Lilac

This site, where I write my stupid little stories and post my embarassing little photos is quite old. It's so old that when I go to remember things from the past, this is where I look.

Recently, the phrase "no meat for the brown dog" popped into my head. I vaguely recalled a funny incident, and my post from 2008 refreshed my memory and brought me 17½ year old laughs all over again.

At this point, it's a little jarring when I look for a story, and it happened so long ago that it's not here. At least once a year, a couple of us reminisce about a wierd driver that we had. I went to look for that story, and it's not here at all.

Let's remedy that, shall we?

As early adults, we took a California trip. The San Francisco stop is one of those pivitol windows of time that has all of these lifelong bit of memory, packed in to a few days.

For example, I was up early and picked up a copy of the local newspaper. It happened to be the day where they published the entire Starr Report, so I sat outside on the rooftop patio of the hotel and read the whole thing. It took a while to read, but there was no putting it down. In the late 90s, there were no websites. To read details so salacious in the newspaper was more than a little shocking.

I knew I would find my group in the bar, so I hurried down eagerly, to tell everyone about how Bill Clinton used the wrong bodily opening for his cigars.

The rest of us were a couple of drinks in, improperly and unethically working through a pre-employment personality test that Mrs. theskinnyonbenny was taking. She got the job shortly after and spent the bulk of her career at the bank that hired her. See? Pivotal weekend.

Maybe it was that night, or maybe it was a night or two later, but we decided to do fine dining, and we chose Julius Castle. It was a cool looking building, as high as you could get on the coast, with this massively expansive view of the bay.

The restaurant people decided to treat us like kings. They put us at a table in a turret, giving us a semi-private experience, and we treated the whole things like we were actual royalty. Apps and wine and drinks and meats and fish -- there was a steady flow back and forth from our table. When we were done, they suggested desert wines and cigars on the roof, which sounds just as fantastic now as it did back then. Just a couple of years earlier, I could pay my rent for two months for the amount that our bill was that night.

There were no taxis up at the top of this road to take us away, but there was a town car and a driver. A lady driver, not a whole lot older than we were. Her name was Lilac, and she was into the vibe we were bringing.

I was by Crystal in the back seat, and at some point, she shifted so that her behind was almost on my hand. Being the 90s, I gave her ass a little squeeze. What's a little assault between friends when you're young? Lilac questioned how we were all related to each other, and took our cross-couple shenanigans to mean that we were there to swing. Then, she spent the rest of the longish drive -- suggesting in terms that got more and more blatent -- that she would be in on joining the group of us for adult adventures were she just invited.

Maybe the reason that we still bring this up all these years later is to remind each other that we were once so hot that a stranger practically begged to follow us to our hotel.