my (real) first dinner out

So I lied in my post last Friday.
Foreign Cinema wasn't technically my first dinner out.

We have two cars: 
one super nice one (a luxurious BMW that I feel totally spoiled driving), and 
an old, on-its-last-legs one (a 2002 Saab convertible handed down from my fabulous Aunt Jules).

We love the Saab dearly and have had so many fantastic memories with it, but it has seen better days.  We've had to replace the clutch (thank you SF hills!), repair broken-into windows, get jump-started more than our fair share of times, and duct-tape the front light (thanks to my awesome driving skills).  The right-hand mirror is cracked, the coolant leaks, and the roof no longer works.

Like in any fair and completely equitable marriage, Stefan drives the Saab and I get the BMW.

One day when he was driving his fine automobile home from the office, it decided to stop in the middle of an incredibly busy intersection.  
In the middle of rush hour.

After several very long minutes of incessant honking and finger flicking from passerby-ers, someone stopped to help him push it into the nearest parking lot:

from here

The luxurious Lucky Penny restaurant, complete with a tantalizing view of said extremely busy intersection and easy access to public storage.  What more could you ask for?

Thankfully, we have Triple A, but unfortunately, it is under my name only.  Stefan had to head home so I could take over figuring out how to solve our newest Saab debacle.  

Once I arrived, I called Triple A and explained the issue.  They assured me they'd be there within 45 minutes.  I headed inside to hang out:

from here

Its interior was just as extravagant as its exterior.  As I sat down, the waitress quickly let me know there was a strict must-spend-at-least-$5 policy.  I assured her I was one to follow the rules.

I checked out the menu.

It included every possible diner item imaginable with lots of this type of fare:

from here

Assuming I'd be home in time for dinner, I ordered the fruit salad with yogurt.

"What type of dressing do you want on your salad, ma'am?"

I answered back with a blank stare.

"We got ranch, italian, balsamic, or thousand island - that one is my favorite."

"Ummm...I'm going to be totally crazy and go dressing-less for this one."

"As you wish, ma'am."

The salad was delish, but I'd say my decision was a good choice.

Unfortunately, Triple A did not deliver on their promise to arrive within 45 minutes and I had the pleasure of another two and a half hours of hanging out at Lucky Penny.  While I was waiting, I went hog wild and ordered a glass of wine.

Which wine you ask?

THE wine.

There was no description of its color or origin, rather just a $5 price-tag.

(It was red two-buck chuck for the record.)

Eventually the tow truck arrived and I bid adieu to the Saab and my new waitress friends.  

Lucky Penny - you were good, but I'm not sure we'll see each other again.  

xoxo

KK

springtime favs

It's been rainy (and - with Stefan and I both a tad bit under the weather - kind of gloomy) here this week, so this Friday I'm bringing you some favs for spring in hopes that San Francisco will bless us with a sunny weekend around these parts.

For wearing:

Or anything in Emerson Fry's spring line

yes dress

For decorating:

easy Easter decoration = succulents in eggs

from 79 ideas

For going:

Cherry Blossom Avenue in Bonn, Germany

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For eating:

feta zucchini pea mint tarts

mini pancake + strawberry sandwiches

For driving:

I've always had a soft spot for punch buggies

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And just for fun:

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Have a fabulous weekend!

xoxo

KK

practice and perfection

So as you may remember from one of my earlier musings, I pride myself in being a pretty darn good manual driver.    I chuckle at the children who cruise around in one of those shift-for-you, park-for-you, break-for-you, navigate-for-you, call-your-friends-for-you, lock-for-you automatic automobiles.  But not only do I like to brag when it comes to my uphill and downhill stick shift skills, I also boost a big game when it comes to parking - especially in my oh-so-classically-San-Francisco sardine can of a garage.

You can see my baby tucked away there to the left

Not sure how the feat appears to an untrained viewer, but getting in and out of that little spot is a daunting task.  The first time I attempted it took me a full 15 minutes.

Each way.

While seemingly simple from the outside...

...this jarring little corner dishes out all kinds of trouble...

...as it requires you to hit a maximum turning radius

while avoiding nicking your car's lovely paint.

 

After much maneuvering in and out, however, I have become a complete and utter pro - sliding into my coveted spot within 7 seconds or less.  I tell everyone who asks (and many who don't) all about my beyond expert-like abilities when it comes to the garage.  I tell them I am able to do the same with any car.  On any day.  In any spot.  Come on now, try me. 

I now revel in the opportunity to park with an unknowing passenger who can't help but ooo and aaah at my mastery of this labyrinth of a concrete block.  I still smile remembering the first time I drove my best pal Charlotte in when she came to visit back in October - she gave the most pleasing squeal of delight being (or at least pretending to be) oh-so-impressed with my command of this convertible.

When I came back from break (a week in Florida and then a week in Switzerland), I hopped in my car ready to zoom out with all sorts of intensity, not thinking twice about my easy-as-pie morning back-out routine.  But instead of a flawless fluid finesse, that sneaky little corner caught me off guard - snapping my precious little side mirror into a frenzy.

After I calmed down from the shock of my lack of perfection, I analyzed the makings of the crushing crime scene.  It had been a measly two weeks, but my skills have already sunk to subpar.  Perhaps it wasn't my parking prowess but rather my parking practice that had pushed me up from being pitiful.  And without it (practice that is), I'd be right back down there at pitiful again.  

At first I was sad, but then excited -  if training could teach me this oh-so-mundane maneuver with such completion, it could likely do that same for just about anything.  Sky-diving, surfing, perhaps even golf.  The possibilities are endless.

Thankfully this little guy snapped right back together without a scratch to be seen - the perfect little reminder that practice, while perfection in time it makes, does not lead to a permanent skill set.  While the sky is the limit when it comes to what can be learned and even mastered, without perpetual practice, my skills will slowly and sullenly sink.

xoxo

KK

Clutch me

I am super lucky to have a fantastic car in the city with me.  It's a hand-me-down from a wonderful aunt so it is a tad old, but I love it dearly.  It has a killer stereo, its sleek silver color shines in the San Francisco sun, and best of all, its convertible top lets me enjoy the brisk Bay breeze as I cruise up Highway 1.

    (My gorgeous drive to work!)

There's only one slight hitch when it comes to my cruiser.  It's got one of these:

Which can be a little bit tricky when it comes to navigating these guys which are rampant in my city of choice:

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Rewind three years to my introduction to this fabulous vehicle.  I had just graduated from Williams and my uber generous parents gifted this beauty to me the day before my ceremony.  My dad had picked it up from his sis in upstate New York, drove it to Williamstown, Massachusetts, parked it in front of my dorm and said, "Congrats on graduating.  Hope you like your present.  Good luck getting it home."  For those of you unfamiliar with my city of origin, that would be Milwaukee, Wisconsin.

Normally this would be no big deal - I had driven the 16+ hour drive from Williamstown to Milwaukee and from Milwaukee to Williamstown multiple times with and without co-pilots.  I knew each of the routes by heart (including the best pit stops for road trip treats) and had done each way both with and without sleep (the latter requiring heavy amounts of Starbucks and an ample supply of Charleston Chews). 

Only problem was I didn't know how to drive stick.  Despite my inabilities, I was overjoyed by my new ride and thus spent the next few days stalling out around campus to get myself in good enough shape to get the puppy home.  Once home, I attempted to hone my stick skills learning to smooth my transition between gears, polishing my turns, and shifting to neutral when possible to avoid embarrassing stall outs.

When my car got shipped out to San Francisco, however, I was terrified.  I had learned to drive stick on roads like this: 

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And now I was going to have to drive on roads like this:

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(Literally.  I lived right at the bottom of this street.)

When the car first arrived and I was forced to drive it from the repair shop across the city to my apartment, I nearly wet my pants.  Actually I did wet my pants.  I just didn't tell anyone about it until now.  Before embarking on any drive, I studied topographic maps of the city and selected routes that avoided any and all hills.  (Note to Google Maps: you should add this capability to your app - many virgin San Francisco stick-shifters would be forever in your debt.) 

It took me nearly three months to feel comfortable driving my Saab on any street in the city and since then (I really must say) I've become pretty good.  Whenever people come to visit, I now seek out the steepest hills in the city so I can wow them with my above-average driving skills.  I revel in the opportunity to get into first from a dead stop on a steep hill.  Sometimes when I have a particularly impressionable set of passengers, I'll stop mid way up an extra steep hill, pause long enough to get their hearts racing, and then get the car climbing upwards again.  Without the emergency break.  I can't help but adore their ooooos and aaaahs. 

But my show boating (like in any good story with morals and values and all that good stuff), really came to bite me in my no-longer-damp bottom.  Driving across the Golden Gate one gorgeous afternoon, I noticed my tachometer was pushing 4 despite the fact that I had shifted into 5th gear moments before.  I shifted down and then back up, but my RPMs launched up to 5, then 6.  I eased myself off the highway and called for help: my parents of course.  They gave me the number for AAA and I began my wait for the tow truck man who would then drive me to the Saab repair man who would tell me that I had burned out my clutch which would be very expensive to replace.

$2000 later, I am driving a bit more carefully around the city.  I now have a new reason to avoid San Francisco's steepest streets.   (Note to Google Maps: the app's topography addition has a target audience larger than expected.  Begin programming ASAP!) 

While I've cleaned up my hill shifting act, if YOU come to San Francisco, I promise to treat you to some roller coaster rides that will put Space Mountain to shame.  As long as you indulge me with some stick shift skill adoration. 

xoxo

KK