Letters From The Bay, Week 54: Urban Lumberjills, Part I

My coworker’s boyfriend called me a bullshitter last week.  I know, right?!

We were at the Giant’s game, enjoying a hot dog and cheering for Lincecum. Which is a feat in and of itself for me, as I have hated the Giants until recently.  The News was so obsessed with the Giants that every question I asked him and every conversation I attempted to start would swiftly end up back in Giants land, and hey, you know what? NOBODY CARES.


Coworker’s boyfriend, after hearing me talk about that one time I almost died in Tanzania, then that one time I touched Benjamin Bratt, and then that one time I threw away valuable jewelry and had to retrieve it at THE DUMP said that he did not believe any of my stories and determined that I was a bullshitter who made everything up.

Little does he know – I really am just this dumb.

Case in point: Friday.

My lovely coworker M was nice enough to escort me to work for the first time on my bicycle. You know how wilderness guides are great if you’ve never hiked before? Same with biking in the city. It’s basically the same thing. Minus the bears. And the nature. And the peace and quiet and tranquility of all the aforementioned nature. So, you know, same.

M and I meet at the corner of Presidio and Lyon and bike to the office in matchy match North Face jackets and are just as cute as two incredibly sweatey biker chicks in nerd helmets can be.

M and I then meet up with several more biking coworkers after work, and our little bike brigade makes our way over to Sausalito via the ferry boat. We tell stories and laugh and revel in our Californianess.  Oh look at us, just looky look! We’re on a boat! We have backpacks full of wine and snacks! The sun is shining! The birds are chirping! The tank is clean!

The revelry only grows as we peruse the farmer’s market, enjoy a concert together in the setting sun, and drink many bottles of wine. Oh look at us, just looky look! We’re on a blanket! We are drunk again! The sun is setting! The birds are gone! The tank – who the hell even knows what she’s talking about?

It was after all the wine and all the sun had disappeared that M and I realized it was time to head home. On our bikes. Over the Golden Gate Bridge. On our bikes. Up the hills of Sausalito. In the dark. On. Our. Bikes.

Don’t know where this is heading?  Neither did we.  If we had, we would have called a cab.  Unfortunately, I really am just this dumb.


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Filed under Letters from the Bay, Woe To Me, Work

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