Last night the membership of Margarita Club was convened for a meeting.
Margarita Club was founded sometime in 2004 by Tom, Chris, Valerie and Kevin. Chris and Kevin believe the exact date to be July 4, 2004; Tom thinks it was sometime in the spring of that year. I didn't think to ask Valerie. Regardless, on that fateful day, whenever it was, the Club's founding members got together at La Rondalla in the Mission for margaritas. As the night wore on, our fearless leaders appointed themselves to officer positions like Margarita Club Sergeant at Arms. They have long since forgotten who holds what office, but every four months or so, a Margarita Club meeting is called and the general membership, which includes me, is invited.
So last night, we were back at La Rondalla, also know as Margarita Club Headquarters, with our ever-growing membership staking claim on space in the crowded bar. I brought Carolyn, Dima and Keri along, and they became members last night, as well. I also met a guy named Roach (I have no idea) and his wife, Emily, who works with Kevin. I believe this was their inaugural Margarita Club meeting.
Carolyn, Dima and I had to leave the meeting at about 10:15, however. Dima headed home, and Carolyn and I took off for The Knockout to see Pat Johnson, a musician I know, perform. Pat was very good, of course, and The Knockout wasn't nearly as packed as Margarita Club Headquarters. After Pat's set, though, Carolyn decided to join Dima at home, and I went right back to Margarita Club. I had been gone only an hour and a half, but the membership was good and sauced by the time I returned. I stayed another hour or so before I decided to put myself to bed. I can never keep up with the professional Margarita Club-ers. I usually just feel full, instead of buzzed, and that's how I know when it's time to go home.
This morning, I woke up and was almost immediately productive. Well, by "almost immediately," I mean that I only lounged on my couch for two hours before starting my day. But once I got going, I got a lot done. I did laundry, took my duvet cover to the dry cleaner, practiced my singing and went running. Then my day really got good. I've been feeling just the slightest bit glum lately, so I took the opportunity on this gorgeous day to treat myself to some retail therapy. Now some of my therapy was practical, as I purchased new running shoes and apparel. But some of it was decidedly frivolous. I went to Belle Cose on Polk Street and bought myself the cutest ever pair of brown and white polka dot heels. I tried to find a picture of them online so I could post them here, but no such luck. But I'll tell you that the shoes I procured are called Doll Face and are made by a company called Poetic Licence out of London. You can imagine how cute they must be.
I am very much NOT a materialistic person, and by no means whatsoever do I believe that money can buy happiness. However, if I were rich, I'd be able to indulge in enough retail therapy to at least permanently soften these occasional glum spells.