I hid it well

I wrote in pink that my pen had died.  I had texted mom and called Nora about keys.  I wrote that it was nearly 630 when I left.  I drove 680 to 580.  I made good time listening to CD’s.  It slowed at Livermore so I turned on the radio which said there was traffic to 250.  I sat through that.  I was amazed that we hadn’t killed ourselves off yet.

As I drove across the valley I ate at Michoacan in Oakdale and wondered where I would stay.  I settled in at the Sonora Inn because it was new and exciting and Pincrest was full up.  I didn’t want to get to Twain Hart and find no vacancies.

I checked in with a cute redhead and grabbed my things.  They were almost full up.  I put myself away and went out for some fresh air.  I ended up at the Iron Horse.  It is a smoking bar.  The taco by the creek was bumpin’.    I got to the Inn by ten and fell asleep.

I got up at 6 and despite the rain I flew up the hill.  I stopped by the Twain Hart house.  I looked in and was surprised by the differences that I saw.  The drum set in the attic reminded me of the old days.  I got on the road and avoided the cold spots on the road and eventually landed behind a plow.  On the road to the resort there were some sketchy points.

I parked with the employees and then I went to the lodges and renters and waited with coffee.  There were familiar people.  I rented skis and rode to the top and down the back twice.  I met people.  I went to the Way Station and ate.  I went on anther ride and went to the lodge and drank stuff and read the paper.  I met a kid from SHC that was my brother’s age. There was a marketing intern from the mountain; three or five others.

I did a bunch more rides and went to Twain Hart at 345.  I went to Villa D’or.  There was Dave and Woody and the gang.  Dave hung out.  I think he was a dentist.  Chalon was the bartender and I was in love with her and I remembered her from New Year’s Eve 2011-12 at the same place.  I hid it well.  Three golfers came in.

I went to the Motel and changed and then I went to the Eproson.  I thought the pace was a hell hole.  The bar tender and his girl had a tiff and I went to Ed’s.  I met the Smith’s.  Mrs. Smith was 31 that day and Kim the bartender was insisting that she dance on the bar.  This was a recurring theme.  She didn’t and they left eventually.  She asked me a lot of questions.

The morning that I wrote this I woke up smugly satisfied with my hangover.  I went to the Sportsman.  The staff there was different.  The golfers from the night before sat next to me.  I read the Chronicle.  I checked out at 12 and drove to Sonora for gas and then to SF and only had a little trouble to the old cantilever bridge.  I took 9^th street  and when I got home I had a bit of a headache.  I called Nicole and we made plans for later.  I did laundry and went to Pizza on Noriega.

This is a hybrid series that is strait from my notebook as my Notebook Analysis is but also chronicles my life at regular intervals like the Memo series.  It is essentially meant to be a retrospective of what I have written and experienced developed from my notebook pages.