January 13, 2002
Ah, the weekend.
Yet another fun-filled, exciting adventure on my free weekend.
I didn't have much work to do, so I took off. I got my new stereo and speakers on Friday, so I set off in search of a last minute installation. I called around Oaktown and the (L)East Bay, and the soonest appointment I could get would be Wednesday. Nope, I can't wait that long. So then I found a shop in Napa who was able to fit me in. So I drove up to Napa. Two and a half hours later, I had a brand new CD player and four brand new speakers installed. Wow is all I can say. It's awesome, even in my old VW. Why did I wait this long to do that?
Then it was 4:00 p.m. I headed farther north for Guerneville. I was staying at the Russian River Resort for the night. I hadn't done that before, and why the hell not? I'm a little fed up with the Watergarden. Poseurs. I got lost long the way—it really is backwoods, you know, two-lane highway, the whole bit. I finally made it there by 7:00 p.m.
Nice room, upstairs, partial view of the bar and the deck. The deckside/poolside rooms would have been better. I futzed around for a while. Cable TV kept me occupied until I decided to pluck up the courage and venture off to the hot tub—the cruising ground—where clothing is optional. It was 12:30 a.m. and there were five of us. A few minutes later, the drunk (that's the best and nicest way to describe him) left, and then there were four. And then there were hands groping under that water. And then there were feet probing submerged sweet spots.
And then they kicked us out and shut off the pool. Two remaining hunks and I took our private party back to my room to finish the night. S and K were "blessed." They were passionate, rugged men who like to play. S finished before we (K and I) did and left very soon after. So K and I spent the next hour and a half exploring each other. It ended in a giant eruption of masculinity, and then K left. I smoked a ciggie-poo and pooped out.
The next morning, Sunday, on 101 south, listening to Cher's latest and greatest, which it really is, I smelled smoke. So I pulled over to take a look. Sure enough, I wasn't being paranoid this time. There was smoke coming from the left rear wheel. At first I thought it was the damn muffler again. I thought it had fallen loose and was rubbing against the wheel. So I called AAA for a tow. In less than fifteen minutes—record time—a truck picked me up and took me to the Midas in Novato. Of course, they're closed on Sunday, so I was stranded there. Even the fucking Denny's in that one-horse (but quaint and lovely) town was closed on Sunday! What's that about?
I called J, and he thought it might be a wheel bearing. That's much worse than the muffler, and I don't think Midas fixes wheel bearings. In any case, I had to leave (read: abandon) my car in Novato over night, and I had to find a way home. Then I remembered that Golden Gate Transit has service this far north. So I hopped on bus number seventy and headed back to the City. It was a nice ride, directly over the Golden Gate Bridge which helped to calm my frayed nerves. Car trouble always does this to me. I can't fix cars anymore than I can boil water, so it always stresses me way out when I have something major like this happen.
But now I'm depressed as well as stressed out. I passed a big rig before my calamity, and he waved at me. It was neat. He was cute and friendly looking. I keep thinking of that truck because he passed me when I was on calling AAA. I don't know why that depresses me so. I feel humiliated that I had to leave my car behind in some little town sixty miles away. I don't care about the muffler or wheel. I am angry that I don't have my car near me. I guess it's true in my case, that Californians really cherish their automobiles. And there it stands.
That's all.
