I went on another date with a gay last night.
Brock and I attended a launch party for BMWLP Campaigns or similar. At least i think that's where we were. They have a really long name. Anyway, I'm friends with the "W" in BMWLP so Brock and I headed down to SoMa having no idea what to expect other than free food. We will really go anywhere that promises something for free, having absolutely no shame in screaming, "Oh wait! Is that the last slider? Dibs!" across a crowded party.
We were delighted to arrive to gorgeous and slightly hip offices, packed with a relative who's who of political nerddom, which meant of course, we'd find people we knew. Right away, I spotted my "uncle" Cliff, who pointed out to us anyone of interest. But Brock and I were far more concerned with the passed duck rolls and open bar, where my diet coke was served in a wine glass, still my cup of choice. Oh look! Herrera, Dufty, Adachi, Cisneros (zzzzzz) and I chatted with my new pal, Chuck Finnie whom I now love. That is of course, until Willie walked in.
It was like Moses parting the Red Sea. The over-flowing loft-like office fell into a hush, myself included, and Da Mayor walked through, shaking hands like a distracted Tom Cruise at a movie premiere. I don't know if Willie Brown really is that famous and powerful or if he just does a really good job at making people believe he is, but Heath Ledger could've risen from the dead and asked for a beer and someone would've shushed him. "Zip it, Dundee. Willie's here!"
Willie walked in, spoke and then, just as magically and abruptly as he arrived, departed. I wondered how many of these he had to attend, figuring that if His Honor spent 7 minutes at each event, he could really make some serious rounds. Willie was dressed very Wilkes Sport and donned what appeared to be a boiled wool baseball cap, which I found decidedly fashion forward and fabulous. I've said it before and I'll say it again, I dig Willie Brown.
Brock soon discovered the short rib sandwiches, Dotty LeMieux asked me if the Chronicle actually pays me for my blog (Yes. Did Carole actually pay you?) and we met a fabulous married lesbian couple, with whom we chatted until attacking the dessert table.
I really can't express to you the high-end-ness of the caterer, but they were passing mini black tea ice-cream cones and frozen carmels with sea salt. Brock enjoyed a truffle with his champagne when all of a sudden, "Oh my God, Beth. I think I lost a tooth!"
With that, he spit a rock into his palm.
"Maybe that means you win something?"
It was literally like a piece of gravel, and yet, this is why people should invite us to their parties. We didn't really care. I know people who would've screamed from the mountain tops. "Oh my God! A rock! Someone alert the media!" Not us. We simply shrugged and took a picture. I'm still not convinced the rock wasn't pre-existing in Brock's mouth somewhere. Plus, the dessert table was actually MADE out of chocolate. It was very Willie Wonka.
We finally left after not being able to find any to-go boxes and headed across the street to Wallgreens where they do NOT sell cigarettes. I'd read something about this travesty but had yet to experience it. Of far greater importance to Brock and I, however, were the four extremely hot firefighters who walked in before us. We literally stalked them in the aisles, Brock clutching his heart dramatically any time one walked past him. We could not have been more obvious in our drooling and I'm amazed we weren't arrested.
We considered feigning cardiac arrest before heading home, which we did with tummies stuffed full of food which, incidentally, tastes way better when it's gratis...