no, we didn't light it, but we stood by it at Ocean Beach in the freezing windy fog in bare feet and rolled jeans. Laura's "dirty 30" birthday lured Tara, Mish, and me out to OB. The plan had been to fly kites and tug-of-war pre-sunset, then bonfire post-sunset, all the while enjoying libations. If you were anywhere near the city this weekend, you know how freakin wet and cold it was; Mother Nature drove us into the bar at Park Chalet early. After doing some "warming" there, a late night bonfire was created, along with an enthusiastic tug-of-war. We broke the rope. Good times.Roll Call. Opening Credits:
Miss Mish
Tara on fire.JPG)
um, and me. 
On the road. Can I get a brrrr?.JPG)
Me, shiny. There was much tee hee-ing occurring around this time. Tara and I wondered if our drinks actually had vodka in them. Mish said they did, and then Tara said that if it was just seltzer water, her mouth wouldn't still have vodka taste in it. We decided this was sound logic.
Bonfires at OB. Fog abounds.
Birthday folk round the fire. They could be rapping. Lady in galoshes is miss dirty 30 laura.
The road home, late night and covered in sand, post running through stupid, unnecessary sprinklers. We were 17 cents short on the Muni fare. The driver didn't mind, and told us we were so classy, we should have a personal driver. Tara is head butted by unknown hair. This is actually a re-enactment of events earlier in the evening when an unknown woman rested her head on Tara's arm. It was amazing. And creepy. 
I now have the song in the title of this blog in my head. I hope you do too. Let me know if you remember any lines from it so I can stop humming with random burst of "Pope Paul, Malcom X, British politicians, sex".......
Miss Mish
Tara on fire.JPG)
um, and me. 
On the road. Can I get a brrrr?.JPG)
Me, shiny. There was much tee hee-ing occurring around this time. Tara and I wondered if our drinks actually had vodka in them. Mish said they did, and then Tara said that if it was just seltzer water, her mouth wouldn't still have vodka taste in it. We decided this was sound logic.
Bonfires at OB. Fog abounds.
Birthday folk round the fire. They could be rapping. Lady in galoshes is miss dirty 30 laura.
The road home, late night and covered in sand, post running through stupid, unnecessary sprinklers. We were 17 cents short on the Muni fare. The driver didn't mind, and told us we were so classy, we should have a personal driver. Tara is head butted by unknown hair. This is actually a re-enactment of events earlier in the evening when an unknown woman rested her head on Tara's arm. It was amazing. And creepy. 
I now have the song in the title of this blog in my head. I hope you do too. Let me know if you remember any lines from it so I can stop humming with random burst of "Pope Paul, Malcom X, British politicians, sex".......
2 comments:
good recap, but you forgot about the wet bush.
You also forgot about us running the gauntlet of snails, horse manure and sprinklers. Also, the conundrum of cold feet, drunkeness and our status as bipods.
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