much, I'm probably driving home. Not terribly social during the mingling hour. More guests arriving. Music playing. My allergies are mild and a trip to bathroom for tissue keeps my runny nose in order. Good people. Laughter and conversation everywhere. Did you know there's such a thing as brie goat-cheese? Jenny's dip is a hit. We sit for dinner. Steak salad, chicken, pasta salad, lasagna. The wine is passed around. Maybe fifteen people. Topics ranging from Mormons to orange allergies to the X-files to Robocop to journalism to art class to childcare and beyond. I'm more of an observer, moderately quiet, finding entertainment in the interactions of good friends over a good dinner. I'm under the impression that everyone knows each other really well. I worry I'm not taking full advantage of this experience, but I'm not compelled to expand my comfort level with so much going on. Happy just to be here. Toasts and cheers. Desert with champagne. Candles blown out. Relighted. A game of Telephone Pictionary where phrases turn to drawings turn to phrases, drawings, phrases, drawings, and somewhere around the table the original phrase becomes something inappropriate and hilarious. The Lion King becomes Dog Butt Plug. It starts to get late and I have to open at Old Soul in the morning. Jenny locked in conversation. We leave around 11:30. Get to my place. Sleep.
Work the morning shift with Nick. Poor guy's got allergies. Mellow shift, thankfully, and afterward I'd had no plans so Jenny's idea of heading out to Davis seems like fun. We head out around 8:00 to this dinner party with her friends to celebrate Miriam's birthday. I'm wearing a pilfered Hugo Boss jacket and my nicest clothes, Jenny's in her blue-purple flower dress that everyone compliments because it fits her so well. I like your haircut, they say. Well, you know... She brings flowers and (Tuscan) crackers and marinara goat-cheese dip (thanks Paul). Someone plays Washed Out on the speakers. Mingling around the cheeses. Candles. Table set up nice. Everyone looking snazzy. I'm Alicia. I'm Dave. I'm Jenny (she came to a bonfire a while back). This is Brendan. I'm me, you're you, it's nice to meet new people. Forgotten a lot of their names. Champagne of the white and red variety. I open a bottle of pinot noir and rip the cork in half. Use this: a snorkel, it aerates the wine. Don't drink too much, I'm probably driving home. Not terribly social during the mingling hour. More guests arriving. Music playing. My allergies are mild and a trip to bathroom for tissue keeps my runny nose in order. Good people. Laughter and conversation everywhere. Did you know there's such a thing as brie goat-cheese? Jenny's dip is a hit. We sit for dinner. Steak salad, chicken, pasta salad, lasagna. The wine is passed around. Maybe fifteen people. Topics ranging from Mormons to orange allergies to the X-files to Robocop to journalism to art class to childcare and beyond. I'm more of an observer, moderately quiet, finding entertainment in the interactions of good friends over a good dinner. I'm under the impression that everyone knows each other really well. I worry I'm not taking full advantage of this experience, but I'm not compelled to expand my comfort level with so much going on. Happy just to be here. Toasts and cheers. Desert with champagne. Candles blown out. Relighted. A game of Telephone Pictionary where phrases turn to drawings turn to phrases, drawings, phrases, drawings, and somewhere around the table the original phrase becomes something inappropriate and hilarious. The Lion King becomes Dog Butt Plug. It starts to get late and I have to open at Old Soul in the morning. Jenny locked in conversation. We leave around 11:30. Get to my place. Sleep.
SUNDAY
I wake up two minutes late and peel myself away from a comfortable bed where Jenny spreads out to take advantage of the extra space I've left behind. Later she tells me about the baby tomato growing in the garden. There are sprouts of lettuce popping up from the soil. No flowers, surprisingly. With the rainy morning and nearly full moon, however, the garden will surely be happy tonight. Work with Shaun, who is edging ever-so-closer to his departure for Colorado in July. It'll be sad to see him go. He's playing at Ironsides this Friday. Busy shift, people avoiding the weather, the savage hail. Kirsten comes in to say they found a retirement home for her dad in Alameda, which is good news. Shift ends. Great tips. I go home and take a nap. Dinner around five thirty with Jenny's brother Justin, his wife Megan and their baby Joseph. Scrumptious steak, salad and asparagus. Wacky kids shows on TV between a few innings of the baseball game. Mostly a chance for everyone to catch up. Nice people. Cute kid. Beautiful house. Kind of a subdued home-life, I suppose, but having a kid sort of encourages that, and they were happy to have guests. Talk of Korea and cooking and raising a kid and law enforcement funding and budget cuts and ninja warriors. We left just before sunset so that I could get home and grab a few extra hours of sleep. Called the police to report a homeless guy picking up his belongings from the right-lane of the freeway exit. Life has been relatively simple and relaxed and I'm grateful for that, even if it doesn't make the most exciting stuff to write about, at least I'll have captured a moment when things were great and stable and carefree, because I recognize the changes on the horizon, and because I'll miss the stability when it's shaken.
- Left to Fry
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