Graffiti the Ghost

The decline of western civilization

So, I have just survived the running of a gauntlet with which we are all no doubt familiar- the annual visiting of the 'rents. Similar to the running of the bulls, these occasions can be both fun and exhilirating, exhausting and painful. See, I made the mistake of assuming that I could maintain my squeaky clean image during the day with them while also continuing to party like a rock star every night after they went back to the hotel in time for their 9pm lights out. Best laid plans and all that. Instead, it went a little something like this:

DAY 1, FRIDAY

Meet the folks after work, get them checked into the hotel, take Dad to Ameoba for some CD shopping (or, as he calls it, Mecca- music stores in Alabama must really really suck). Then a nice dinner at Firecracker. They love that I'm driving them everywhere, and the restaurant I choose for dinner gets rave reviews from both of them. I am the best daughter in the world. I should write a book on this and then go on Oprah and answer questions from lesser daughters on how to show their visiting parents a good time.

After taking them home I retire to my abode and get a good night's sleep.

Official bedtime: 10:30pm.


DAY 2, SATURDAY

Wake up bright and early. A few friends and I are going to take the folks to Hog Island for some oysters. They will be impressed by how charming and fun, yet mature and together my friends and I seem. My skill with an oyster shucker will serve as a metaphor for how deftly I handle all the obstacles that life throws my way.

We leave exactly on time and arrive at Hog Island only to be told that they are booked all weekend. Not to be deterred by a simple, "no," we manage to finagle both table and grill by confirming that yes, we are indeed the Nakamoto family. Parents are so far suitably impressed.


The day goes flawlessly. Only, I end up resembling this girl due to the fact that I forgot to bring sunblock.

Saturday night is the birthday celebration for a couple of friends. After dropping off the parents at the hotel at around 8:30pm I decide to stop by for a couple of beers. You know, just to say happy birthday. It would be rude not to. I decide to drink vodka tonics instead of beer. Less fattening.

When the bar closes I invite everyone back to my place for a nightcap.

Official bedtime: 3am. Oops.


DAY 3, SUNDAY

No worries. Pick the folks up at 9am, as scheduled. A little sleepy, a little hungover, but a Red Bull and a large coffee on the way to the Carnivale Parade set me back on track. It's a beautiful day for wandering around the Mission.


After we tire of the parade we return to the scene of last night's debauchery, Medjool, because I figure the rooftop will be a beautiful place to have lunch on a nice day. I'm right about that. It's gorgeous, and there are plenty of tables available. Medjool is still a hidden gem, although I predict it will be the hipster Zeitgeist once word gets out. I down a mimosa, just a taste of the hair of the dog to set things right.

Now it's time to head to Golden Gate Park, where I'm spinning with the Wildlife Crew. I'm a tad bit nervous cause my parents have never seen me spin before, and I'm not sure what they'll make of it. But we get there and the meadow is small and bathed in sunlight. People are hanging out and having a great time, and everyone is super sweet to my parents and makes them feel right at home. After rockin out to my set the folks take off to go back to the hotel and let me "spend time with my friends."

Spending time with my friends at the park inevitably leads to spending time with my friends at their afterparty. Damn debauchery stick.

Official bedtime: 4:30 am. Oh. shit.


DAY 4, MONDAY

I feel like crap. Maintaining today is going to be a huge task. Not sure if I'm up for it. Meet the parents at 8:30 am to go to the Berkeley Rose Garden. Are you kidding me? Roses suck. The thorny little bastards are laughing at me. Sunlight sucks. I'm even more sunburned due to spending another day outside yesterday and everything hurts. When we go to lunch and the waitress asks me if I want a refill on my soda, I almost start crying. Why do I do this to myself?

I suggest that we go see a movie. Brilliant idea! I'm surprised at my own resourcefulness. I'm still entertaining them and being a good host, but if I curl up into my hoodie and hide I can manage to get a couple hours sleep in a darkened room without them being any the wiser. They want to see Star Wars, which is even better because 1) I've already seen it and 2) it's long as hell. Ahhhh, blissful sleep from opening scroll shot all the way to "Nooooooooooooooo!"

I'm a little better off afterwards thanks to the forty winks I just got, but now it's time to decide on a restaurant. Nothing seems to be open cause it's a holiday or something, and my mind is still processing information at about 1/4 its normal speed- not that normal speed is all that hot either, mind you. Somehow we end up at Esperpento. Esperpento? What the hell is wrong with me? Did I mention that's it's my mother's birthday dinner? The food sucks. I suck. I can't even make conversation. Everytime they look at me I think, say something say anything say something. Finally I come up with, "am I supposed to be saying something?" Brilliant.

Luckily, they are fairly understanding. They know that the sunburn prevented me from getting a good night's rest. And they tell me how much they liked my friends and how they feel much better about me living all the way out here now that they know that I have nice people looking after me. At this I giggle, maybe a little maniacally. My parents glance at each other. Time to go.

Now it's over. They've gone, and even though I already miss them it's nice to know that I have another year before I have to do it again. I take some consolation in the fact that next year I will be one year older, and no doubt one year wiser. I mean, hell, I'm turning 30 this year. I'll be much more mature after I turn 30, right? Right?

posted by Jess @ 12:05 PM