But I don't think I've ever laughed harder in my life.
Melissa will pay huge amounts of money to go to boring events so she can write blogs about voting and building codes. And she will double those huge amounts of money so I will go with her. Free wine and food on a boat on the bay at sunset? Eh, okay.
We meet for a quick drink at MarketBar and I'd just like to give a shout out to the guy sitting next to me pretending to read his book but listening to every goddamn word. Nice earring, friend. We walk out of MarketBar and run into my upstairs neighbor, who was going to the very same event. He walked us to the boat, and seemed surprised they actually had nametags for us.
Um, yeah. My wife is on it.
We took the opportunity to check out the other nametags, noting that Tourk was apparently scheduled to show. Hazaa. Someone we actually know. But when we texted him, Tourk pointed out that it was Election Eve and he was obviously hard at work because we're all supposed to vote Yes on Prop G, FYI.
We responded that I planned to go steal his nametag and wear it, to which Tourk totally approved.
The thought of walking around a boat filled with San Francisco's business leaders wearing Alex Tourk's nametag filled me with such a sense of joy and well-being, I could barely contain my rapture. But then I chickened out because I'm all talk and really, I think Alex is awesome and don't want anyone to think he's an idiot. Which is what would happen if I were to walk around a boat with a free bottle of wine and a nametag proclaiming me Tourk.
I stuck with Beth Spotswood.
Everyone already thinks I'm an idiot.
We waited forever for the unimpressive buffet (note to SPUR, no one wants shrimp in their cole slaw) and just as I stuck a dinner roll on my plate, this short man with protruding chest hair comes up. "The Sweet Melissa!"
Oh my god. It's one of Melissa's fans.
He and his chest hair were beside themselves, going on and on about how fabulous and perfect we all already know Melissa is. I kept waiting for some kind of, "Oh, and this is the famous Beth!"
Nope. Never heard of me.
Which he told me like 10 times. Yeah, chest hair. I got it. Point taken. Thank you for refusing to even pretend to care.
I just kept covering my plate because I certainly didn't want an errant chest hair falling into my pile of discarded cole slaw shrimp.
We ran into Comcast, the very woman with whom we were chatting with at our friend's business lunch when one of his minions shushed us. As an aside, in our attempt to have said minion canned, X pointed out that we really were quite loud. Duh. What'd you think we'd be? Delicate and demure?
Anyway, Comcast asked us to sit with her so I raced over to move our bags from the table where we'd first saved seats. The first table was, needless to say, closest to the bar. They didn't take too kindly to us finding cooler people to sit with. Whatever, nerds. We're on the fucking Lido deck of a planning and development dinner cruise. It's every man for himself.
After dinner, Comcast asks us if we'd like to join her for a smoke on the deck. Sure! Sunset on the Bay with cigarettes! We'll be like a bus stop ad! Beautiful!
So the three of us stumble through the rocking boat, making our way to the door where there are several easels and displays showing off all of the wonderful building projects about to grace our fair city.
It was very windy outside. We bundled up with huge coats and pashminas. And then we opened the door. With that, a dramatic and huge gust of wind blew into the boat, knocking over the first easel display of real estate development. Which knocked over the second. And then the third...
You get the idea.
We found this hysterical.
After dessert, the boat started back to dock at Pier 3, which is when chest hair came over to make his big move. Normally, if some man has arrived to woo my wife, I'll politely find an excuse and find a gay. But, and I say this knowing full well how bad it sounds, chest hair was out of his league. So I just stood there and watched his world crumble.
"Have you seen Sex in the City?" he asked Melissa. She looked at me, "Um, we planned on seeing that together. Right, Bethy?"
Oh no. I'm not diving in to this. It's too much fun to watch you squirm. Plus, this guy continued to ignore my presence. Hey! I'm the best friend! It would do you well to, say, nod in my direction.
"What about Indiana Jones."
Melissa fidgeted with her bag. "Oh, I heard that got bad reviews."
"What about Ironman?"
"Hmmm, I haven't heard of that."
Then finally, god bless him, chest hair just goes for it. "I'm trying to ask if you want to see a movie with me."
I am eleven years old. And I couldn't help myself. I lost it. I simply lost it. I was on a dinner cruise about building things, I was partly responsible for display destruction, I picked shrimp out of my cole slaw, and chest hair is hitting on my wife.
I had no choice but to LOL.
I was laughing so uncontrollably, chest hair finally goes, "Fine. I'll drop it."
That just made me laugh harder.
I couldn't stop. I laughed myself off that boat, grabbing onto Mel, laughing all the way to the car.
We were dying. "What kind of guy asks a girl to Sex in the City?" "HAHAHAHAHA!" "Like, Indiana Jones is a better idea!" "HAHAHAHAHAHA" "What if he asked you to do something weird with his chest hair!" "HAHAHAHAHAHA" "So we're going to Le Club, right?" "I was just about to say that."
The joint was pretty empty, save for Mel's "friend" who just "happens" to be a plastic surgeon named David. David was with Dianne, a stunning New Yorker who looked and sounded exactly like Bethenny Frankel. I asked David to check me out and tell me where I should get work. He looked me over, grabbing on to my chin and staring at my huge pores. "You're beautiful!" He was forced to say. "If I were to do anything, and I don't think you need anything, but since you asked..."
"Your upper lip is a little thin."
"And you have a slight wrinkle in your forehead."
"I do not."
"Yeah. You do."
Now, Dr. David is cute and young, and he's staring at me like I'm one of those kids with a cleft palate in magazine articles.
And then he says, "Your face is 85% perfect."
I'm 30. I'm single. And someone with dominant chest hair just hit on my "wife."
All I heard was that my face is 15% disgusting.
"I'm going to the ladies." I announced to Melissa as Craig arrived. I kissed Craig hello and left them to canoodle while I tried to find a mirror.
I go to Le Club a lot. I go to Le Club too much. Shit, I'll probably be there tonight. And yet, I couldn't find the bathroom. So I took a peek in the pool table room.
And there I found Juan, built like a 4'1" defensive end.
"I work in the kitchen. I am Juan."
"I drink at the bar. I am Beth."
"You wanna play?"
"I wanna play."
So way in the back of Le Club, for a good two hours, all by ourselves, Juan and I played pool. We low-fived. We had Gibsons. We had, I don't mind telling you, a very lovely evening. At the end of each game, all of which I lost, he'd say, "You wanna play again, Princess?"
"Rack 'em up, Juan. I got nowhere to be."
He came up to my boobs and was very patient. And at one point, after making a particularly difficult shot under the tutelage of Juan, I shot my arms (cue included) in the air and caught sight of myself in the mirror.
It was midnight, I'm in am empty bar, I'm wearing "one hell of a dress", I'm playing pool with Juan who works in the kitchen and I am having one hell of a time. Not a big loud obnoxious time. But George Clooney coulda walked in and said, "Spotswood, let's go." and I woulda been all, "Zip it, Cloon. It's Juan's shot."
I lie. I would've ripped off my dress right then and there.
Anyway, the moment was too good not to share. Especially after I'd been missing for hours. I screamed down the hallway.
"Misty! Get your ass in here! Oh wait. Get me and Juan some Gibsons first."
Juan and I played with Mel and Craig, although the game quickly negated the need for the girls. We'd do the obligatory shot whilst sitting on the table, but otherwise stood against the wall and discussed lipgloss and unicorns.
It was time to go. Juan awkwardly hugged me goodbye. I don't know that he could really reach very much of me. I chatted with Colin while Mel said goodbye to Craig. I think I should confess to my future AA sponsor that the bouncer at my favorite bar knows the intimate details of every aspect of my personal life. I mean, I walked into the foyer (Le Club in on the main floor of a swanky Nob Hill apartment building for those that don't rock my pool table) and Colin and his British accent purr, "Elizabeth Anne! Where's Melissa?"
"Inside. On her way. We're going home."
"I see. How's your job, then?"
"Fine. Scoot over."
Colin's always on his laptop, working on his DJ career. I came behind the desk and sat with him.
"Did you have a nice night, love?"
'Yes. I played pool with Juan."
I thought Colin was going to have a heart attack, he was laughing so hard.
Melissa arrived. We all hugged goodbye. Really, any excuse to touch Colin we'll abuse. I'm not gonna lie. The man is hot. We walked back to Mel's, sitting on her stairs to have a cigarette.
"Dude. Chest hair."
"Juan is my new friend."
"I really like Colin."
"Me too. Colin's the best."
Upstairs, I put on the yoga pant/t-shirt combo Mel keeps for me. In her kitchen cupboard.
"That was fun, Mist."
"Yeah. I love you."
"I love you too."
And with that (boats, wind blown displays, chest hair, Juan, plastic surgeons, Colin and one hell of a dress), we were out like hobos on a park bench...