Home Sweet Sarah

We’ve been doing a wee bit of gardening the past couple weekends and let me tell you what: That shit’s hard. Seriously, I don’t think I’ve worked so hard in all my life. You see, growing up, we had a gardener, so I never had to do anything like mow or weed or seed or till or…get dirty. Now, as an adult (heh) and homeowner, I am the gardener. (Okay okay, we all know that’s a lie; Chris is actually the gardener. I’m just the one standing there with a shovel going, “Okay, now what do I do again?”)

Yesterday, as I was scooping handfuls of mud off the blades of a roto-tiller that we’d rented to prepare what will (crossed fingers!) be a flourishing vegetable garden, I commented that if we ever have a daughter, she surely will not have to do this sort of work.

“Oh yes she damn well will!” Chris told me. “Hard works builds character!”

[I think I have plenty character without having done back-breaking yard work as a child, but whatever.]

“And anyway, you’re doing gardening work right now, soooo…”

Dammit, good point.

And I guess he’s right, about that character-building business. Although I didn’t grow up doing yard work, I did do my share of roofing. And installing a satellite dish. And crawling through the attic to install a ceiling fan. “Make sure you don’t touch the insulation!” my dad would call out, as I played balance beam on the rafters. So, I suppose in some ways, yes, those experiences made me the person I am, helped build some of this character of mine, and taught me that hard work is valuable.

That being said…

This morning, when Chris asked what else needed to be done, other than mowing and seeding and fixing the gate and…

I called out, “The wine bar! You promised me the wine bar!”

When Chris and I lived in San Diego, we had a local bar, Lucy’s, which was like our own personal Cheers. Chris and I met at Lucy’s, we had our Post-Wedding Bloody Mary party Lucy’s, all the bartenders knew us by name, they knew our drinks, created new drinks for me (mimosa in a pint glass with peach schnapps, you’re welcome), we never got carded, and I once got the bouncer to kick out some asshole who slapped me (on the arm, but still, a slap is a slap.) Seriously, we were like the [self-appointed] prom king and queen of Lucy’s. Or maybe prince and princess. Whatevs.

Now that we’ve moved to the ‘burbs, finding our local bar has proven to be difficult. First of all, a bar scene sort of ceases to exist here in our subdivision, IMAGINE THAT. And as for the bars that DO exist, they’re not walking distance and since we’re generally not down with the DUI thing, we don’t go out often (our city apparently has an unlimited police budget, as the pigs are ALWAYS lurking under trees or around corners.) These days, we’ve made our house our bar, preferring to have a cocktail or two (or three) from the comfort of our couch. And this is fine, honestly; the bathrooms are way cleaner here than in a bar anyway.

The problem with saucing at home, however, is the lack of a few key items. Here, let’s disucss them:

1) Other people. Now, obviously, I’m not looking to meet anyone and I don’t think my husband is either, but once in awhile, some human interaction is a good thing. (Or so they say; I spend the majority of my days all alone and have only had a nervous breakdown once or twice. Haha, I kid! It’s been more like fifteen times.) Anyway, another person or two with whom we could chat or, you know, sit near, would be nice.

2) Billiards. The first night Chris and I went out, I beat him at pool three times in a row. THREE TIMES! IN A ROW! Almost three years later and that is the ONLY time that’s ever happened, hence why I’m still holding on after all this time. Even still, once in awhile I do win, or at least make a shot that leaves the cue ball in an unfortunate location and then I get to tell Chris, “You see, it’s all about the leave,” which is fun. Being annoying is fun!

3) Live music. Oh, live music, how I miss thee. I sorely took advantage of all the live music we got to see in San Diego, because here? Nada, nothing, nil. Until! UNTIL!

Until Saturday afternoon, when Chris and I were kicking it in Oakland, waiting for his brother to get off work so that we could bring him back to our house and force him to hang out with us. While we were listening to the radio (keeping it real old school style) the DJ started listing all of the shows that were going on that night and he mentioned one that was going on IN OUR TOWN. You know I jumped on that with the quickness, called the bar, and asked about the show they were having that night. “Well, there’s a band tonight,” the grouchy bartender lady told me. Show, band, magician, motivational speaker, I did not care. Live entertainment is live entertainment.

And so, we packed up the crew – that is, the three of us, mobbin’ deep – and headed over to the Wild Wrangler Saloon. [NOT JOKING.] The band ended up being a cover band, but they were good enough for me; not to mention we commandeered a pool table so we got a good six or so games in (I lost all but one.)

The only downside was when one of the old regulars, complete with cowboy hat, tried to intimidate my brother-in-law while they were both outside getting fresh air/looking at the stars. I was annoyed. I was pissed off. I… Could understand completely. See, that’s what happens when you encounter a newby in your local bar. But still, he’s lucky I didn’t slap him. On the arm, of course.