we found love in a fabulous place

Ugh! No doubt you have been going through Rugged Fox withdrawal these last couple of weeks. If only a spicy double Caesar could take away the pain I wouldn’t have to update this website so much. This month has been eventful, to say the least. After returning home from San Francisco, I strapped on a pair of vintage burgundy Ingledew’s shoes, and dove right in to manager training at the restaurant. A week later, Mama Fox came to town and somewhere in between all that time, a Polish Prince swept me off my feet (literally). I had to stick my nose in a glass of Cline Zinfandel this morning just to refresh my memory about my trip to Sonoma and Napa Valley! Alas, here is your latest fix.

DISCLAIMER: this entry, just like this site, is for your entertainment. all events, characters and dialogue should be read as fictional.

Before we fell asleep Wednesday, Jacquie and I felt like we needed to add a touch of spice to our wine tour. So we decided to play newlyweds. Because of my experience as a local celebrity and Jacquie’s knowledge of being super hot, there was no question we had the star power necessary to pull each role off. After attending upwards of 300 weddings in the last two years, we also knew that in order to be convincing as a happy married couple, we needed a dark secret to hide. So after thirty seconds of light discussion, I decided to stretch myself in to the character of “Tom,” a closeted gay man, while Jacquie cast herself as my unassuming housewife, “Kate.”

At 7:00am Thursday morning, I reached over to hit snooze on my iPhone. It was a beautiful day. The sun shone through the pink curtains on the window, while the deafening sound of a jackhammer drowned out the chirp of any bird within a 25-mile radius. I stretched my arms up above my head, popped out my retainer on the night-stand, and rolled over to Jacquie’s side of the bed.

“Good morning beloved wife,” I said, really getting myself in to character. I ran my freshly-manicured fingertips through her tangled, unwashed hair and told her that she looked ravishing.

“So do you,” she said, turning around to meet her eyes with mine.

“I know.”

I had laid out my outfit for the day the night before because I knew we weren’t going to have much time to get ready in the morning. The Wine Tour Company could only pick us up from a hotel, so I had scheduled a cab to pick us up at 8:15 to drop us off at the nearest Travelodge.

“Do you mind if I hop in the shower first?” I asked Jacquie.

“No darling.” She placed her palms face-down on the mattress behind her back and propped herself up on the bed. Splaying her voluptuous chest in the air, she asked me if I wanted some company.

I shut her down so fast it didn’t even occur to me that she was speaking in character. It’s just that, you see, I have this personal shower routine that has taken six years and countless bottles of skin and hair products to perfect. Guy or girl, the first hour of each day is no time to mess around.

Fifty-two minutes later, I was just beginning to trim my Scottish eyebrows when I heard Jacquie’s fist smash up against the bathroom door.

“Fox you bitch! Let me in! The cab’s coming in fifteen and I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet!”

I tried to buy myself an extra five minutes but she was already huffing and puffing, and I was afraid she was going to blow the door down.

With two minutes to spare, our cab pulled up in front of the hotel lobby. Jacquie stormed out the side door before it came to a full stop. She was upset with me because I left her with barely enough time to throw on a hat. I tried to explain to her as we drove down Valencia Street that only one of us had to look pretty; but she wouldn’t have it.

By the time I managed to pay the driver, she had returned from the lobby with a white Styrofoam cup of coffee, a mini-box of Fruit Loops, and an extra-large banana.

“Did you just steal continental breakfast?” I asked her, placing my wallet back inside my jacket pocket.

“You gotta problem with that?” She tossed a handful of Fruit Loops in her mouth and crunched down.

“No, of course not… it’s just that, you didn’t get me anything?”

“Here,” she passed me the banana, “chew on this.”

silver chariotAt 8:35 am, right on time, the grey bus (or as I like to call it, silver chariot) pulled up in front of us. A German lady behind the wheel opened up the automatic doors and I followed Jacquie to an empty seat in the back. We were the first stop en route downtown to pick up the rest of our supporting cast: a rich Colombian couple from the Marriott and their teenage daughter, a middle-class family on spring break from Boise, Idaho and two retired Australians who had just begun their lives at 65. Twenty minutes later we were crossing the Golden Gate Bridge, passing Sausalito on our left, and entering in to wine country.

“So where are you two from?” asked the Boise housewife seated next to me. 

“Winnipeg,” said Jacquie. Good move I thought, the prairies are overflowing with gay men married to women. “I’m Kate and this is my husband, Tom,” she introduced us.

“I’m Sharon,” she smiled and shook both of our hands. She was dressed in white New Balance shoes, faded-denim jeans from Target, and a black-and-yellow University of Idaho sweater.

“So what brings you two out to sunny California?”

“Our honeymoon,” I said. “I have hearted San Francisco ever since the day the Olsen twins were born. We got married on Valentine’s Day last Feb and thought, you know why not, let’s do it! So we found a seat sale on West Jet, booked a luxury suite at the Travelodge and here we are.”

“We are really happy,” said Jacquie.

“Like super happy,” I echoed her. “Is that your family?”

Seated one row up, her two teenage kids looked devastated. I would be traumatized to if I was taken on a wine tour and was not old enough to drink. Her husband, a beefier man, was fast asleep in the seat next to her.

“Yes, that’s Andrew and Madison and my husband Vince, well he got a little too excited last night.”

“I understand,” I smiled.

“The kids were off school this week, and now that the two of us are working again, we managed to save up some money to take a trip this year. I’ve always wanted to see San Francisco since I was a little girl.”

“Well, as soon as we have a glass in our hands, we can cheers to an excellent trip.” 

Sharon’s attention shifted to the kids when they broke out in to a fight over the iPhone. I looked at Jacquie and she smiled back, which I assumed meant that we were talking again. As our silver chariot pulled up to the first winery in Sonoma, I stepped off the bus and took in a deep breath of fresh air. The scenery was amazing. The land stretched for miles in every direction, spotted with pockets of water that became the last traces of winter. I took Jacquie by the hand and led her up the hill to the Italian style villa.

“So, how’d we do?” I asked.

“Total pros,” said Jacquie.

I kissed her on the cheek and like a gentleman, opened up the door to the first tasting room of the day.

flowers in my red hair

valencia street in the mission district

The following conversation took place on my iPhone at some point in February 2012.

Jacquie O: So about accommodations, do you mind staying in a hostel?

Rugged Fox: A hostel? Explain.

Jacquie O: It is kind of like a Travelodge but there are no walls between each room.

(dramatic pause)

Rugged Fox: We might as well just sleep under the Golden Gate bridge if that’s the case.

It should come as no surprise that when it comes to nightly skin routines and sleeping arrangements, I have a checklist of needs. I am not like most girls who can just pass out on the floor and throw their hair up in a ponytail the next morning looking like they did it on purpose.

My beauty is regimented. My face relies on at least eight ten to ten hours of sleep a night, and considering how much alcohol I consume on an hourly basis, three different moisturizing creams and one French mineral water spritz. Slumming it was not an option for my trip to San Francisco with Jacquie O.

I did my research and quoted Jacquie on a few numbers from a couple of boutique hotels at Union Square as well as the Fairmont in Nob Hill. I estimated that minus taxes, room service and mini-bar charges, we could easily stay four nights in the Gay Metropolis for just under $1,500. I realized it was about $1,200 more than the price she first had in mind; but to my knowledge, these “hostels” did not include leather sofas, remote-controlled fireplaces or 24-hour fitness rooms. Because she is a starving student and I have body image problems, I emailed her to explain we could just save the difference on food.

When I did not hear back from Jacquie for two weeks, I discovered a compromise online: air bnb. For hostel prices, we could stay in a two-bedroom apartment with wine glasses in the cupboard, a walk-in closet to hang all my clothes, and a bathroom without fluorescent lighting. After she gave me the go-ahead, I booked us a room for $60 a night in the sunny Mission District. I was sold as soon as I saw a picture of the room we would be staying in: four hot-pink walls, one make-up counter, and a bed big enough to fit two queens.

When I first checked in late Tuesday night, our host Marc was a perfect gentlemen. Earlier on in the night, he had lent Jacquie his iPhone so I could get in touch with her when I arrived from the airport with my missing bag. He also helped me up the stairs with my suitcase and poured me a glass of Napa Pinot when I took a seat on the couch. If he wasn’t married with two children, there is a good chance I would’ve texted Jacquie that night to stay somewhere else.

Apart from being pretty much the best place to stay ever, the location was perfect. Close to Mission and 26^th we were a fifteen minute walk from the Castro and two blocks from a subway station that put us downtown in five minutes. The neighbourhood was great and there was no shortage of corner stores to buy red wine. The best part was that we got to experience living in San Francisco without having to pay rent at the end of the month.

Jacquie O. in Dolores Park.Picking up from where my itinerary left off, the sun was shining when Jacquie and I woke up Wednesday morning. I stumbled out of bed to get us water and smiled when I saw that Marc had brewed us coffee before he left for work in the kitchen. Although I hadn’t slept in days, my liver was on life support, and I was still having nightmares about serving in the restaurant; at that exact moment, it hit me how excited and grateful I was to be on vacation. I started jumping up and down like Laura Linney in Love Actually and then gaining my composure, poured two cups of coffee to take back to the room.

“Good morning daaahling,” Jacquie said, sitting up and stretching her arms up above her head.

With Coco Chanel eyes and rich chocolate ganache hair, she looked like Elizabeth Taylor in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. Even more fitting was the fact that she woke up beside a gay man.

 “You were great last night, by the way,” I passed her a coffee mug with a picture of Marc’s daughter’s on it.

 “I know,” she said, as if there were any doubt. “What did you want to do today muffin?”

 “Well, I figured we’d start with a couple of mimosas and see where the bubbles takes us from there.”

There are three things I hate in this world: pea soup, gay men who tip less than thirty-percent, and agendas, especially while traveling.  I don’t like planning ahead, showing up on time, or being expected to meet a deadline. I am water sign, which means I go with the flow, look great in earth colours, and act like Brenda Walsh when I get upset. Because Jacquie is a Taurus … I don’t know we just mesh really well, whatever. Stop asking me questions.

I started unpacking my suitcase and laying out clothing options for the day. Penguin boots, denim jeans and my new Guess navy blue jacket (50% off Winners, of course). Jacquie took a sip of coffee and opened her MacBook Pro to sort through ten-thousand new emails she received regarding her life as a smart person.

“I was thinking we could maybe take a walk down Valencia,” she said, pausing to take in my outfit. “Ya know, maybe check out Dolores Park and get lunch in the Castro, whatever you want to do.”

“That sounds perfect," I rolled up the legs of my jeans. "Now the only question is what shoes to wear.”

rugged fox photo shoot with sea lionsAfter leaving the apartment at an ambitious 10:00am, we spent the rest of the day on toe and heel. We had huevos rancheros for breakfast, climbed black diamond hills to shop in Noe Valley, and flirted with retail boys on Castro Street. We visited book shops, sex shops and shops that sold books about sex. We walked six blocks in the wrong direction to find a restaurant, and I signed a waiver to get cruised in the washroom at Gold’s Gym. Dehydrated and sore, we hopped a streetcar to Fisherman’s Wharf and I took a picture in front of sea lions.

The sun set behind us as we unlocked the gate to the apartment ten hours after we first left it. I ordered a pizza and we fell asleep watching TV shows on Hulu just because we could. The alarm clock went off first thing the next morning, and one hour later we were in a silver bus en route to Napa!

To be continued. Send your email address to rugged.fox@gmail.com to receive an email notification when the next post is published!