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Well, it did not suck as much as Molly Ringwald's birthday in "16 Candles" did up until the hot guy in the sports car showed up at her sister's wedding looking for her.
My day started with the phone ringing VERY early. My Beloved Father has a Ph.D. It is not in math - because after my living out here for six years he still can't figure out the time zone difference. So there I was, wide awake and not able to sleep in, but I'd been Happy Birthdayed at 6 something in the morning.
OK. It's my freaking 50th. I had actually thought about doing something about that. There's no room in this apartment to throw a party with more than three guests or I'd've done it. The likelihood of anyone trying to lure me off to a suprise party was nil: 90% of my friends here in California wouldn't know my legal name or where I live if they were interrogated by the gang at Gitmo, and are most likely at one of the various SCA Yuletide events going on in the kingdom anyway.
Wine train? Not something that would be fun alone.
Hot air ballooning? Pricy!
Spa? Reviews for those were even more daunting, as were the prices. Massage? And have some total stranger pawing my doughy, naked flesh while trying to sell me treatments, products and memberships I do not want? Er, no.
Dinner in stately solitude at any eating establishment that is not fast food/food court (or Cracker Barrel while you're U-Hauling your life across country) is not celebratory, it's depressing. Scratch that genius idea right there, Buckwheat.
So I took my shower and got dressed. I put batteries in my camera. I hit an ATM and I got on the road. I decided I was going to go somewhere I haven't ever been thanks to far too many misspent weekends at SCA events. I-880 to 80 to 580 across the foggy Richmond San Rafael Bridge. 101 to Sir Francis Drake Boulevard, because I kinda sorta remembered it came out on Route 1 somewhere near Point Reyes when I was up there with Elaine a couple of weeks ago and it would be a different way to get there. I wended through various towns in Marin and was dumped out on 1 in Olema.
Definitely a pretty day for a road trip - and I have had plenty of practice doing windy roads in a light pick-up. I stopped at a couple of spots along 1 north of Bodega Bay and took some pictures.
It was a little before 2 when I rolled into Mendocino. I parked near a used bookstore whic
h was tiny and tended mainly to paperback fiction (doh, vacation community, whatever was I thinking?). From there I walked down the main street. Mendocino is quaintly precious - lots of great old Victorian buildings, which are stuffed with shops and galleries or converted into hotels and restaurants. I poked my head into a gift emporium where a spicy, aromatic whiff lured me into indulging one of my vices: soap. I bought a bar of mountain laurel and a bar of citrus.
I was starting to feel hungry and was perusing a menu on a signboard when the proprietor of the gallery next to it assured me that the place was really good - and how to find it as it was tucked behind the building and a series of paths around and behind had to be negotiated to find it.The place was spotlessly clean and the service was friendly, but A Cultured Affair was either having an off day or I shouldn't have had the pasta. It was adequate, not "really good," and I spent the rest of the afternoon with heartburn.
Upscale is not a bad thing, it's just not necessarily practical on my budget. Saw some things I just could not rationalize buying, especially with the casual-to-the-extreme dress code where I work. I did pick up some pretty Holly Yashi earrings for my sisters and a pair for myself at one jewelry shop, and a card and a Mexican milagro with Our Lady of Guadelupe on it for my Mom's birthday. (She doesn't have to know it came from a shop where the artist thinks Our Lady is interchangeable with Insert The Goddess Of Your Choice.)
It was almost 4 when I got back on Route 1 headed south, resigned to the fact that I would have to do most of the drive home in the dark. I stopped for gas at an old garage in Point Arena where I paid about 30 cents a gallon more than I did down here on Wednesday, but the guy pumped it for me and washed my windows while I petted his dog, so I wasn't going to complain. (The Chevron and 76 in Gualala were even more expensive).
So
mewhere between Gualala and Stewart's Point I saw a spot to pull over and watch the sunset. I had just exited my truck with camera in hand when three trucks/SUVs peeled into the turnout around me and a bunch of guys poured out to do the same.
The rest of the drive was dark, winding and uneventful. Dinner was acquired in Alameda: a Six Dollar Bacon Burger from Carl Jrs. that I ate in the comfort of my own living room and couldn't finish. Man, those things are HUGE.
The rest of the photos are here.
My day started with the phone ringing VERY early. My Beloved Father has a Ph.D. It is not in math - because after my living out here for six years he still can't figure out the time zone difference. So there I was, wide awake and not able to sleep in, but I'd been Happy Birthdayed at 6 something in the morning.
OK. It's my freaking 50th. I had actually thought about doing something about that. There's no room in this apartment to throw a party with more than three guests or I'd've done it. The likelihood of anyone trying to lure me off to a suprise party was nil: 90% of my friends here in California wouldn't know my legal name or where I live if they were interrogated by the gang at Gitmo, and are most likely at one of the various SCA Yuletide events going on in the kingdom anyway.
Wine train? Not something that would be fun alone.
Hot air ballooning? Pricy!
Spa? Reviews for those were even more daunting, as were the prices. Massage? And have some total stranger pawing my doughy, naked flesh while trying to sell me treatments, products and memberships I do not want? Er, no.
Dinner in stately solitude at any eating establishment that is not fast food/food court (or Cracker Barrel while you're U-Hauling your life across country) is not celebratory, it's depressing. Scratch that genius idea right there, Buckwheat.
So I took my shower and got dressed. I put batteries in my camera. I hit an ATM and I got on the road. I decided I was going to go somewhere I haven't ever been thanks to far too many misspent weekends at SCA events. I-880 to 80 to 580 across the foggy Richmond San Rafael Bridge. 101 to Sir Francis Drake Boulevard, because I kinda sorta remembered it came out on Route 1 somewhere near Point Reyes when I was up there with Elaine a couple of weeks ago and it would be a different way to get there. I wended through various towns in Marin and was dumped out on 1 in Olema.
Definitely a pretty day for a road trip - and I have had plenty of practice doing windy roads in a light pick-up. I stopped at a couple of spots along 1 north of Bodega Bay and took some pictures.
It was a little before 2 when I rolled into Mendocino. I parked near a used bookstore whic
h was tiny and tended mainly to paperback fiction (doh, vacation community, whatever was I thinking?). From there I walked down the main street. Mendocino is quaintly precious - lots of great old Victorian buildings, which are stuffed with shops and galleries or converted into hotels and restaurants. I poked my head into a gift emporium where a spicy, aromatic whiff lured me into indulging one of my vices: soap. I bought a bar of mountain laurel and a bar of citrus. I was starting to feel hungry and was perusing a menu on a signboard when the proprietor of the gallery next to it assured me that the place was really good - and how to find it as it was tucked behind the building and a series of paths around and behind had to be negotiated to find it.The place was spotlessly clean and the service was friendly, but A Cultured Affair was either having an off day or I shouldn't have had the pasta. It was adequate, not "really good," and I spent the rest of the afternoon with heartburn.
Upscale is not a bad thing, it's just not necessarily practical on my budget. Saw some things I just could not rationalize buying, especially with the casual-to-the-extreme dress code where I work. I did pick up some pretty Holly Yashi earrings for my sisters and a pair for myself at one jewelry shop, and a card and a Mexican milagro with Our Lady of Guadelupe on it for my Mom's birthday. (She doesn't have to know it came from a shop where the artist thinks Our Lady is interchangeable with Insert The Goddess Of Your Choice.)
It was almost 4 when I got back on Route 1 headed south, resigned to the fact that I would have to do most of the drive home in the dark. I stopped for gas at an old garage in Point Arena where I paid about 30 cents a gallon more than I did down here on Wednesday, but the guy pumped it for me and washed my windows while I petted his dog, so I wasn't going to complain. (The Chevron and 76 in Gualala were even more expensive).
So
mewhere between Gualala and Stewart's Point I saw a spot to pull over and watch the sunset. I had just exited my truck with camera in hand when three trucks/SUVs peeled into the turnout around me and a bunch of guys poured out to do the same.The rest of the drive was dark, winding and uneventful. Dinner was acquired in Alameda: a Six Dollar Bacon Burger from Carl Jrs. that I ate in the comfort of my own living room and couldn't finish. Man, those things are HUGE.
The rest of the photos are here.
