Chinatown and Thanksgiving are pretty self explanatory, save to mention that the boys went to bed at 4:30 in the morning after exhaustive hours of Pit, Scattegories and Cranium. We awoke to Greg's 21st birthday and decided to drive out to the beach and hit the Pelican Inn before heading to the city to celebrate.
Wandering around Muir Beach was fun, especailly with boys because they're always playing with sticks or pushing each other in the water, which I find highly entertaining. I also learned 2 things at the beach: How not to fly a kite and that Greg is the grestest rock skipper on the planet. He really is quite something.
We jumped over to the Pelican Inn, a teeny, tiny little pub that I've mentioned here before. It's one of my favorite places, but I've never seen it as overflowing as I saw it yesterday. There was some kind of English ballad band playing and people exploded from the tiny room by the dozens. I don't know exactly how - maybe it's because my father ended up knowing half the people in there, maybe it's because we were with three adorable Irish guys who can make "excuse me" sound a lot more charming than the rest of us can - but we ended up taking over the middle of the bar, the lads attempting to drown out the balladeers with their Irish chanting. People kept buying us drinks and by the time we left, the sky was dark and the roads windy. I was having so much fun, I truly hated to go and would have been perfectly happy to spend the rest of the evening there, but we'd promised Greg we'd hit the big city bars and thus, had to head home.
Taking two cars means we have to split up constantly, and in an unexpected twist, I'm actually enjoying being a chauffer. Why? Because these boys will sing anything at the top of their lungs with appalling enthusiasm. You have not lived until you've crossed the Golden Gate Bridge with 6 people and their luggage packed in a Honda Civic singing U2 at the top of their lungs like there was no tomorrow.
I kept thinking, "This is so much fun. I'm having so much fun."
But once again, the universe must remind me just what a dork I am. Having made it to my place in the Mission, the boys found themselves "peckish" so Cathal, Rob, Ben and I decided to go on a taco run.
Let me preface this by saying I was relatively sober, so I was just as shocked as everyone else when I tripped on my own flip flop and ate concrete.
When I fall, which is often, it's never some adorable lady like, cutsey fall. It's horrible, hard and wildly unattractive. After the boys picked me up, dusted me off and stopped laughing, Rob looks at me and says, "San Francisco: 1. Beth: 0."