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.