Part One: I am a crazy lady
There’s a song by Joe Purdy that I love. It’s called “Stompin’ Grounds” and I don’t really know why, because the part of the song I always hone in on is not about stompin’ – it’s a line about how I can’t wait for the weekend…blah blah blah. Like I said, I really love this song.
That line pretty much sums up how I feel about my life in San Francisco. I can’t wait for the weekend because that’s when all the good stuff happens. The city comes alive, my friends cross the Bay, my dear partner in crime, my Friend Horse*, joins me in my generally ill–planned exploits, we cross things off THE LIST**, and it’s all good.
To sum up: the weekend is the time when we explore and discover new things.
Well, my friends. I am here to tell you what. You can do that during the week, too.
Case in point: my little field trip last week.
I came home from the Gala exhausted. What with all the Oscar award winner hugging and Benjamin Bratt ass bumping, I was pretty much shot for the evening. I also had the brilliant idea of putting contacts in my eyes – contacts with neither I, nor my dear sweet boyfriend***, could get out of my eyes – so while I could still see at 3 a.m., it burned. IT BURNED.
When you’re tired and your life feels disorderly, what helps? That’s right, cleaning! And when your eyes are aflame and you’re very very tired, everything feels disorderly, and so, at 3 a.m., through the burning haze, what do you do if you’re an anal retentive nutjob? That’s right, CLEAN!
Through the burning haze I decided it would be an awesome sort of idea to clean my room. In my evening gown. Wearing a hooded sweatshirt. At 3 a.m.
Now, in hindsight, even without my contacts, I am able to tell you with 100 percent certainty that this was not an awesome sort of idea. It was a bad idea. Some ideas are little sprouts of brilliance whose time has come. This idea was not an idea whose time had not come, but instead, was an idea who really needed to suck it and just go to sleep and clean up later, or maybe even drink more and then go out and try to get laid. A rebellious teenager of ideas, this Very Bad Idea.
Sadly, The Very Bad Idea prevailed, and in my fiery frenzy of cleaning up and throwing away, I threw away a small bag in my purse. A small Forever 21 bag which, in the switching out of earrings and jewelry pre-Gala, no longer contained cheap sparklers from Forever 21, but now contained the Tiffany ring my parents gave me for my college graduation.
“Who needs this empty bag?!” I said, annoyed with my pre-Gala, normal self for holding onto plastic bags for seemingly no good reason. “I’m no bag lady, I’m throwing this away!”
And so I did. Tiffany ring and all.
Flash forward ten hours.
Normal Hilary wakes up.
Normal Hilary starts getting dressed, and realizes Tiffany ring is missing.
Normal Hilary realizes Tiffany ring was in Forever 21 bag, which is now in trash.
Normal Hilary does the sad, yet likely comedic “Noooooooooo!!!!!!” move one sees in sitcoms.
Normal Hilary races outside in her pajamas to retrieve the ring from the trash can.
And it’s empty.
Normal Hilary is then forced to do something gross.
If you want to know what it is, check back here in a couple of days.
*You know how, at horse races, there’s the actual race horse? And then there’s the horse that walks next to the race horse, to keep it calm and say nice things to it, tell it it’s pretty and that it’s definitely going to win? That’s a Friend Horse. And sometimes people need one, too. We all need someone who walks next to us sometimes. Someone who keeps us calm, says nice things to us, reminds us that we’re pretty and have worth, and that one day, maybe not today but one day, we’re going to be okay. Even if we don’t win, it’s going to be okay. I have a friend like that. How lucky am I?
**When I first moved here, I started keeping a list of all the wonderous things I’d like to do. I’m a list maker, it’s what I do. My Friend Horse has joined me in my list making efforts, and now it’s become a beast of a thing, taunting us, daring us to cross things off. We are very busy. Usually on the weekends.
***Yes, I made him put his fingers in my eyes at 3 a.m. and yes he is among the world’s most patient men. If they had a club of patient men, I feel like he would definitely get to join, and possibly rise to officer status. They could have their meetings outside of women’s restrooms or in the fronts of Gap Body stores, holding purses, staring peacefully at mall fountains and dreaming of televised sporting events. Who wants to start that, you? You?