Enroute to Home from Alioto’s and Pier 45

Destination: Home after dinner at San Francisco institution (and delicious rip-off) Alioto’s.

Fare: $19 (yes, Chief made me overtip again)

Conversation gold

Driver: They got 40 thousand people in the Pac Bell parking lot tonight. Some hip hop show.

Chief: No trouble there tonight.

Both laugh.

Chief: It’s gonna end on time, everyone will be happy. Just like last year.

Driver: Just like last year.

Both laugh again. Harder.

The Imaginary Gun Show

I was so excited to write about the gun show. Even more excited to take pictures, until I found out that Cow Palace doesn’t let you bring in cameras. No matter, I would take copious notes, inconspicuously, and share the mystery with you, the curious world.

Except I didn’t get to go. For a variety of reasons that are best left unexplored (Chief’s fender bender = no car for WEEKS while it’s in the body shop, cough cough) we stayed home on Sunday.

But I can’t let go of the gun show dream. So here is my imagined gun show experience in the form of the semi-rhetorical questions I would have whispered to Chief during the day:

• Did you see her-no, wait, him?
• Oh my god, are those real?
• Whoa, are they a couple?
• I thought Nazi stuff wasn’t allowed?
• Where do you think that tattoo ends?
• Should you really eat that?
• What crazyhead issued him a permit?
• Is it wrong to buy this if I only have it ironically? No, are you sure? Please?
• Did he really tell you he killed a goat?

Next time I’ll rent a car if necessary. Shoot, I’ll rent a bike. But I won’t take Muni. Buses are for chumps.

Enroute to Home

Destination: Ballpark to Home

Fare: $18 $19 (Because Chief was with me and he always makes me add to the tip)

Conversation gold:
Driver: Mercifully quiet, earning his extra tip
Chief: There aren’t any starters on this team.
Cat: We used to have a scary team.
Chief: Yeah, five years ago.
Cat: You mean six years ago.
Chief: No, five.
Cat: We got married six years ago. That was a good team.
Chief: No, in 2001 we saw Barry break a record and that team lose the wildcard. We watched Estes and Ortiz walk everyone.
Cat: Oh, right, all those fat pitchers. The next year was better.
Chief: I know.

I Married a Mick

Tonight was Irish Heritage night at the Giants. I went with Chief. We wore native costumes. It was fun.

My beanie was the gift with purchase. True to my Irish heritage, I got too drunk to remember the game. No, not really. That was a cheap racist joke at the expense of a silenced and oppressed people. Sorry. Thank God they’re all too drunk to read this. Especially because a drunk Irishman has a wicked temper!

Woohoo! I must still be a little high from all the whiskey fumes around me in the bleachers. Those half naked dudes with the Irish flags painted on their chests and heads were just sweating out the hard stuff!

Comestibles we ingested:

• garlic fries
• cheese steak
• turkey burger
• bud lites
• margaritas
• irish coffees

Resisted:

• Churros
• Ice cream on a stick
• Hot dogs
• More margaritas
• The inexplicable draw of orange tank tops with “SF Giants” emblazoned across the tits

Also, the pussy pitcher from Washington walked Barry all night. We were there to see history, not to watch you chicken out. Thanks for trying to ruin everyone’s night. Pussy. You’re just lucky we still have the best park.