Did you miss me this weekend? Some of the mamaâ€™s made an escape to wine country. Sans kiddos.
Six of us piled into an RV Mac Truck land yacht Suburban. And headed Up North East to Wine Country. Naturally, we took a few wrong turns along the way. (I know. Youâ€™re shocked.) The wine caves and tasting rooms briefly seemed as fantastical as a leprechaunâ€™s pot-o-gold: desperately desired, and completely undiscoverable.
After deciding to embrace the scenic route, we arrived at our hotel. Where one of the gals promptly realized all her dresses were neatly hanging in her car. Parked outside of my house. Nowhere near the Suburban we were actually in. Words not appropriate for little childrenâ€™s ears were uttered.
Without missing a beat, the bellhop pointed over yonder, â€œOutlet shops are right across the highway.â€
He nodded skeptically. â€œWell, managerâ€™s reception is an open bar. 5-7 in the atrium.â€
Bags were dumped, dresses were bought, and we descended upon the managerâ€™s reception with great gusto.
We had dinner in downtown Napa Friday night. But Iâ€™m going to go ahead and skip over that part of the story. I mean, I could tell you but then Iâ€™d have to kill you. (Oh, who are we kidding â€“ there would be five distinct suspects around my mysterious disappearance if I shared those stories. Perils of the blogging life.)
Saturday we set out to taste the spoils of the region. Well, more specifically, we were six desperately seeking Starbucks. And then we went wine tasting.
Jon texted, â€œYou gals must be turning some heads and getting plenty of free pours.â€
First stop â€“ Del Dotto winery for the cave tour. This is a smaller winery, and the only one I know of that lets you taste directly from the barrels (shared by our tour guide via a very phallic looking glass straw thing). Sadly, I must report Del Dotto winery does not carry Picnic Time products. (Mike Raffetto, just tell the owner youâ€™re there to discuss what the slightly crazy lady was making a bit of a fuss over.)
But all was forgiven when they provided dark chocolate truffles with my expensive Cabernet â€œtasterâ€ glass to conclude the tour. (Iâ€™m easily swayed by chocolate.)
The gorgeous Domain Chandon was next. (Mike Rafetto, youâ€™re going to want to stop by here as well, as I did not find any Picnic Time goodies here either.) Now, I may have spent some time playing on the interwebs during the drive times. (I tasted, therefore I did not drive.) Mock all you will â€“ but when I checked in on Foursquare, a little window popped up informing me that Iâ€™d just unlocked the 2-for-1 promotion. Damn skippy! Suddenly I was the cool kid in the car.
â€œSee! I am not a nerd,â€ I announced. (My fellow fabulous five laughed. I like to think they were laughing with me.) Ooh, tangent â€“ this reminds me, I found the most fabulous 8-bit garters on Pinterest. (Not me in that photo.) I know! How cool are those?!
Oh. Ok. I retract my nerd negative statement. (8-bit garters still awesome.)
We headed home into the most gorgeous sunset I have ever seen. A brilliant red painted streaks above emerald green vineyards, while the thirsty hillsides showed off with yellows and orange harvests.
Sans families, it was time to get dolled up and hit the town for a fancy dinner. Also, I was threatened with salsa dancing. We strutted into Morimotoâ€™s (from Iron Chef) dressed to the at least 7 or 8s for our 8:45 p.m. reservation. (It is worth noting here that I FULLY embrace my party pooper status and would have been happy to be in bed by 9. Didnâ€™t happen.)
Tangent. Boys â€“ this oneâ€™s for you. â€œSoâ€¦you having trouble reading the menu?â€ may in fact be the absolute worst pickup line. Ever. Trust me. Remove it from your repertoire.
The gentleman approached our little gaggle of girls as we stood by the bar awaiting our table. He uttered the aforementioned disastrous come-on to our trip planner, who, with an impressively disdainful brushoff, replied, â€œNo,â€ and returned to her culinary review.
Sadly, this put me in the line of fire. And he turned his attentions to me. (Because nothing flatters a girl like blatantly being a guyâ€™s backup.)
Creepy guy: Well. Sheâ€™s a lot of fun. (He is really lucky she did not hear this. It would not have been positive for his well-being. Trust me.)
Me: Yes. Yes she is.
CG: So. Where are you from?
Me: San Jose.
CG: Really. Where in San Jose?
Me: The city. (Seriously? You girls are going to leave me behind with the enemy?)
Look, each and every one of us on this weekend getaway are completely enchanted with short and bald men. There was no comparison to the under 3 crowd waiting for us at home. Also, weâ€™re married and youâ€™re creepy.
And then the girls told me I STILL had to go salsa dancing.
Today was spa day. Starbucks in hand, we strolled into Spa Terra â€“ located within a wine cave. De-stressed and noodle-y, thanks to some seriously amazing massages, we prepared to head back to reality.
This time the text read, â€œDestroy has a fever. There are poopy clothes in the wash from a blowout.â€
I am relaxed. I. Am. Relaxed. But I make no promises as to the longevity of the delicious Zinfandel that came home with meâ€¦