July 2012

Him: “Turn right on Folsom.”
Me: “I can’t turn right on Folsom. It’s a one way the other way.”
Him: “Take the next right and go around.”

I do as he suggests. Ten minutes later we’ve crossed a very large bridge, apparently the start of Interstate 80, and have completely left the city of San Francisco. I expect to be in Wyoming soon.

Me: “Where are we?”
Him: “I don’t know.”

I take the next exit. It’s labeled in a traditional CalTrans manner with a dark green sign and reflective letters. The sign was installed in 1955. There was a mention of a marina. I pull over to the side of the road.

I grab my iPhone and jump into the maps app. I plunk at the keyboard and enter the address of the hotel we’re staying at. We’re 15 miles away. All I wanted to do was turn right on Folsom.

Me: “Please read me this list of directions so we can get back to where we are staying.”
Him: “Do a U Turn and get on the road that goes to the 580”

The sign says “No U Turn” but I say fuck it and do it anyways.

The sign says “I-80 West San Francisco”. Below it, a suggestion of something about 580 and maybe Stockton but there’s a big chunk of sign missing, perhaps where they should be an arrow or something. I think 580 is in the other direction.

Him: “Turn left!”

I zoom up the ramp and notice that it comes to a merge point where there is heavy traffic merging. I do the reasonable thing and yield to the traffic on the freeway. All of a sudden there’s horns blaring from cars behind me and cars on the freeway. Apparently in California I’m just suppose to cut out in front of everyone and say “fuck it”. So I do.

Him: “Get off at Exit 1B. It’s like the Exit 354A we got off earlier!”
Me: “I don’t know what that means!”
Him: “Take Mission Street!”

The exclamation points are intentional.

I get to Mission Street exit, which is labeled Exit 354A.

Him: “I don’t know the rest of the way. Something happened to the app and the directions are gone.”

He has apparently switched to Yelp, which located a McDonalds.

Me: “Double click and hit maps!”
Me: “Hit Resume!! Hit it!”

Jamie flings himself over the seat and makes shaking motions with my phone.

“Turn left on VanNess.”

Back on track.

And that’s how married people drive through San Francisco.

So I am sitting on United flight 71, en route from Newark to San Francisco. We paid the extra fee to sit in a exit row, because one should always do their part in keeping fellow human beings safe and there’s extra leg room in this row. Of course, we can’t recline the seat in this row, as we are on a 737 and there’s an exit row behind us and our reclined seats would block the exit row behind us in the event of an emergency. And if such a thing happened, we wouldn’t be doing a very good job at keeping our fellow passengers safe by blocking the exit row with our reclined seat. So we sit upright but can stretch forward. There is a very nice woman sitting to my right.

The flight has been smooth thus far. I bought noise canceling headphones for the trip. I have watched one episode of “The Bionic Woman” (the real one, not the horrible reimagining) and I watched the pilot episode of “Charmed”, but that was the second version of the pilot with Alyssa Milano as Phoebe, not Lori Rom.

Earl is playing Bejeweled. A quick glance out the window indicates we are somewhere over the Midwest, judging by the grid like patterned the roads. The clouds are fluffy and somewhat sparse.

Jamie is meeting us in San Francisco tonight; he’s been doing tour stuff in Southern California and will be on a bus longer than we’ve been on a plane today. Scott is flying in as well. He lands later tonight.

The flight attendant on our flight from Syracuse to Newark was very nice. Her name was Angie and I called her by name, but only when I said goodbye. I’m not overly needy like tourist types. The flight attendants on this flight seem pleasant as well. The only one that has mentioned his name is John. He’s a scruffy cub type that wears white Sally Jesse-Rafael glasses. He is not unpleasant. The other FAs are keeping busy by making flapping motions at the coach passengers that keep trying to use the first class rest room. Perhaps they need to close the limp blue curtain the separates the 1% from the other 99%. I told Earl that I’d like to try first class just once in my life. I can fake a haughty, entitled air about myself if I so desire.

Earl and I opted to eat food on the flight. I had a Thai chicken wrap and Earl had Asian noodles. Both were good and I haven’t had to have a flight attendant make flapping motions at me, so I guess it agreed with my system just fine.

I was stunned to find our flights relatively on time. I didn’t think that happened much these days. Our flight from Syracuse was late for departure but we took the less scenic route, apparently, and landed right on time. I was a little concerned that we would have a maintenance delay due to a black puddle of stuff that had dripped out of the right side engine of the plane but apparently it wasn’t important. The co-pilot touched it and smelled it but he didn’t taste it. A woman dressed in the spirit of Endora came out to look at the puddle too, but she didn’t make any magical motions or anything. Perhaps her charms are more of the silent variety.

Last year at this time we flew to Denver on a flight populated with rich, snobby kids who terrorized the plane, demanded alcohol (at 15 years old) and acted haughty with an air of entitlement about them. I don’t miss them on this flight.

Earl has switched to Doodle Jump.

So Earl and I are on our way to San Francisco. I’m writing this quick little entry from Newark, which is definitely not San Francisco. It’s Newark.

We have never been to San Francisco. It should be an investing extra long weekend. We’ll probably have a few pictures to share and I’m hoping to run into a few bloggers I’ve never met in person.

It should be a fun time.