i took my heart to san francisco, chapta 2

disoriented, i wake up in my absurdly luxe pad to the doorbell. room service at 6:45 am seemed like a good idea the night prior because i can't function until i'm mainlining the french roast. that was before i knew i'd be whoopin it up til three. my $30 pot of coffee was magically here, delivered by an angel of the ritz. actually i think the coffee was $23, but the cream was $6.50. [they do provide a single rose with your coffee, for free]. it's exceedingly early; i hop back into cushy big bed for a little more sleep. as tired as i am, the little hamster's on his wheel racing. i think, what have i done? bygones. more importantly, what am i going to do?

let me just say too that i'm asked if i regret prior night. i find that question to be a really peculiar one. gimme a chance to wonder if i regret it, man. it's too damned early. briefly i'm wondering if i do. should i? am i to discover something that'll make me regret? regret is a word we could all live without. do i wish i handle things differently sometimes? well, of course. regret? not so much. i beat myself up for too many things as it is. i'm not gonna beat myself up for maybeperhapsalittlethoughishouldn'tbe liking this person. not today anyway. i'll save that for later.

i've got places to go today: sonoma and napa. alone. by myself. and spend the night in a quaint but luxurious spot called velaggio, in yountville. this could be the most grown-up day so far in the life of miss tye, guest, ritz-carlton san francisco. i've scheduled this because i cannot and will not go within 45 minutes of napa and not go to napa. 14.5 put the hard sell on me last night to at least come back and join for dinner. today, he's playing golf with some very important people. or some such nonsense. practically every guy i've ever dated is a golfer. i think it's weird if a guy doesn't golf, even if he's a really bad golfer. [annoyingly i am always attracted to good golfers, i.e. addicts.]. however, being a golfer also makes for some really ill-timed interferences in life. such a fine line that golf thing.

i have slight apprehension about the day ahead. i've never eaten at a restaurant by myself. i don't do anything by myself that is more socially acceptable doing in groups of two or more [pretty much]. i'm excited, but can i handle it? what will people think of the wine tour girl all by her lonesome? maybe i'm on what was to be my honeymoon. but i got left at the altar. maybe i'm a food and wine expert conducting research. maybe i'm a local, enjoying the day off. i can be anything i want today i suppose. i think i'll just be a stylish cute foodie taking it all in.

did i mention that i have for some time secretly believed the man of my dreams lives in napa? i do, i really do. he looks like a young sun-kissed robert redford and owns a boutique vineyard, that only produces 3000 cases a year, but is highly acclaimed. you have to be in one of those clubs to acquire his wine. there was a feature on him in food and wine magazine. for once i don't care he wears old cowboy boots. he'll never sell out and get mondaviberinger big. he's just looking for a little lady to join him in his dream. this notion squashes any anxiety i have because i do believe in fate. i also believe you have to put yourself in the way of it.

my car arrives at 9 am. when you stay at the ritz you can order a rental car to be delivered at specified time. they handle everything. except the cost of course. and hertz doesn't bring guests of the ritz those wimpy and embarrassingly small subcompact jobbers, no offense if you drive one, but i'm a big car kind of gal. suv all the way {i did turn down the lincoln navigator, before you think i'm shamelessly wasteful and vain}.

firstly i'm going for a run, which i'm real intimidated by and certainly don't feel like it. because leaving the ritz if you look to your left: huge hill. look to your right: 90 degree angle hill. i'm so tired. i think my head hurts just a tad. poor me.

not.

for the love of burt lancaster, birdman of alcatraz i'm at the ritz. no time for poor babies.

so, i'm off like a prom dress - or in my case - lbd - for what promises to be the shortest run in history. i'm tired, not feeling too great. somehow - and it must be my fabulous ipod mix, called "marathon" - i accomplish 4 miles. the streets of san francisco look menacing - but they're not as bad as you think. upon my return, i see 14.5 at concierge, so i turn down the ipod's blaring volume. he's saying something about his friend being a chef so he wants to go somewhere really good. nice. making plans to impress me behind my back. this is delightful. but don't read too much into it.

i haven't mentioned yet that it's f-ing freezing in san fran. this i do not remember from my last trip. i am ill-equipped for cold weather, having packed nothing but super-cute summer dresses. today i am wearing a darling blue and gold tibi circa 2008 to go wine touring. getting my car, i hit the road in search of the golden gate bridge. i heart san fran. and the ritz. and those guys in top hats.