12 Days of Christmas

We all know the traditional 12 Days of Christmas…at least we all know the preface…I actually don’t know what each day’s present was. But that doesn’t matter…these are my 12 days of Christmas:

12 - Full days of work in December
11 – Fresh Dungeness Crab (at those that made it to the table)
10 – Bottles of Wine
9 - Online purchases
8 –Formal Dinners
7 – Shopping excursions (searching for the perfect presents)
6 – Holiday Parties
5 – Extra Pounds
4 – International Flights
3 – Days with my Niece
2 – Nights in Zurich and
1 – Christmas Carol sing-along at my favorite dive bar

A Long and Short Goodbye to Zurich

This past weekend I flew to Zurich under the ruse of needing to help Martin clean out our apartment, but in reality as a way to finally say goodbye to Zurich (the city I have called home for the better part of 3 years) and all of my friends I have met and love over there. I had originally planned a 2 week trip in March to have a proper goodbye, but with the accelerated timeline and Martin moving to San Francisco in January, I had only 2 nights to finally close that chapter in my life.

Those 2 nights and 2 days were absolutely perfect. And while I arrived in Zurich Saturday morning with a laundry list of what I wanted to do, see and eat for one last time, I have never been more happy to leave a to do list undone, for better things.

Saturday evening all of our closest friends in Zurich came over for one last dinner party and a chance to drink the rest of the alcohol we had collected over years, including the bottle of gin Coleman, John and Martin brought on their first visit to Zurich, the vodka and kahlua from our Big Lebowski party and the margarita makings from Girls’ Fiesta Night where either Shannon or Anna had to fake drinking since they were pregnant (unfortunately they both had to dupe me at some point and so I can’t remember which one it was). With the party lasting until 3am I was slightly afraid we would run out of everything, but the supply seemed endless.

Sunday was spent packing up, cleaning the house and hanging out with the newest addition to the crew – Grace Lynn Lawry, Kim and Nick’s first child. At 2 weeks old she was already showing the athleticism of her parents, holding her head up, doing push-ups and practically scooting across the floor. She is such a strong little girl, that I even broke my cardinal rule and held her way before the 6 month mark.

And with our time in Zurich down to the last few hours, Martin and I spent our final night in Zurich as we normally spent our Sunday nights, a home cooked meal a la Breuer followed by a movie and Martin falling asleep half way through.

In the end I accomplished nothing on my list – no Khao Soi noodles at Tiffins, kebaps at Imbiss, bratwurst at Sternen, steak of Eisenhof, one last dance at Nelson’s, Christmas lights on Bahnhofstrasse, or the Globus Christmas Markets (although we did manage to have gluhwein at the Bellevue Christmas markets even though Martin had to practically drag me there). But in the end, the trip was absolutely perfect. And while we might not have an apartment in Zurich anymore, I fully intend to still visit…hopefully within the year!

Hillbilly Thanksgiving

The past few years, my family has spent Thanksgiving weekend with our “extended summer family” at Lake Pillsbury; and this year was no exception. And like always, the weekend ended with a big smile on my face, an even bigger belly, a shake of my head and a remembered love for my hillbilly alter-ego.

Cody and I (the last 2 Gimbels with full time jobs) took Wednesday off and were to drive up together later that afternoon. So after 3 quick hours of work (so much for the day off) I made my way over to Berkeley, CA home of my brother, location of his work and the largest concentration of bad drivers in all of the US. Cody picked me up from BART, and while we waited for his pork fat to be delivered (to make Elk sausage stuffing for Thanksgiving) we headed to Andronicos the classiest, without sarcasm, of grocery stores to pick up some last minute necessities for the weekend – me, the ingredients for “crack” dip and Cody, bloody mary supplies. Looking at our shopping cart of rotisserie chicken, ranch dip, buffalo sauce, cream cheese, vodka, beer, tomato juice and pickled green beans, it could have easily passed for a Thanksgiving dinner – we had all 4 courses!

With the groceries in hand and the pork fat delivered, we were officially on our way. And thanks to Cody’s defensive driving we made it out of Berkeley, avoiding 3 potential car accidents.

We woke up Thursday to a brisk, fall morning and began the preparations for our feast later that day. By 11am and with a phone call from Dana, I knew it was going to be an extra special Thanksgiving… apparently 20 wild turkeys including babies, had come out of the woods and were wandering around in front of her cabin. Dana and Cassidy were inside, by the fire, enjoying the peacefulness of the moment and wanted to share! That is, it was peaceful until Ray showed up, marking his return home with the blast of a shotgun, turkeys scattering and him running into the house with a big grin on his face – Happy First Thanksgiving Cassidy, daddy killed a turkey! Or he at least tried to kill one…the bird was apparently missed (something about not having the right gun on him) and thankfully we had to resort to the store bought bird in the fridge.

And man was it delicious…along with the yams, mashed potatoes, 2 types of stuffing, brussel sprouts, dinner rolls, pumpkin cupcakes, and plenty of wine and champagne. And like years past the feast and party continued throughout the rest of the weekend, with minor breaks for board games, Mexican train, mixing drinks and hanging out with friends and family. Thankfully no additional animals or wildlife were spotted and the weekend remained casualty free.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Wedding Season!(?)

Last time I checked, wedding season runs from Memorial Day weekend through Labor Day weekend…not surprisingly it corresponds with when it is appropriate to wear white. But just as Vogue Magazine threw that rule out the window a few years back, so have some of my closest friends. In the past 6 weeks, I have gone to 3 different weddings…3 more than I attended during the entire wedding season this year. And like the selected dates, these weddings were anything but ordinary.

On October 2nd, my cousin Josh got married to an awesome girl Erin. The wedding was beautiful, with very personal vows; and the last minute change of venue from the lake’s beach to the mountain lodge due to the heavy rain, thunder and lightning only added to the overall experience…the bride took it extremely well and the party continued without further delay. And with my normal partners in crime, Dana and Cody, unable to attend, I spent the night with my dad and 3 generations of Smith Women – my mom, aunt and grandma. I got to catch up on the family gossip, hear some fun stories about me growing up, and teach my aunt and mom how to do the lawnmower and shopping cart.

On October 10th (yes, 10-10-10) one of my best girl friends got married in Washington to her new found love Markus. After meeting in February and a whirlwind engagement, the two tied the knot at Shangri-La campsites at the base of Crystal Mountain. With no hotels nearby, the bridesmaids (myself included) rented an RV for the weekend and embraced our camping alter-egos. The wedding itself was beautiful, and unlike Josh and Erin’s wedding, the rain stopped in time for the outdoor ceremony. Outside of the wedding vows, the weekend was spent catching up with friends… that is, catching up in between the set-up and take down of the party “decorations” (including 15 water logged picnic tables, 250 chairs and the dancefloor).

And finally, on November 13th, one of my good friends from San Francisco Lauren married her long time boyfriend Ben on a veranda in Cabo San Lucas overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Unlike the previous two weddings, there was no rain in sight, and only a slight breeze to make for a pleasant tropical evening. But like the other two weddings, you could truly sense how happy the couple was and the joy in their families and friends being able to celebrate in their big day.

Congratulations to you all!

80 Year Old Woman From Ohio Goes to Cabo, Not Much Happens

Okay, so I might not be 80 and I might not be from Ohio, but the headline pretty much summarizes this past weekend, obviously spent in Cabo, for a friend’s destination wedding.

My unofficial date for the wedding was another invited guest, Kelly, whom you might remember from our misadventures in mob-ridden Palermo, Sicily and a petty theft incident in Napoli, Italy. Considering our natural talent for travelling, I knew this weekend would be another adventure.

The first challenge was getting there. We thought we were being travel savvy by getting our tickets early, locking in a cheap price for our tickets with minimal layovers. In hindsight, we opened ourselves up for last minute flight changes…in our case, a change from the 9am flight to a 6am flight followed by a 4 hour layover in Phoenix. Between the 4 am departure for the airport (and resulting impaired motor skills) layover, terminal changes and Kelly’s industrial-size zip lock bag of liquids, I am surprised we made it to Cabo at all, and more surprisingly with all liquids in tack.

After finally arriving at the hotel (no thanks to the group of 20 men offering us rides as soon as we got off the plane), we had just 1 hour of down time before getting on the bus for the rehearsal dinner downtown. And after travelling all day (beginning at 3am), and drinking through dinner, we opted to leave the impromptu mariachi dance party in the streets after the dinner, heading home and getting to bed by 11pm while the rest of the group did Cabo properly.

That Friday night set the tone for the rest of the weekend for Kelly and I, which was more reminiscent of an AARP sponsored all-inclusive vacation than San Francisco party. We woke up Saturday morning refreshed from a full nights sleep, enjoyed the hotel breakfast buffet overlooking the ocean and spent the rest of the day at the pool, on our lounge chairs, chasing the shade…In comparison, the rest of the party members woke up at 8:30 after a full night of partying (and in some cases a full week of partying), got to the pool at 9 in order to save lounge chairs and were at the swim up bar by 9:15am.

After the pool, Kelly and I spent the afternoon getting ready for the wedding and upon entering the party, I was quickly reminded that I am not as stylish as I once thought I was. In comparison to Kelly (with her 4 party dresses, 4 shoe options and travelling jewelry box) the Los Angeles based bridesmaids (with designer dresses and trendy accessories) and Marina Mafia fashionistas (with fashionable bohemian, vintage looks), I felt more like a homely country bumpkin from the Mid-West (Ohio to be exact) than a girl from California. And for the rest of the weekend, I embraced my Ohio, simple girl roots: giving traditional antidotes learned on the family farm, explaining to others the way we do things in Ohio and making mental notes for items to buy once I made it back to the big city (Columbus, to be exact).

Thankfully, even though I might have felt slightly underdressed for the occasion, no one else seemed to notice or care. And even better, no one seemed too bothered by my 11pm bedtime.

An Opereta

I sometimes feel like Martin and my relationship is like an opera…with so much stacked against us (long distance, language, location of family, my love of crown molding and his desire for clean lines) only our love keeps up together. And with so many differences, I was just slightly anxious about our parents meeting for the first time this past weekend in San Francisco. It had the makings of a great opera – my loud boisterous, but genuine Californian parents meeting Martin’s soft spoken, more proper but equally kind hearted German parents, potentially determining the fate of Martin and my happiness for years to come.

Act 1, the Breuer Family SF sightseeing tour, went flawlessly and my nerves began to relax despite the looming meeting. And during intermission, things were looking good. The location for dinner was decided, reservations were made and even better I had found a place that met all of my requirements – decent location, San Francisco classic charm, good food and quiet enough to alleviate some of the potential language barrier. Now we just needed to show up and not say anything completely offensive or stupid.

But alas, like all good operas, Act 2 always throws in a few obstacles. Just before leaving for dinner, my mood went from slightly calm back to slightly anxious and insecure and a minor misunderstanding had the potential for an international crisis. Thankfully, true to German form, Martin remained calmed and was able to pull me back together in time for the first hug, kiss, kiss greetings.

The food, drinks and conversations all went down perfectly, including a few jokes from Martin’s mom and my mom’s interesting fun facts of California. And the stories of traveling (both in Europe and the Americas) prompted a discussion of visiting Germany including Martin’s dad promising a 50km+ “Beer Road” in Franken, Germany which boasts the highest concentration of breweries in the world and my dad’s desire to experience it.

Dinner ended quickly, thanks to the good company (and bottle of wine), and the curtain closed before the fat lady sang or someone suffered an unintentional, tragic death.

Operation Breuer San Francisco

Granola bar, check. Pretzels, check. Emergency M&Ms, Powerade Sports goo, Luna bar, and energy jellies, check, check and check. Was I going hiking? No. Was I running another half marathon? Not technically. In fact, I was only preparing for a day of sightseeing with Martin and his parents in San Francisco. Knowing, and being warned again by Martin, that his parents probably wouldn’t need to stop for food during our 8+ hour tour and knowing that my energy levels (and overall happiness and sanity) plummet after 4 hours without it, I packed enough snacks to get me through another 2 half marathons.

We began with breakfast at a packed Rose’s Café in my neighborhood of Cow Hollow. What everyone was doing not working on Monday morning at 9am, was anybody’s guess, although I made a mental note to figure it out and learn from their lead. My breakfast pizza (the local specialty and especially tasty) and bottomless coffee was the last meal I would enjoy until dinner with the parents later that night…I tried to enjoy every last morsel of food. And with the bill paid, we began our pilgrimage through the City by the Bay.

From Rose’s we cut across Lombard, walked through the Marina past all of the cute shops and restaurants, continued on out through Chrissy Fields along the water (stopping every few moments to take photos of the Golden Gate Bridge) and then up the killer hill in the Presidio to the pedestrian sidewalk on San Francisco’s pride and joy, the Golden Gate Bridge. At this point, I opted to take a break under the rouse of needing to send out a few critical work emails (in reality one work email, one email to friends giving them a status update and a 10 minute break to wolf down the Luna Bar). In the meantime, Martin and his parents made their way out to the middle of the Bridge in order to get the prize-winning views of the city.

After seeing and walking across the bridge, most people would consider it a productive day of touring San Francisco and head back to their hotels for lunch and an afternoon nap. Not surprisingly, Martin’s parents are not most people. From the Bridge, we retraced our 3 mile walk past the Presidio Warming Hut, back through the Marina (stopping at the Palace of Fine Arts for a quick photo op of the swans), continuing straight through Fort Mason, over the hill (and through the woods) and down into Aquatic Park and Fisherman’s Wharf.

We paused in Fisherman’s Wharf just long enough to pick up some salt water taffy (a first for the Breuer’s and a much needed sugar rush for me) and we were back on our journey through North Beach (with another quick stop for an espresso) and onto Chinatown. It was in Chinatown that we finally stopped for some food…or at least a hint of food – 15 pieces of dim sum to be exact, and yes I savored every little bite.

Thankfully Chinatown wasn’t as crazy as normal (it was Monday afternoon after all) and we were able to take our time walking through the narrow streets, checking out the various knic-knacks Grant St. had to offer including Chinese Finger Traps, meditation balls and back scratchers. And finally, from Chinatown, we walked the 3 short blocks back to Union Square (and the hotel) to drop off Martin’s parents before we ran home to change for dinner.

All in, we walked about 8 miles (5 of which were consistent with my half marathon), and I ended up with more blisters and more sore muscles than the previous 13.1 mile race. My conclusion, sightseeing with the Breuers was more exhausting and physically challenging than the half marathon… am I surprised? No, not really.

The First 30 of 30.

I have officially been 30 years old for 30 days, so here is my 30 day review…let’s just say it has been a big month.

My first day began with champagne and a perfect day with Martin in France. Since then I have become an aunt, I have run 10.5 miles (in preparation for my upcoming half marathon in a few days), I watched my cousin get married and I made a few key career changing decisions.

But in reality, all of those things were mere blips on the path of life when compared to what happened just before the 30 day mark. It was a truly defining moment, one where I can look back and say, yes, that was the day I finally felt mature enough to call myself 30. Thursday evening, after a long day of work and German class, I intentionally opted to head to Walgreens to buy toilet paper instead of heading directly to happy hour with friends and plans to steal a roll from the bar later. I have come so far from my twenties!

I’m An Aunt!

And isn’t she adorable!

After so much anticipation (there may or may not have been multiple phone calls home from France to check on the baby status), Dana and Ray welcomed their daughter Cassidy Rae Geimer into the world and to our crazy family on September 21.

I got the news while at work, about to leave for Minneapolis, and immediately broke down in happy tears. My sister was finally a mom and I was now an aunt…we were officially the three amigos! And on Sunday I finally got to meet the little girl.

As expected, she is perfect in every way with a calm personality (just like her mom), full head of hair (thanks to both mom and dad) and pouty lips that will drive the guys (and subsequently, her dad) crazy when she gets older.

I can’t wait to see her grow up and provide the same guidance and memories my crazy aunties provided to me: playing drunken Barbie, telling her funny stories about her parents, teaching her how to use make-up, taking her to her first pedicure and providing insightful advice into dating and men, These next few years are going to be fun…Watch out Cassidy!

An Eating Tour of France

I must preface the following with a few confessions: 1) I don’t really like the French (or at least the Parisians I have met so far, 2) I don’t really like French food or even their wine and 3) I haven’t been proper camping –tent, coleman grill, shared bathrooms camping – in at least 8 years…so why I thought that a driving tour through France, eating French Food (albeit primarily cheese) and drinking French wine for a week, followed by a week of camping on the beaches of Biarritz, all for my 30th birthday was a good idea, I am not quite sure. However I am sure that, looking back, it was one of my favorite trips to date. It turns out that I really don’t mind French food, I LOVE their wine and cheese and we were greeted by nothing but friendly French people, willing to work with our limited French skills. That, and I kind of like camping.

The following are the stories from the road (and beach) and as always, are posted on the date of occurrence, so read up from the beginning (Aug 28th).

Happy reading and bon appetite!

On a side note: while I had a general idea as to what we would be doing during our trip through France, I had no idea what the specifics were. Martin, being his amazing self, planned the entire trip, everything from where we would go, where we would stay and what we would do…it was absolutely perfect!

Packing Up Camp

Camping in bad weather and rain is one thing. Packing up camp in the rain to head back home is a completely different story – all except for one aspect –we managed to laugh through this experience as well as the previous storm.

We woke up to rain again on Thursday morning, the day we had been dreading all week, the day we had to leave. Like all other days, the rain was off and on, but unlike the other days, the rain didn’t eventually stop…in fact, it only got worse. So while Martin ran to get coffee at the restaurant (we couldn’t make our own due to the rain) I tried to busy myself by packing up the inside of the tent and hoping that we would get a break in the weather to take down the tent. Unfortunately for us, the break never came.

Instead of prolonging the inevitable, Martin and I set about to take down the tent in the pouring rain…or in reality, Martin took down the tent and I rotated between helping and running for cover in the car when the rain got too heavy. In the end, what could have been a 15 minute project, took a little longer.

After a hot shower we were finally in the car and at least physically ready to go home…and thankfully we were still laughing about the rain and continued laughing after realizing we had an umbrella that we could have used. Being able to laugh together was a huge testament to just how great the vacation was.

Just three days later, I was back to work in San Francisco, but my mind was still on that beach, enjoying the evening sunset with Martin.

San Sebastian and Biarritz

With the weather not absolutely perfect for the beach on a few days, we took the opportunity to take in the surrounding towns with day trips to San Sebastian and Biarritz.

On Monday we headed south and over the border to San Sebastian, Spain. After being in small towns for 2 weeks, we were just slightly overwhelmed being back in a city. We somehow found our way around the city center, down the main shopping street, out to the beach (great for being in a city, but nothing compared to our one back “home”), through a few churches and a stop for lunch, a unique dining experience where plates were lined up on the bar and we individually selected what tapas we wanted. With most of the shops closed from 1:30-3, Martin and I agreed it had been a thorough tour and headed back to our beach in time for an afternoon swim and surf.

On Wednesday we headed north to the small, but slightly ritzy beach town of Biarritz. With Martin’s expertise we walked along the beach, stopping to watch the surfers (beginners and pros alike), hiked up the hill to get views from the lighthouse (closed for the day due to weather), another stop to watch the surfers and then a quick stroll through the main shopping street. Similar to San Sebastian, we accidentally timed our trip during the afternoon break, so most shops were closed…yes, our timing was impeccable, but we weren’t too fussed. After a few days camping we had already got into our routine and were content to stay on our beach, doing nothing.

And Then It Rained

I should have known the good weather couldn’t last the full two weeks: European weather just isn’t that consistent. So when it began to rain Monday night after we were in bed, I shrugged my shoulders and tried to enjoy the sometimes violent pitter patter of rain on the tent…I also made a mental note to thank Martin for insisting on putting the rain cover on. Those extra few minutes the first day saved us (meaning Martin) a world of pain that Monday night.

The rain continued through the early morning but cleared up in time for a late brunch and by the afternoon we were back on the beach enjoying the great weather again. Upon returning to the camp that evening however we noticed newly posted signs warning of expected high winds and a strong storm…I thought this was odd considering the storm had passed through the previous night. Martin quickly corrected my misunderstanding….last night was just rain, tonight we would experience a storm.

So while preparing dinner, we also set about preparing the camp, taking in all of the towels from the clothes line, hammering down the stakes and putting stuff in the tent. When we finally sat down to dinner, we could see the dark sinister clouds looming in the distance threatening to ruin our dinner and evening…it was the calm before the storm and we were enjoying our last meal, waiting to go down with the ship. But as we helped ourselves to seconds, I couldn’t help notice that the meanest looking clouds had all but passed over us…in my eyes we were almost out of danger.

Unfortunately for me, I couldn’t have been more wrong. Just as the words “in the clear” escaped my lips gale force winds, class 2 hurricane style, came ripping through camp, stirring up dust, twigs, and small trees and making us run for cover in the tent. (On a side note, I now understand the need for such a large tent – we had room to move our entire dinner - table, chairs and all- into the tent and continue supper without any additional interruptions (except to pick the foliage off of our plates).

We spent the rest of the night inside, playing Yahtzee and drinking wine. And while the storm was fierce, shaking the entire tent, I couldn’t help but feel the excitement (or electricity, did I mention the thunder and lightning) of it all. My biggest concern was if the side of the tent would knock over our bottle of wine and how I was going to make it to the bathroom without getting blown away….Martin’s biggest concern was if the tent was going to blow away, leaving every once in awhile to check the ropes and stakes (again mental note to thank his insistence).

After 12 hours, the wind and rain (which at one point sounded like someone had turned on a fire hose and aimed it directly at our tent) finally subsided and we were able to emerge without any damage… others couldn’t say the same. On one of my treks to the bathroom in the middle of the night, I noticed several collapsed tents, blown away chairs and one tent completely uprooted and replanted upside down in front of the bathroom building. With large surf crashing in the background and winds blowing loud enough you had to yell, it truly felt like the 50 year storm.

Camping Breuer Style

When Martin first packed the car for our one week camping trip to Bidart (a small surf town just south of Biarritz) I figured, like all other times, Martin had just slightly overpacked. We had everything and then some: a 3 room tent, electric ice chest, table, two chairs, blow up air mattress, bedding, 6+ towels, kitchen supplies, gas stove, gas lights, portable BBQ, dish bucket, tent for the beach, wetsuits, boogie board – you name it, we had packed it. And while it had been some time since I had last been camping, it seemed a bit excessive.

However after rolling into the 4 star campsite I quickly realized that on the bell curve of preparedness/ luxury, we were actually on the lower end of the slope. These campers – French, Spanish, German, Italians, Dutch and British - knew how to do it right. Our set up was put to shame next to the deluxe RVs, trailer campers, tents larger than ours and stuff I had never seen before. But I guess it made sense, we were at a 4 star establishment. Our area – 20x20 feet surrounded by rows of hedges and trees, with water and electrical hooks was just one of the 150 spots in the resort. And the resort itself boasted a spa, swimming pool, store, restaurant, showers, dish area, laundry area and beach front access to the private beach below. It really couldn’t get much better….And then it did.

After the two hours it took to get set-up, including a brief discussion with Martin as to why we needed to stake down the tent, add the rain cover and stake down the rain cover ropes given the sunny blue skies (God love the German in him needing to do everything exact and proper) we were officially home for the week. And if that was camping, I would do it every day. We enjoyed full European breakfasts at our campsite each morning (including champagne for my birthday breakfast), baguette sandwiches on the beach while taking in the sun, playing in the surf, and perfecting our skills of beach paddle ball and BBQ dinners every night followed by cold beers and games of Yahtzee and Set…I was one happy camper!

A Day of Markets

With no set plans for our second day in Beynac, Martin and I flipped through the local magazine and found a “Marches des Producteurs de Pays Nocturnes” that day in Loubejac, only 45 minutes away. Interested in a local “farmers market” we figured it was a perfect way to spend the Thursday afternoon.

But before we left, Martin and I took the obligatory historical hot lap of Chateau de Beynac, the castle just up the hill from our hotel. Reading about the horses, men and women all sleeping in the same room, I could literally smell the stifling stench of the 14th century…I was ready for some fresh air and fresh produce.

After the 45 minute drive, Martin and I drove up a slight hill and found ourselves in Loubejac –home of one church with adjacent square, one town hall, 3 houses, 2 horses, and a market starting later that evening at 6:30pm…French lesson of the day: “Nocturnes” means “night”. The farmers market we were planning on attending that day was a night market and didn’t start for another 5 and ½ hours. With the space allocated for parking in the adjacent field large enough to hold 100+ cars, we figured we should come back to experience the market. The only problem: what to do with the next 5 and ½ hours?

We re-consulted the magazine and found another weekly market in a town only 25 minutes away. Done. We were heading to Montpazier.

Unfortunately for us, we showed up right when things were winding down…this market was only from 9:30 to 12:30. But following our normal motto: when life gives you lemons, make lemonade…or even better, panache, we grabbed a table in the square and ordered a snack and some beers.

Revived from our snack, we hit up the tourist office to see what the town had to offer (other than the market obviously). Apparently, it had a lot – Montpazier is considered one of the most beautiful towns in France and the tourist office offers a walking tour through the 13th and 14th century Bastide (city planning at its finest - Four hundred by two hundred meters on a grid system) to see the town. Talk about some dumb luck.

Thanks to the walking tour and an afternoon coffee and sweets, Martin and I were able to enjoy the rest of the day in Montpazier and head back to Loubejac just in time for the market. Although “market” is hardly the right term for it. In the small square next to the church, local vendors had set up booths (more like tables) selling various local delights including soup, salad, baguettes, escargot, fruit, cheese, fried potatoes, cakes and local wine. At the far end of the square were stacks of tables, chairs and benches for guests to help themselves to. Following the lead of the locals, Martin grabbed a table and I grabbed two chairs and we set up our dinner table in the middle of the square. With a quick trip to the car to get plates, glasses and silverware (packed for camping the following day) we were all set. We just needed the food.

And we bought it all: salad, fried potatoes, a baguette, a mini pizza, BBQ rack of sheep, goat cheese with walnuts covered with honey, raspberries and local wine (from the Cahors region). Eating in the middle of the square with the rest of the town and neighboring villages (including the “mayor” and his wife) overlooking the valley and rolling hills was truly a unique experience. And when the string of white lights surrounding the square turned on after the sun went down, the moment went from unique to unforgettable.

Canoeing the Dordogne

We awoke Wednesday morning in Beynac et Cazenac, a small town along the Dordogne River. The river used to be the only means of communication between the mountains and sea and at times, marked the boundaries of France and England. And we were going to canoe down it… or at least 22 km of it.

The tour company in town offered two options - Versat to Beynac (15kms and approximately 2.5 hours) or Carsac to Beynac (22kms and approximately 4 hours). I was a fool to think Martin would choose the shorter option. So we boarded the bus (driven by a middle aged French woman rather than the anticipated 20 something river rat a la Truckee River) and headed upstream to Carsac for our day of “Canoeing”…although my experience at times was more like a canoe ride.

The first 7km to Versat flew by. With a relatively strong current and fresh arms, I was feeling confident in my canoeing abilities. That, plus it only took Martin and me 10 minutes to get a rhythm down that made me feel like I was contributing to the efforts while maintaining a straight line (unlike the British couple that zig-zagged their way down the entire river). After Versat however, the current all but stopped, making paddling even harder and making my “rest breaks” (where I sat comfortably in front while Martin paddled in the back) even longer. Thankfully he didn’t seem to mind too much…the extra 7kms were his idea after all.

While not paddling or perfecting our coordination, Martin and I were able to take in the scenic views, including the 5 chateaus (French for castle) all perched on the surrounding cliffs (stunning themselves), overlooking the river and all unique in their construction and history. We also stopped on a few occasions to take a swim in the water, enjoy lunch (at a slightly ill-prepared snack hut) and break for beers. With the breeze off the water and warm sun shining all day, I was happy and willing to continue on past our stop…I don’t think Martin was so keen so we pulled over in the correct town.

After paddling for the 22kms (okay, more like 15) my arms and body were exhausted, yet beginning to gain some summer color. The night ended with a hard earned dinner and Martin, for once, eating too much!

Sarlat, France

After our perfect picnic in the middle of nowhere Martin and I continued our drive through the middle of France to Sarlat, France. Sarlat was one of the first towns in France to become protected for its architecture (primarily from the early 900s up through the 18th century). The town came highly recommended by Martin’s parents who were just there, so we thought it was worth the detour. With a walking tour map (complete with historical fun facts) from their visit in hand, we couldn’t lose… although we could get lost, multiple times.

The historical center of town (which was the focus of the walking tour) was relatively small and the streets, avenues and alleys were even smaller. So it was easy to overshoot our route. For the 22 historical spots along the walk, we had to back track, re-route and constantly re-consult the map, spending more time trying to follow the tour than would have been spent just wandering through town. However, we did manage to see everything in the end and the town lived up to its promise of being a well preserved historical town.

That would make two historical sites seen in just 3 days.

A Perfect Picnic

To be perfectly clear, I had two goals (eating cheese and drinking wine) and one vision: Martin and I buying some local wine and cheese, creating an impromptu picnic in the countryside, then strolling through a small old village, all the while looking madly in love and possibly me wearing a ridiculously cute Parisian style dress and maybe a hat. But let’s be honest, that is just ridiculous…that is not a vision, but rather a Hollywood movie. Well if so, sign me up for acting classes.

Our drive from the volcanoes to the Dordogne region (our next stop) took us through the hills and countryside and the main region in France for Foie Gras. So after 2 hours of driving, when Martin started to get bored and we saw a sign for foie gras in the middle of nowhere (technically Paulin), we felt obligated to stop. Upon first sight (and second ring of the bell), the farmhouse appeared empty and right when we were about to give up hope the owner came around the corner to open up the shop – a small room off the farm house full of award winning foie gras. After much pointing and hand signaling (not surprising his English was very limited) we ended up buying 3 cans. And upon leaving he wished us safe travels in French and told us “Golf, good car” in perfect English.

Shortly down the road, we saw a sign for Fromagerie and once again pulled off the road to buy some local cheese. This time we were immediately greeted by two barking dogs and a smiling lady who led us into the shop and, after some confusion and a quick trip to the walk-in cooler, re-emerged with a tray of cheese for us to make our selection from (really, who needs to know French?). We selected the buche salapampa, a goat cheese log hand rolled in spices, and 3 discs of Chèvre (basic goat cheese), oh and of course two bottles of local red wine.

We had the wine, we had the cheese, and after a quick trip to marche, we had our baguette…now all we needed was a place for the picnic. We didn’t have to look too hard – we were in the countryside after all. We found a nice pasture just off the road with a nearby cornfield and woods in the distance. With a quick spread of the blanket and pop of a cork, Martin and I were enjoying a perfect picnic in the French countryside, me in a cute dress while looking very much in love. Ah, perfection… all we needed was a rustic village to stroll through next – thankfully we were heading to Sarlat for a detour before the hotel.

Puy de Dome

After saying goodbye to Jim, with both promises to return next harvest and our newly purchased 5 bottles of wine, Martin and I headed west towards the Auvergne region, Valley of the Volcanoes to hike Puy de Dome a “volcanic hump looming over Clermont-Ferrand”. The hill was formed as a result of 3 volcanic eruptions over 11,000 years ago. Apparently the views from the top showcased the surrounding 100+ volcanoes…so we were going to hike it.

But first, we had to get there; no thanks to Fifi, our GPS system. Our sometimes schizophrenic, always drunk, back seat driver, was not always the most reliable in giving directions (she suggested a full 360 in a roundabout). However she always managed to correct herself, and as a result Martin and I were able to get off the main roads and see some of the smaller villages and back roads of France (sometimes more than once).

We finally made it to Royat (our base camp) and began the drive up the hill to hike Puy de Dome. Per our book, you could park your car up the hill and then hike the 45 minutes to the top of the dormant volcano for stunning views of the surrounding valleys. Unfortunately, like Fifi, the book failed to mention that there were 2 parking lots – 1 to the right and 1 to left, a mere 3 km further up the hill and coincidentally the starting point of the 45 minute hike. Based on past experience, we parked in the lot on the right.

After 15 minutes of looking for the trail and 15 minutes hiking the trail (allegedly 1/3 of the hike) we realized that something was wrong…we were still at least 500 vertical meters from the top and probably 5 km in distance. Thankfully Martin sensed that something wasn’t right and we headed back to the car for assistance. We were then informed of the second parking lot.

We re-parked in the correct lot and made the hike up the hill, completing it in just over 35 minutes, no thanks to my constant rest breaks (I could swear I am training for a half marathon). We took the obligatory hot lap around the top to take in the views and made it back down the hill in 25 minutes. All in, we spent more time at the café at the bottom enjoying our hard earned cold beers and crisps (or as the French call them “chips”) then we did actually hiking the hill. And we further treated ourselves later that night with another 4 course dinner including plenty of wine and cheese.

Two nights of wine and cheese…the trip so far had the makings of my favorite to date.

A Perfect Beginning – Fuisse

My only two real goals for the driving tour through France were to eat cheese and drink wine. We achieved (and surpassed) both goals in the first night in Fuisse. Well off the beaten path, we had stumbled on the true French countryside…the countryside and rolling vineyards.

We arrived at our French country inn (Domaine la Sourse des Fees), were greeted (in English, surprisingly) by our innkeeper “Jim” and shown our “room”, which was more like an apartment, with living room, bedroom, bathroom and porch overlooking the backyard and rolling hills of vineyards in the near distance. After dropping off our bags we headed directly to the main house for a tasting of the local wines and cheese. The wines, 5 in all (3 chardonnays, 1 red and 1 sparkling rose from the Pouilly-Fuisse appellation) were perfectly complimented by the local aged goat cheese. The cheese was tasty and I realized that French wines could grow on me. And not to be completely spoiled, but Jim translated everything from French into English for us, explaining the different years, timing of harvest and style of wines.

Unfortunately, being spoiled by Jim, only set us up for failure later that night at dinner. Upon being seated, Martin politely asked the waitress if we could order in English. He was answered with a resounding non (French for No). And so began our 7 course dinner completely blind. My starter of Tarrine Maison, thought to be soup, turned out to be a plate of compressed mystery meat and the unidentified pancake side dish (or were they potatoes) still remain a mystery. Thankfully we got the wine right and you can’t really mess up when ordering off the cheese cart (the waitress had given up at that point so we resorted to hand signals and pointing).

Overall the dinner was great and the language barrier only added to the fun of the evening. The language barrier also allowed for Martin to innocently leave the restaurant with the half full bottle of wine without a cork.

Fuisse got us going on a good start! Sad to leave, we were heading to the Valley of the Volcanoes…Royat, France.

The Abbey of Cluny

After packing the car Sunday morning (a task in itself to get everything in) we were on our way to Pouilly-Fuisse, a small village in the Beaujolais region of France for our first night of the holiday! But before Martin and I arrived in Fuisse for the night, we made our first detour of the trip and ended up in Cluny to see the Abbey of Cluny.

The Abbey of Cluny was the largest religious building in the world before St. Peter’s Basilica was built. Unfortunately, after paying 7 euros each to see this “impressive” church, we were informed that shortly after its completion in 910AD, the French began to disassemble it. All that remained was one of the 3 tall steeples (extremely impressive), the old courtyard (seen one of those before) and a museum showcasing the old sculptures and carvings that used to adorn the complex.

Based on the model we saw, the abbey, in its full glory, would have been amazing. What stands today, not so much. But at least we were off to a good “road trip” start. Random side detour – check. Next stop, Fuisse for our first night in France!

Four Pillars of Maturity

Over the years, I have measured my various accomplishments against the benchmarks of life - the four pillars of maturity if you will. The four pillars of maturity include: being married, owning a home, having a dog and having a baby. These pillars seemed reasonable enough at the age of 22 and fully achievable….8 years later, I am still struggling to hit the first one.

And unfortunately when compared to my best girl friends, all of whom have at least one pillar (and some of which I had banked on never meeting a single one – sorry girls), I am far behind on my accomplishments of life’s goals. So, like most other situations when I am behind in the learning curve (granted they are my own pre-defined guidelines), I have decided to redefine the benchmarks. The four pillars of maturity now include a few additions: a decent career, a long-term relationship, owning a car, and saying no to participating in illegal acts….based on these new guidelines, I am already half way there….Granted, based on these guidelines, I am no more mature than my 17 year old self working at the GAP with a (pretend) boyfriend in college, but those are just minor details.

Happy 30th!

The Jet Setting Life

I have always wanted the jet-setting life: thinking nothing of flying across the country for the weekend or night, hoping over to Europe for a weekend get-away and knowing all of the ins and outs of the airport routine. However after these past two weeks (with 5 cities, 10 airports and countless lines – for security, check-in, taxis, etc) I have learned that there are pros and cons for this life style.

The Pros - After so many flights (and not hesitating to take a non direct route for points), I have managed to reach an elite status on my airline of choice –United. This status entitles me express check in, free baggage and potential upgrades…on my flight from Minneapolis to Chicago I was upgraded from the cattle call of coach to first class. And while it was only an hour and a half flight, I managed to make the most of it….free glass (es) of wine, reclining seats and a fast exit off the plane. And the same holds true for hotel points… my status with Starwood got me an upgrade at the W to a lake view in Chicago and a free drink at the bar! The only problem is when you randomly end up on a non-preferred carrier, the experience can be traumatizing, as was my experience trying to get home to SF on a regional airline.

But even better than the freebies, is the zen-like attitude I have adopted with traveling. I can no longer take the time to get upset when someone boards out of their seating order or takes too much time in the security line. Those little concerns, in aggregate, would lead to a very short, frustrating life. And in the end, I will still get on the flight and my seat will still be available. Amazing how that works.

The Cons - After so many flights, hotels, office buildings, time zones in such a short period of time I started to get slightly confused as to where I was and where I needed to go. I stayed in 3 different hotels (one twice) on floors 14, 5, 30 and 7; I visited 3 different KPMG buildings (floors 37, 20, and 41, I think) and went to several different client buildings, offices and locations. By the time I was back in Minneapolis for the second time (in 24 hours), I had no idea what hotel room I was in or what floor I should head to in the office. The effect was paralyzing, and if it weren’t for my blackberry to phone a friend (or the front desk) I could have easily tried to get into the wrong office, or worse, hotel room.

Unfortunately, the worst part of all this current travel is that with all of the flying around, I haven’t had time to fully look forward to or plan for my upcoming holiday to France with Martin! I leave in 2 days and there is still so much to do…hopefully I can use these travel skills and pull it off.

Brooklyn Heights?... As in Brooklyn?

Those were my exact words a few years ago in response to a friend telling me her plans to move from Manhattan to the “Other Borough”. I just couldn’t fathom why anyone would intentionally leave the island - I wasn’t even a local, and yet it seemed wrong. But after this past trip to New York (4 days for a 2 day work training), I am beginning to understand the lure.

After a full Sunday of doing what I love - bottomless mimosa brunch, shopping, cocktails, shopping and dinner with the girls (Anna and Erin) in the city - Anna and I made the trek back to her place in Park Slope, Brooklyn for the night and the following day off. Park Slope is a cute neighborhood near Prospect Park with a laid back atmosphere and locals with stroller envy – yes, it appeared I had entered the stroller capital of NYC. In Anna and my relaxing walk through the Park and out shopping on Monday morning we passed countless high-end strollers with either a Caribbean nanny to follow or a matching high-end mother…ranting to her friends about the importance of homemade organic baby food.

I am not sure if our stroller was able to compete with their rolls royces, however Anna was hands down the cutest mom and Emery was by far the cutest baby so overall we won. We spent the rest of the afternoon hanging out at the apartment, catching up and living the Haus Frau lifestyle….I could easily get used to that one…so why did I have to go to work the following day?

Two days later, after a grueling 8 hours in the office (special thanks to a mind-numbing tax training) I was ready for a drink (and I suppose dinner), so I made my way back across the river, this time to Williamsburg, Brooklyn to hang out with my friend Katya and her boyfriend Unity. If Park Slope was the Upper East Side of Brooklyn, Williamsburg was the up and coming answer to Greenwich Village. The buildings were lined with artful graffiti, yet filled with understated but exceptional restaurants, bars and shops. And Katya and Unity’s apartment was no exception; located in a historic old warehouse, their apartment provided modern amenities including a dish washer, gym and in-house washer/dryer, but also maintained the exterior/structural charm - including floor to ceiling windows looking out onto the Williamsburg, Manhattan and Brooklyn bridges and the NYC skyline across the water.

The best, no, the only way to compliment a view like that was with a home-cooked meal (lasagna from scratch), bottles of wine, good conversation and lots of gourmet cheese (8 different kinds to be exact)…I had died and gone to NY cheese and wine heaven.

In short, with the big parks, great restaurants, stunning views and all of the charm I thought only Manhattan could offer, Brooklyn has moved up in my book. And if Erin ever decides to leave the island for Brooklyn as well, I guess I will have to declare it unanimous, Brooklyn is the new destination borough.

The Elephant Upstairs

An elephant lives directly above me… that or an extremely heavy-footed elephant lover. I have no idea what “she” does up there or who “she” is, but I do know the layout of her apartment better than mine, she tends to pace it nightly.

All is silent until 11pm when she comes home and/or wakes up. From there, she typically walks to the kitchen, then to the living room, back to the kitchen, then living room all the while stomping her feet, practicing her best drill sergeant march. At this point, she typically drops a large jar of coins which hits the ground, bounces a few times, scattering the coins (some which hit the shared radiator) and then approximately 20 minutes is spent walking around the living room picking up the coins. (I will admit the coins are not confirmed, however it is the only logical explanation I can find that would require her to walk around her living room every evening without pause).

Around 11:30pm she walks into the bed room (directly above mine) and blows up an air mattress. Why she still needs an air mattress after living above me for the past 6 months, I again have no idea….it is around this time that I finally fall asleep. What she does after she blows up her bed, I am not sure. The bright side is she is surprisingly quiet each morning.

Now I don’t consider myself that finicky of a person, however I do believe in consideration of others… I have area rugs in both my living room and bed room, I take off my shoes in my apartment and try to walk lightly in the hall way. So I get slightly frustrated when others are less inclined.

Surprisingly though, it took the elephant upstairs to recognize the large elephant in my own room… I seriously miss Martin and our home together. And my dislikes of the apartment (it is noisy, lacks charm and is anti-feng shui) are only exasperated by the fact that Martin isn’t here and the apartment in SF isn’t yet home.

So, in order to fix the problem, Martin and I are going to look for apartments together in the city next time he is out here (conveniently in November, right when my lease is up). And while Martin won’t be living here until May, at least we will have picked out a place together to eventually call home.

Stage Mom

With Martin in another country and me home all alone, I have developed some nasty new habits…the worst of them being an unhealthy addiction to bad reality TV including the Bachelorette, Toddlers and Tiaras and Kathy Griffin’s My Life on the D List. But hey, as my married friends put it, I should enjoy these guilty pleasures now because as soon as Martin gets here, reality tv is gone.

So a few weeks ago I decided to take my obsession to the next level…I took my dating skills learned from the Bachelorette and channeled my Toddlers and Tiaras stage mom and encourage my friend Jenny to audition for the upcoming season of the Bachelor. And just my luck, there was an open casting call in San Francisco in just two weeks.

I quickly blocked our office calendars for an “important meeting” the day of the auditions and we started brainstorming ways to make Jenny stand out and get on the show. The day quickly arrived, and we wrapped up work early to get there on time, with hopes of forever changing Jenny’s life.

The casting call was at a local hotel and we arrived expecting a line around the block, American Idol style. What we got was slightly less impressive…we had to follow the signs (not the screaming girls) to a large conference room on the lower level and found only a handful of girls waiting their turn for fame and love (although the crowds did grow substantially after 6pm when normal people get off work) and a few token guys, either there for moral support to their gal pals, for auditions themselves or for the girl to guy ratio.

As soon as Jenny signed in and got her application, the stage mom in me couldn’t resist: I helped Jenny fill out the application (providing thoughtful and unique adjectives to describe herself), I made friends with the other contestants (while subtlety scoping out the competition, and thankfully it wasn’t that steep…most of the girls seemed either not cute enough, too old or too over-done…and that is my toned down, less caddy opinion…trust me, I could say a lot worse), I hung in the back while Jenny had her photos taken making sure she smiled big and stood up straight and I offered words of encouragement just before she went into the room to be interviewed and videotaped. I even took her out to drinks afterwards to celebrate her soon to be success.

And like all good show moms (no thanks to the role models on Toddlers and Tiaras), I stopped myself from completing the process myself for fun– this was Jenny’s day after all and her time to shine….apparently reality TV can teach you a thing or two.

On a side note – Jenny finds out next week if she moves on to the next round…fingers crossed we are heading to LA!

Always a BridesMaid…

And never a Bride (at least for now…I am still working on that one). Surprisingly, I take great pride in being a bridesmaid from picking out and wearing the sometimes dreadful bridesmaid dress, helping the bride both plan for and enjoy the big day and, my favorite, planning the bachelorette party. After so many years and so many parties, my girls and I have this art down to a science including party games, food, alcohol, handling the expenses, etc. The machine is so well oiled that the only decision to make after the bride-to-be says “Yes” is deciding on the theme. With Joanna’s bachelorette party last weekend, any number of themes would have worked…

Anj and I were the last to arrive on Thursday evening and after a quick glass of wine at the Seattle airport bar, we were whisked away by Joanna’s sister Anita to the small town of Enumclaw WA for a night in Joanna’s new house and a drink at the local biker bar – the only non-residential building in the 500 person town. Possible Theme #1 – Roadhouse – the bar was complete with fire-pit out front, Harleys lined up in the parking lot, and plenty of leather clad burly bikers.

The following morning we woke up early and prepared for the drive out to Leavenworth WA, the Bavaria of Washington. Possible Theme #2 – Loving the Leiderhosen – the town was straight out of Germany with stylized buildings, German restaurants and yodelers …or at least that is what the city website said and showed…we still had to get there.

So we all piled into the family SUV – Joanna, Anita, Anj, Erin, Neff and me – with Keneta following in her car, and we were off….first stop, Shangri-la to check out the campsite and wedding location (and yes those are the same place) where we were able to visual the wedding and pee in some bushes. Possible Theme #3 – Troop Beverly Hills - our outdoor skills were exemplary, including an additional pee stop along the side of the mountain highway (due to too many beers at lunch) and our love of nature… And when I say “love of nature” I mean fear of bugs…I spotted a large potato bug inside the car after our second pee break resulting in an emergency stop along side of the freeway and a fire drill evacuation of the car to get the bug out.

We finally arrive in Leavenworth, the Bavarian town on a river we had been promised and the new bachelor/bachelorette party capital of WA. No joke, there were at least 10 other bridal parties all celebrating their upcoming nuptials in the little town of 5,000 on that weekend alone. Possible Theme #4 – Bride Wars – while it was fun in theory to hang out with what appeared to be a bachelorette party convention, 10+ brides all thinking that it was their special weekend, and their’s alone proved otherwise… Joanna almost got into a fight with another bride and thanks to our many years of experience, all of the other parties just didn’t measure up resulting in dirty looks and possible death threats.

At the end we went with “Rip Roaring Rapids” as our theme… we were going “rafting” after all and Joanna’s past dating life was, how do you say, less than a lazy river. And while the theme we chose seemed appropriate at the beginning of the trip, we hit a minor snag along the way…the river we had planned to float was too high and our only option was Class 3 rafting…given that you can’t drink while navigating class 3 rapids we opted for just the beach along the river…Thankfully Joanna had her own bridal inner tube to float on.

I guess in the end, the theme isn’t that crucial…other than when picking out the embarrassing outfit for the bride!

A Quickie on the Fourth

A quickie, but a goody…Martin recently flew over to CA for 3 nights to celebrate his future “in-law holiday” of the Fourth of July. Unfortunately we subsequently found out that he did not win the green card lottery, however it did not stop him from properly celebrating the three day weekend.

I picked Martin up at the airport on Friday afternoon and we drove straight up to the Lake with only a quick stop at McDonald’s for a pre-dinner snack, or what I like to call, a romantic dinner date.

The weekend was the trifecta of great: great times with Martin, great times with the family and great times at the Lake with warm weather, good food and plenty of tequila. The only thing not great about the weekend was the abnormal abundance of mosquitoes…it was as if a cloud of the blood sucking insects had descended upon Lake Pillsbury. Thankfully for me, but not so lucky for Martin, when given a choice, mosquitoes apparently prefer Martin’s diet of coffee and cake to mine of beer and salsa.

Like all things in life, when Martin was around, I was in want of nothing…including insect repellant.

A Different Type of List

With three destination weddings and a long distance relationship on tap for the rest of the year, I have come to terms that my travelling self will be taking a back seat for a while… No trips to Africa, Asia, or even Stockton, CA (why I would go there I am not sure, but the point is I don’t even really have that option). Yes, for the next 6 months, I am pretty much stuck with the current locale. So in lieu of my normal laundry list of upcoming holidays and vacations, I have turned to a different type of list…the 7x7 100 places to eat and drink in San Francisco List.

Every year, 7X7, the San Francisco magazine, puts out a list of things you should eat or drink in San Francisco before you die. Items range from a bacon wrapped hot dog in the mission and the cheese tray from Gary Denkos to a beer at the Monk’s Kettle and a basil gimlet at Rye. And I have made it my mission to tackle at least half of the list this year.

So far, I have enjoyed the cheeseburger and sweet potato French fries from Taylor’s Automatic, Sesame Balls from Yank Sing, a Vietnamese sandwich from Saigon Sandwich Shop, and a ginger snap from Miette just to name a few. It will be a long hard process, but I am looking forward to it.

On a side note, it appears I have officially substituted traveling and sex for food and alcohol… Thank god I am running a marathon in October, or I would be in some serious trouble.

If you want to check out the list yourself, you can find it here:
http://www.7x7.com/2010-big-eat-sf-100-things-try-you-die

The Nike Women’s Marathon

I have officially lost my mind – that or I have reached my second mid-life crisis in the past 4 years. Enticed by either the Tiffany necklace or just the need to do something substantial for my 30th birthday, I had a moment of weakness and signed up for the Nike Women’s Half Marathon in San Francisco in October. Or, in reality, I signed up for the lottery to win a spot to run the marathon…with 30,000 entrants, I didn’t win a spot.

And therefore I did something even more startling, refusing to admit defeat I signed up to run the half marathon through team in training in order to guarantee me a spot. Through TNT I will be part of a weekly training program to get me in shape to run, maybe partly walk, and definitely finish the 13.1 miles I swore I would never do. In return, I have committed to raise money, $2,100 in fact, as a donation to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, a great organization that is working to find a cure for blood cancer and provide support to both patients and families of those affected by blood cancers.

The next few months will be interesting and challenging, but I am definitely looking forward to it…hopefully I will be able to reach my goal!!

On a side note – If you would like to support me in this crazy adventure, and more importantly, the LLS, you can make donations at the following link:

http://pages.teamintraining.org/sf/nikesf10/lgimbel

The Palm Express

I went back to Zurich after 5 months away with only 3 firm plans –lunch with the girls on Monday (at yummy Café Schoeder), a BBQ at our place with friends and neighbors on Tuesday (as always, so great to see everyone and hard to remember why I left in the first place) and a weekend getaway with Martin, destination unknown…We purposely didn’t plan out where to go until I got into town - our only two thoughts were 1) avoid flying and any train rides longer than 5 hours and 2) go some place warm. With only a 4 hour travel time radius, Martin and I opted for a SBB package deal – The Palm Express - with one night in St. Moritz, a bus ride through the mountains and one night in Menaggio on Lake Como; as the brochure noted – from Glaciers to Palms.

Here is my photo montage!

We arrived in “sunny” St. Moritz Thursday afternoon…yes those are rain clouds and that is snow on the mountain.

With the weather preparing for the next storm, Martin and I enjoyed a quick walk along the lake and retired indoors for coffee, strudel and beer. And with no other plans for the evening, we enjoyed a long dinner and went to bed early.

We awoke the next morning to winter…it was snowing! So much for going someplace warm. Good thing we were leaving for the palm trees of Lake Como that morning.

We worked our way up and over the mountain in a blizzard… I am sure the views would have been stunning, I was mainly focused on the narrow, winding road along the sheer cliff.

We had a brief stop in Chiavenna for 20 minutes, during which Martin and I took a quick tour of the town and enjoyed the arrival of the sun.

We also worked on our “self-portrait” shots.

We arrived in Menaggio and, to our delight, we found it sunny, although not that warm (especially when compared to our trip to the region the same weekend the year prior). But at least we had found the vacation we were looking for.

Sorry for the kissing shot…our “self portrait” shots were less than stellar – as you can see.




That night, we enjoyed another long dinner and possibly one too many adult beverages, but hey, we were on vacation and enjoying ourselves. Too bad it had to end the following day, but not before another semi-warm day after the partially sunny morning.

The Robertson

Warning – the following post is in no way culturally stimulating, life-changing or even slightly mature. It is utter nonsense, and completely me. If you have any false allusions about my worldliness, please stop reading.

I was first introduced to the Robertson, a shot of Jim Bean chased by a slice of bacon, by a friend’s brother in San Francisco and it has become my destiny and mission to make the shot a local treat. What is not to love, it is a perfect pairing of whiskey and salty sweetness that can be enjoyed during brunch or after dinner. That plus, the shock value of ordering a shot of Jim and side of bacon is just priceless (well, maybe just class-less, but all the same). That first weekend in San Francisco, we single-handedly introduced the shot to over 30+ people at different bars throughout the day.

However, what I thought was amazing, my closest girl friends were all too willing to disagree…they were slightly confused, slightly grossed out and yet, slightly curious. So two weeks later, when we all convened on Reno NV to celebrate Anj’s 30th Birthday (plus Joanna and Markus’s engagement and just our overall friendships) I was instantly bombarded with snide comments and looks of disgust from the girls, and yet, encouraging remarks from the guys who were more than intrigued.

Unfortunately for me, my overall goal of spreading the word of the Robertson came back to haunt me. After the Friday night of what I thought was all talk, I joined the crew Saturday morning at the casino café only to find a plate of bacon and shot of Jim Bean waiting for me. Unwilling to start the morning off alone, I convinced Brad, Anj’s boyfriend, to join me and by the end of lunch all of the guys had joined in. Yes, it was the perfect recipe for instant bonding with the group of new boyfriends (and fiancé)… who knew bacon could do so much. As Justin put it…Bacon is the new ranch – you can put it on or pair it with anything.

The day continued along in the usual manner…we finally left the casino café table after breakfast, brunch and lunch (4 hours all in) and spent the rest of the day hanging out, jokingly ordering the Robertson for each other and just catching up. And when it was all said and done, we must have eaten a whole pig and consumed a bottle of Jim Bean. In fact, so much bacon was enjoyed, that I suffered from the bacon sweats and shakes the entire drive home the following morning.

Turn your noise up if you will, but as a true testament of the amazing-ness of the shot - all of the guys from Reno have subsequently order (or tried to order) the shot at their local bars, Joanna and Markus may or may not be serving them at their rehearsal dinner and Brad has now started working on new whiskey pairings…next up Crown and Twinkies.

Drakes Bay Oysters!

On Saturday morning, fully booked for the weekend, I threw all engagements to the wind and opted to celebrate Buckle’s birthday with her and friends eating oysters at Drake’s Bay.

After a quick drive over the Golden Gate Bridge and North on Highway 1, we got out of the car and were hit by the smell of salt water, the noise of the seagulls and the feel of the not-so-subtle ocean breeze. We had arrived at Drake’s Bay with a picnic in hand and ready for the ocean’s treat of fresh oysters. Like Hog Island Oyster Co (which was closed for the day), Drake’s Bay offers fresh oysters, unshucked and by the dozen, picnic tables along the water’s edge, a small shack selling seafood delights and condiments and endless piles of discarded oyster shells (some of which were over 10 feet high). What the place might have lacked in ambience (because in reality, it really wasn’t all that glamorous) it made up for in the quantity and freshness of its oysters.

We bought our oysters (5 dozen medium sized locals) in the nearby shack, unpacked the picnic (which included white wine, beer, crackers, hot sauce, lemons, chips, salsa, cheese, salami and cookies) and got to work. First order of business, learn how to shuck an oyster. While we had all we needed – oysters, gloves, shuckers – we lacked the skills or technique to actually enjoy them. Thankfully a gentleman at the next table exchanged his knowledge and know-how for a lemon and splash of hot sauce.

With the oyster firmly pressed against the table with my left hand, I wedged the shucker into the hinge of the shell (the back-door if you will) and began the battle of strength and endurance, using a cross between back and forth and clockwise rotations to pop open the shell. After the 5 minute struggle, the shell opened up and I was able to admire my hard work. I garnished the oyster with care, including hot sauce and fresh squeezed lemon juice and enjoyed my reward in one quick motion. And after only a few more attempts, I had reduced my shucking time down to 10 seconds and officially nominated myself as the “master shucker” of the table.

The day continued in a leisurely manner, taking breaks from the effort to tell stories, enjoy the sun and company and work back up an appetite. And when the bag of oysters was finally empty, we packed up the remains of the picnic and prepared for the journey back to the city in our seafood and wine induced como and more than slightly sunburned from our first weekend of Spring.

Another Rendezvous

With Martin’s and my last visit four weeks prior, we were ready for another rendezvous - this time in New York City for a four-day Easter weekend. In lieu of a hotel, Martin and I rented a studio apartment in the West Village resulting in the return to our previous home life including big breakfasts at home in the morning and the absence of feeling completely like tourists…on a side note it was definitely the way to go and I would consider it again in the future.

The weekend was absolutely perfect, as are all of our weekends together. And to make it the best of both worlds, before Martin arrived on Friday evening, I had the whole day to catch up with Erin who had Good Friday off (I may or may not have booked my flight for such the perfect opportunity). Catching up with Erin was the usual practice: shopping, mimosas, a quick snack with more champagne, and an amazing dinner with plenty of wine, great food and a cameo from Nick, Erin’s boyfriend, to pick up the pieces at the end of the night. Unfortunately, (at least for them) I had to leave early to meet Martin at the apartment, and after a quick stop at the market to get stuff for breakfast, I was on my way home to meet my man. I however mistimed my arrival and, with Martin’s flight having landed 45 minutes early, poor Martin was waiting for me…so much for my warm welcome and show of gratitude for flying across the ocean for me. Thankfully he wasn’t too upset.

With Martin and I finally back together, Saturday was spent just the two of us hanging out, walking around the city (and up on the High Line, a reclaimed elevated train track now an outdoor garden and walking path), an outdoor lunch and bloody maries (at 5 Ninth near Pastis), shopping (well actually Martin shopped, I supervised –they had his favorite store Superdry, so we had to go), and date night movie night on Saturday with the uplifting film The Green Zone (similar to our first date of Body of Lies…I think Martin is trying to not-so-subtly convince me to move back to Europe through the use of movies). The movie was followed by a late dinner near Union Square, where Martin got confused and spoke not English or Spanish but rather German to the Puerto Rican waiter, who surprisingly didn’t understand.

After breakfast in on Sunday morning, Martin and I headed uptown for an Easter picnic in Central Park with Kim, the original Griswalds and two friends, with me dragging Martin to not one, but two flea markets both before and afterwards (he must really love me, because no guy likes flea markets that much). We enjoyed a romantic dinner on Sunday evening at our neighborhood restaurant The Waverly Inn (where the wine list, with an average bottle of wine priced at $400, was incorrectly matched to the menu, which included chicken pot pie for $24). And to compliment the meal, we followed dinner up with drinks with Erin and Nick who had just returned from the Hampton’s. The night ended as it always does in these circumstances - I ate and drank too much and complained the rest of the night of needing elastic waist pants.

And no trip to New York is complete without…wait for it…a trip to my favorite book store in the West Village , The Biography Bookshop, and a slice of pizza, which we hit up on Monday. What. I definitely wouldn’t have said a trip to Times Square or up to the top of the Empire State Building or even watching a show on Broadway…those, my friend, are child’s play.

Having done all we came to do in NYC we were saying goodbye once again on Monday afternoon…Just a few short weeks and we will be back together again, next time in Zurich.

Martin and I relaxing on the High Line

Two Weeks, 20 Miles, and Worlds Apart

Two weeks ago, my group of closest girlfriends met the newest addition to our crew – Cohen Worl, age 6 weeks. The aunties came from all over – San Clemente, New York, Soledad and Redwood Valley –for a weekend celebrating our 10+ years of friendship and the newest milestone, the first baby!

We met Ange and Baby Cohen in San Rafael for a Saturday lunch and old fashioned “sip and see”. The day was spent lunching, eating cupcakes and pushing the stroller around the outdoor Corta Madera mall while Cohen peacefully slept tucked inside his designer ride…and like old times, we talked the afternoon away, with one minor addition.

Yes, the weekend marked the next turn in our lives and was considered, at least by me, a big deal, not only since Ange was the first to hit the big four (marriage, house, dog, baby – similar to the big four when hunting on a safari) while I haven’t hit a single one, but also since only a mere 18 months earlier we were spending our Saturdays waking up to mimosas, drinking all day while sitting around the kitchen table and finally pulling ourselves together for whatever plans we had in store for that evening. We have officially embarked on a new adventure…

The aunties, mom and Cohen in San Rafael

Or at least I thought so. And I was completely ready to own this new found maturity until two weeks later when, just a mere 20 miles north of San Rafael, in the foothills of Sonoma, the combination of 12 friends, 1 large house and cabana, 1 pool, 2 hot tubs, 1 putting green, 1 beer bong, wine tasting, BBQ-ing, flip-cupping and just hanging out with good friends proved that some things haven’t changed at all, at least for me. Yes, while the previous weekend marked the next turn in our lives, this weekend showed me just how classy and mature I really still am…case in point - while most people come back from wine country with cases of wine, I somehow came home with a case of Coors Light.

The wine tasting crew, Saturday Morning

So while the two weekends couldn’t have been in bigger contrast, I surprisingly enjoyed both weekends equally the same and that my friend is the mark of progress in itself.

Little Miss Fancy Pants Snores!

I will be the first to admit that I have a pretty amazing life, with a good job (at least a good paying one), great friends and family and countless opportunities for my future. Call it conceited, I am just truly grateful for what I have. So I am aware at how crazy it may seem that on Wednesday at 4pm there was a possibility that I was heading to Italy that evening to see Martin for a weekend of skiing the Italian Alps. But before I could guarantee the fresh winter air, I had to wrap up work and make it through the 11 hour flight.

With the last item completed for work (at the very last minute of course) and finally in the cab on the way to the airport, my life was as it should be... I breezed through check-in and security and was able to enjoy a free Coors Light in the red carpet lounge pre-flight, all the while envisioning my California casual self, boarding the plane in SF and my fabulous European self disembarking in Munich (yes, I was headed to Italy, but it was easiest to fly into Munich where Martin was going to pick me up, drive through Austria and end up in Italy).

Unfortunately somewhere over the Atlantic the slight cold I had been fighting all week came back with vengeance leaving me with sever sinus pressure, a dry cough and the need to blow my nose every 15 minutes. And when I finally managed to fall asleep in the upright position, I turned into a grizzly bear with a pug’s nose – I snored so loudly that the poor guy in 42G could hear me 8 rows back. And it doesn’t end there…oh no, not only did I snore, I snored, sniffled, drooled and may or may not have farted (compliments of the Coors Light) my way to Europe. So much for my fabulous self!

When I finally deplaned in Munich, Martin was not greeted by his hot CA girlfriend, nor his sophisticated European girlfriend, but rather the wreck of a girlfriend with a puffy red face, hot flashes and sweats (due to the slight fever I developed), a hoarse, man-like voice, holding a box of used Kleenex accumulated between passport control and customs. Thank god he loves me! After four weeks of not seeing each other it was probably the worst condition I could have arrived.

I had to exactly three nights to redeem myself.

The Breuer Family Vacation

After sneezing, coughing and sniffling my way over the Atlantic, through Germany and Austria, Martin and I were on our way to the Ridanna Valley in Italy for the tail end of the Breuer Family vacation. Driving through the countryside with Martin felt completely normal and the only reminder that we were on our way to Italy rather than Tahoe were the steep, dramatic peaks of the Alps rather than the gradual climb of the Sierra Nevadas (while the drugs I took on the plane did little to help the congestion, they did provide me a nice night’s sleep resulting in me waking up in Europe without really feeling the effects of the 11 hour flight or 9 hour time difference).

To start, the Breuer Family vacation, which has been going on for over 12 years, is a week-long ski holiday complete with early European breakfasts, morning and afternoon skis, mid-day naps, saunas in the afternoon (clothing optional apparently) and a 5 course dinner every night followed by cards and a nightcap. I loved every minute of it!

We arrived too late for dinner on Thursday night, but were able to join the family for desserts and wine before heading to the hotel bar to enjoy traditional folk music and the evening glass of Ramazotti. Unfortunately, the next morning the effects of the flight, cold and possibly Ramazzoti finally sunk in, and the morning was spent recovering in bed while Martin joined his family for breakfast. Being the amazing person he is, he brought me back a breakfast spread for when I woke up and passed on the morning ski to look after me.

That afternoon, Martin and I went to pick up ski boots for my maiden voyage on skating-style cross country skis (Martin’s sister and friend provided the rest including skis, poles, pants, jacket, gloves, hat… everything but the long johns, which Martin had bought for me). The ski boots turned into an embarrassing event, with me having to go up 2 full sizes, and thus compounding my big foot/ kankle complex…. Insecurities aside, with shoes in hand, and looking the part of a professional, it was time for me to hit the snow. And that I did…three times, the first time resulting in a beautiful bruise on my right check (and I am not talking about my face).

Falling aside, I actually enjoyed myself and did reasonably well, at least for someone who had spent the last three months behind a desk and with little to no coordination to begin with. Even the –9 degree Celsius weather couldn’t deter me from having a good time. To illustrate just how cold it was, just seconds after opening a bottle of apple juice outside, I watched the contents freeze from top to bottom within 30 seconds. It was even too cold for the normally crazy Breuers to ski, calling it a day after just the morning ski on Saturday – Martin’s family would normally think nothing of being the only people out skiing in below freezing temperature, heavy snowfall and the 11 km of hills…gotta love ‘em. Thankfully the daily saunas and hot tea helped to warm me up….Yes tea, not coffee. I am slowly starting to break the news to the family that I am not a huge fan of coffee, or cake for that matter, and for that they probably think I am crazier than they are!

Our final night was spent playing doppelkopf (the German version of hearts/a$$hole but way more complicated) and me vowing to restart my German lessons (I signed up the following Monday). Sunday morning the whole family piled into the family station wagon and made our way back to Germany and the Munich airport for my final trek home. It was a sad good-bye so soon, but at least I know I will be back in Europe in no time!

Crab Feed 2010

While living in Switzerland, it was often difficult to hear about all of the parties and get togethers I was missing back at home. One of the weekends I was most disappointed to miss was the 2008 Young Farmer’s Annual Crab Feed in the Salinas Valley. My best girl friends could not stop talking about the crazy weekend they had had and hearing the girls describe the hot mess that ensued (throwing bottles/cans of sofia champagne, breaking into a neighbor’s house and passing out before the party really started) I knew I had to experience it for myself. So two weekends ago, I packed an overnight bag and drove the 2 hours south to “It’s happening in” and “Feel the Momentum of” Soledad, CA, population 28,000.

After a quick shower and a tour of Anj’s closet (I brought the jeans and wife beater, she supplied the rest - cowboy boots, sweater, necklace, etc) we grabbed our road sodas and headed to the party…First impression, this was going to be a good night. Located in the Greenfield High School gymnasium, the place was filled with long tables with red checkered tablecloths, a country style band, two bars and lots of cowboy hats.

We headed straight to an empty table (okay, maybe not straight, there was a quick detour to the bar), I threw on the plastic bib, cleared my plate of the fillers (pasta, salad and bread) and got down to business. Less than 15 minutes later and I was asking the waiters for more crab and making a proper mess of myself. And like Christmas Eve, where I notoriously end the evening alone at the table with the remaining bowls of crab, I stopped the binge only because I was the last one eating out of 200+ people and our table was the only one not yet cleared for the upcoming band and dancing. To avoid embarrassment, I threw in the towel and stopped before even hitting my stride (my fingers hadn’t even started pruning yet from the crab juices and I had only filled one plate with empty shells).

With dinner completed, the band started up and the hoe-down began. And it was a proper hoe-down at that: with a rock cover band, whiskey and beer, country dancing and a bar room brawl. The rest of the evening was spent dancing, catching up with old friends (surprisingly I knew a handful of the farmers from college) and drinking one too many whiskeys. And while no laws were broken this year (at least not by our crowd) I would still consider the evening a success and am looking forward to next year!

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The Last Weekend in January

Like the rings in a tree trunk, which tell the tree’s yearly story of draughts, heavy rains and freezes, for me the last weekend of January is typically the benchmark of how the year will turn out. For better or worse, this science has worked for years.

Four years ago, 2006, I spent the last weekend of January with my then “boyfriend” in San Francisco, enjoying wine tasting at the yearly Zinfandel Fest. I use the term “boyfriend” loosely as we had technically broken up at least 25 times over the previous 3 years, but were never able to finally call it quits. That last weekend in January however, we finally threw in the towel. After dating off and on for 6 years, we, both of us, had had enough. And while devastated, my dad promised me I wouldn’t regret the decision in a year’s time. He couldn’t have been more right…that year was spent having fun with my friends and finally doing what I wanted to.

While I don’t exactly remember what I was doing the last weekend of January 2007, I can say, with 95% certainty, that I was face down in a bar somewhere in the marina - out with good friends and loving my single SF life. It only a mere two weeks later that I got auctioned off for Valentine’s Day and got the job offer to move to Switzerland….but before I left, the year was marked with plenty of bars and a lot of fond, but hazy memories.

The last weekend in January 2008, I spent skiing the Alps, the first time I had been on skis in over 15 years and according to my blog, I loved it! The remainder of the year turned out to be one of my most sporty years - running, swimming and wakeboarding all summer.

In 2009, I spent the weekend with close girlfriends in Venice, partying until 4am and then coming home to coors light and roses from Martin. 2009 marked the year of me falling in love and reconnecting with old and new friends.

And this year, 2010, the infamous weekend was spent with Martin, in San Francisco. After 7 months of long distance, we have now found a way to make it work, even during busy season and even if it meant 30 hours of flying for just two nights (funny, considering I used to think a $20 cab ride or 15 minute walk was long distance and therefore out of the question). His visit was amazing and hopefully the sign of good things to come for the upcoming year…tree rings don’t fail me now.

Partially Sunny in Los Angeles

In the midst of busy season and me already on the verge of crying (it normally doesn’t happened until mid-February) the powers to be (aka the Partners of my firm) decided I had time in my schedule to go down to Los Angeles to help out another team prior to their press release. In the partner’s defense I had stupidly told my fellow managers that I had some capacity in my schedule and could help out if they needed it…this was of course before I got assigned three new areas (a manager had just quit) and I meant a few hours, not two whole weeks…lesson learned.

So last Monday, I flew down to “sunny” Los Angeles for the 10 day assignment. Within the first few days, I knew I was in trouble…while the team was great, I was in overhead when it came to the technical issues, the team was working well into the early hours of the morning and I still had stuff to deal with back in SF. But work aside, I hate to admit it…I actually kind of enjoyed myself in the city of angels.

To begin with, I am from the Bay Area, Northern California, and as a Nor Cal girl, I was properly raised to despise all things south of Santa Barbara, specifically Los Angeles - I may or may not have passed this trait on to Martin, who now involuntarily yells out F-ing Dodgers at the thought of LA.

But after only a couple of days, I began to understand the appeal of the city - the downtown/financial district was clean, with plenty of open space; the constant airing of infomercials and commercials for gyms, weight loss programs, diet pills, laser treatment and plastic surgery motivated me hit the gym (3 times) and finally use my Crest White Strips; after feeling healthier from working out, I didn’t hesitate to indulge in guilty pleasures such as McDonald’s egg McMuffins, ice cream sundaes, and buffalo wings all conveniently available under the client’s office building; after hanging out with the homeless and general crazies in LA City Library Park on Sunday I gained the confidence needed to go see a movie by myself (and without the judging eye of a companion, I continued the binge and ordered popcorn, a hot dog and soda foregoing the junior mints since they didn’t have the right sized box); and the film crew outside my hotel reminded me that I still have a shot at fame, or at least my 15 minutes of it. Even the weather couldn’t stop me from enjoying myself… the usually sunny Los Angeles was allegedly hit with torrential down pour, flood warnings with possible evacuations, freeway closures due to flooding and tornados – yes, tornados. I say allegedly since I didn’t actually see the storm - I had spent the entire duration of the 6 day storm in a windowless conference room.

After 10 days, I left the city, not in love (I am still not a huge fan of the urban sprawl, constant traffic and need to drive everywhere, let alone the pressure to look good all of the time or LA scene,) but no longer in hate either….that is until San Francisco has to play the Dodgers again in baseball next season.

I Ran Into a Pole

No, I did not run into a Polish friend on the street. I literally ran into a pole, a steel telephone pole to be exact. And, considering it has been a week and I still have a severe headache, a lump on my left temple, and a bruise on my right knee, I figured it was worth telling the quick story:

Last Sunday, like most Sundays in my prior San Francisco life, I headed over to my friends, the Hardings' house to watch football and celebrate Sunday Funday. This time around Sunday Funday included mimosas, donuts, fried chicken, biscuits and meatballs (although the meatballs weren't served until much later - at 2pm) along with the mandatory beer and shots of Zwack, the Hungarian liquor that is best described as Jaeger with a dirt after taste.

After arriving at 11am and watching the two playoff games, I left their place at 7pm happy, slightly intoxicated and having thoroughly enjoyed myself…it was the first time I had really had a chance to catch up with my favorite married couple since moving back. I was so happy I practically skipped down the street trying to hail a cab. And with my ability to find cabs when none exist, I proceeded down the street, walking backwards, with my arm raised high and with the confidence of someone who owns the city….and then I turned to walk down to the next corner. Unfortunately for me, my city sense failed me and I turned directly into a pole. To clarify, I didn’t just turn, I rotated in a half run, half leap, head first into a steel telephone pole. And my momentum was so great that even after initial contact, my body continued the rotation resulting in a left temple, right knee combo.

I ricocheted off the pole, tried to figure out what attacked me, all the while slightly rocking back and forth, shaking my head, trying to come back to my senses. I pulled myself together enough to subsequently hail a cab, remember my address and finally get home, however once at home it took me an additional 3 hours to begin to feel somewhat back to normal. And when 11pm rolled around I realized that my fear of falling asleep with a potential concussion wasn’t enough to keep me from my bed – I was exhausted and in pain.

A full week later, I can still feel the pain of initial contact and can now think I know what it is like to get into a fight with a stationery object…a fight I clearly lost.