Here I Am - Rock Me Like A Hurricane

The Party Girl Recovers...One of my colleagues in New York got me on the telephone today, and within a few moments of our mutual greetings she said: “My, but don’t you sound sexy?”

I have been out on the town six of the past seven nights in a row. New bars, new friends, fond farewells, and welcoming wishes have been shared, toasted, and laughed over all across San Francisco. What do a speakeasy, a boss’ new job, an old-school private club, a wedding, and a rockstar from Austin, TX have in common? Aside from the city - me – I was there for all of it, and now I’m paying for playing. A few nights ago, I should have been thrown bodily into a cold shower - just the way William Powell does to Carole Lombard in My Man Godfrey. (I need a man like William Powell looking out for me.) I have lost my voice, and this is bad because my voice is my business. It’s how I actually earn my living, communicating about expensive fashion products and all, so as I’m singing along to VH1’s Top 100 Hits of the 80’s and sounding exactly like Bonnie Tyler singing “Total Eclipse of the Heart,” I know I’ve gone too far. (But I sure do sound guttural and sultry…I believe the term is “whiskey tenor.”)

Wednesday: Bourbon and Branch – but since it's a speakeasy, you didn’t here it from me. All I have to say is: Marmalade Whiskey Sour. You’ll thank me sometime.

Thursday: Audrey, Au Revoir Mon Chef! My best colleague, confidante, guru, advice counselor, mentor, and great friend has gone to greener pastures at another company. Cocktails at Cosmopolitan Café, followed by Matrix Fillmore.

Friday: San Francisco Garden Club 80^th Anniversary at the Family Club. Probably the weirdest party I’ve ever been to – ever seen Fellini’s 8 1/2? I arrived in my fabulous dress, and as I handed my jacket over I mildly inquired: “Am I the youngest person here?” The coat check assented that this may be the case. Well, this calls for vodka of the Grey Goose variety – lots. After all, Grey Goose matches perfectly with grey-haired industrialists. (Didn't any of them bring their sons?)  I felt like Jean Harlow in Dinner at Eight. Let’s just say that any glamour Stanlee Gatti had to impart was totally overshadowed by the  not-quite-elderly-enough-to-justify-the-feathery-hair-accoutrements ladies dancing to a string quartet. What the hell kinda party has a string quartet? One that plays Gershwin? Either I didn't really understand the meaning of the word "swank" embossed on the invitation, or there was an elephant in the room somewhere. Clearly, I needed to leave. Even the coat check looked relieved for me when I picked up my jacket. I escaped in the nick of time: I had a birthday party to appear at across town. The Final Final is absolutely the kind of bar you want to roll to when you’re dressed to the nines. I even managed to keep my bosoms in my Nicole Miller whilst playing pool. Talent.

Saturday: After a jaunt to Crissy Field and a little light plumbing (see below,) I was at St. Ignatius Church no later than 2:15PM for a wedding. I think the only time there have been nearly as many people on the altar of that church was during my own sister’s wedding two years ago. But it’s a big church, it demands it. The bride was stunning, the groom charming, and together they danced their first dance to David Grey’s “This Year’s Love” – so beautiful that I don’t think anyone in the entire room breathed. Congrats Maggie & Dave!!!

Sunday: Sleep, couch, Entourage re-runs. But a quiet night home? Not so fast. My old friend/flirtation Mr. Green texted me to see what I was up to…We agreed to meet for dinner at Little Star – best pizza ever – and proceeded to The Independent to see the hilarious and entertaining Bob Schneider. Never heard of him? I hadn’t either, but apparently he’s all the rage in Austin, TX. He looks like my ex-boyfriend too – if my ex-boyfriend were more burly, more dimpled, and with more of a five o’clock shadow…oh and totally marinated in sexy rockstar talent. Mr. Green – you know how to give a girl a fantastic date…mmmmwah!

Monday & Tuesday: A bit more mellow, but still had a fabulous girls-night Halloween dinner of pumpkin ravioli, and a walk through the old neighborhood: where porches are still lit by carved jack o’lanterns and shrouded in stretchy spider webbing, and where teenagers still have massive shaving cream and rotten egg fights. Just trying to keep clear of the action was nostalgic enough.

And so, I’m home, trying to nurse my vocal chords back to making sounds. We’ll see how I am by Friday when the whole thing starts over again…