HEAD ache...

I've been remiss in my blogging since our brewery trip to Oakland. I'm sorry, but the actual HEAD trip was very similar to the scouting trip and I didn't want to bore anybody. Well, actually, Jo was there, so that was fun and different, Frank was there, too, and there was a biker chick yelling about her "f*cking dog" in the bar. Plus Wilfred the Bartender made me a Pink Drink. Don't know what was in it, but it was so good I ordered another one and if  floor wasn't slanted and I could have made it to the bar, I might have ordered a third. We also discovered that there is a bathroom there and if you're using it and somebody comes in the storage room, you can...compare notes! Joan and I decided last time that the place needs a bra on the wall so I was prepared to sacrifice my red New Year's one that's so padded it looks like you've got Beanie Babies strapped to your chest, but I forgot to take it...next time.

Anyway, last weekend, we were preparing to embark on a pre-St.Paddy's inspection of The Little Shamrock, the oldest Irish bar in San Francisco. We anticipated a decent sized group-until the phone started to ring. Illness, family responsibility, livelihood...these are lameoid excuses to miss a HEAD trip! The only valid reason to miss an appointment with historical gustatory destiny is that you have to donate an organ to the Giant's pitcher so he can take the mound in the seventh game of the World Series. We would also accept deciding game of the NLCS. Pussies! By the time the carnage ended, it was just me, Ira,and Jenn. Undeterred, we set forth and talked about betrayal all the way to the city.

Jenn, who couldn't be any more San Fancisco if she was a gay man dressed up like a nun, found a great parking lot and off we trotted to try the beer at a place with Social in the name. it was cool and had pretty good food but it was not at all historical and so off we went to Il Romano for pizza. It was good and the waiter was nice, but the coolest thing about the place was it was opened in 1955, which as we all know was a great year for Chevys, Italian restaurants and women (me). The age of the place doesn't make it historical, just mellow, sultry and incredibly wise...

Stuffed with pizza, we waddled over to the Little Shamrock, bellied up to the bar and ordered. Beer for Ira (there are 17 on tap!)white Russian for Jenn, wine for me. Now the other drinks were normal, but my wine was HUGE! The bartender poured the glass almost to the top! I like her very much. While we were nursing our beverages, we noticed a large group of people all dressed up sitting on couches behind us. There was also a little girl in a twirly dress and hairbow sitting at the bar nursing a Shirley Temple and playing Candyland with another patron.

 We got to talking to the cherub and complimenting her dress. Turns out she is the daughter of the owner of the bar! The family was on its was to a wedding and since it was a Muslim wedding, they were getting lubed up ahead of time. The owner, Saeed, is a very nice and generous man who treated us to a round on the house. Now, I had decided to just stick with one glass of vino since it was so huge, but what could I do? I couldn't be impolite...so I said " What the hell, I' m not driving!" and ordered another tub of Savignon Blanc. The rest of the trip is sketchy, but I do remember backgammon, ketchup, trophies and drinking all of Ira's beer because "What the hell, I'm not driving!". There were also burgers and ,sweet potato fries. It was FUN! Sorry y'all missed it...Pussies...