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The Honeymoon Part 1 or Why Napa Hasn't Called Us For a Second Date

By: Scott


note --  Yes, this is the Honeymoon blog, and we know what you're thinking, "Oh gosh, are they gonna talk about the - ahem - intimate aspects of the trip?"  In "The Honeymoon Part 1" and "The Honeymoon Part 2," any parts of the trip that could be "awkward" to read about have been replaced by less scandalous actions.  These will appear in brackets.  For example, "After the ceremony, Raegan and I quickly made our way out the back to the parking lot and [parallel parked] in Lindsay O'Connor's Acura." *Just kidding Lindsay!


note part 2 - We also hope you know how seriously we both take the physical aspects of relationships.  If you don't know about the ring Raegan gave me, ask me about it sometime.  It will blow your mind.  Our point being, kids, listen up.  Just because we joke about it, doesn't mean we don't treat it with respect.  The best thing you can do is wait 'til you're married.  Period.


note part 3 - I'm tired of these notes, let's get on with it already!


Okay, so you wanna know something funny?  Raegan and I are awful at writing together, in the same room at the same time.  We have been intending to sit down for weeks now, so that we could put our honeymoon story down together.  You know, just to cement the fact that we're disgustingly cute and couple-y.  But, turn's out we really stink at that.  Wow, a chink in the armor?  I'm thinking we just get too easily distracted by how funny we are together.

Anyways, I'm taking the initiative to write the first installment of our honeymoon.  I wanted Raegan to write it, but I haven't seen her in a few days now.  We were walking through Target on Friday, and she saw a guy that looked like Dean Cain.  Raegan couldn't pass up an opportunity to meet the man again, but evidently he doesn't appreciate public sightings, because he kept saying things like "My name's not Dean" and "Please stop trying to kiss me" and "Get me out of your trunk."  Very funny, Dean, but my wife knows Superman when she see's him.  Last I heard from her, she was letting me know Mexico has bad cell service, so I'm thinking she'll be back later this week.  Just hope she remembers to feed Dean.

So the honeymoon.  What a trip.  For the sake of time I'll break it into two parts, Part 1 will be about Napa, Part 2 about San Fran (that's what the cool kids call it, evidently, and by cool kids I mean the nice officer who fingerprinted me on Thanksgiving, but more on that later).

Well let's see.  We got married, partied it up with friends and family (I'm still not happy about the grinding dance moves, grandma), and we went to the Belmont hotel where we [watched Braveheart].

Then we woke up and [played Yahtzee], got brunch, and [got matching tattoos] before the taxi driver arrived to take us to the airport.

The flight was long and boring.  We sat on the tarmac for an hour before taking off.  Stupid Alec Baldwin.  It's just Words With Friends.

After we landed, and Raegan finished explaining to me how time zones work, we got our rental car, which interestingly enough was a '93 New Yorker with a missing hubcap, so I felt right at home.  We navigated the San Francisco highways and side streets and then made our way to Napa.  It was nighttime, and California looks a lot like anywhere else at night, so I was pretty unimpressed with the scenery... until we got to our inn in Napa.

Holy.

Stinkin'.

Cow.

We walk in to be greeted by Missy, the concierge.

side note on concierge's: They are awesome.  Especially when there is no gratuity at the place you're staying.  Me - "Do you mind doing everything for me so I can perform only those actions necessary to live?"  Concierge - "Absolutely."  Me - "Thank you.  I will let you know when my tush needs a wipe."


I liked Missy's name because it let me feel like a guy from Mad Men without also feeling like a misogynistic jerk.  Thanks, Missy.  Well, she showed us to our room, which was only the most romantic room on the planet.  It's scientifically proven.

Lights dimmed?  Check

Fireplace on?  Check

Enough candles to freak out a fire marshall?  Check

After we took five minutes to take in all the luxury, we sat in front of the fireplace and [roasted marshmallows].

We ate at Morimoto that night.  Yep, that Morimoto.  "Iron Chef" Morimoto.  When Missy said the words "Iron Chef," I told her "Make a reservation! And it's time for that tush wipe!"  We walked into Morimoto and experienced a feeling that we would become very familiar with in Napa... "No one knows how poor we are!"  It's a great feeling.  I would hold my cell phone up to my face and say things like, "I don't care what the report says, Jerry, we've got move forward with the buy-out.  How many times do you get a chance to purchase an entire third-world government?!"  I got weird looks, but everyone opened doors for me.

Morimoto was delicious.  We both tried not to make Iron Chef jokes, but Raegan caved when she told the waiter "Tonight's secret ingredient is... my shoe!"  They did not cook her shoe.  We got an awesome appetizer of rock shrimp tempura, then Raegan got a fish fried rice dish they made in a searingly hot bowl at the table, and I got a pork chop the size of a porterhouse.

Fat and happy, we made our way back to the inn and [played flashlight tag] and fell asleep.

We woke up at 5:50 the next morning to my cell phone.  I learned some things in that moment.  Turns out, balloon rides in Napa happen really early.  And the driver who takes you to the balloon is prompt.  And Raegan and I can get fresh and ready in ten minutes flat.  And still be the best-looking couple in the basket.  Booyah.

The balloon ride was really amazing.  Pictures can't even begin to do it justice.  A quick thank you to the family and friends who contributed to our honeymoon fund, because the balloon ride was not going to happen until we got those gifts.  It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

We headed back to the inn to enjoy a full body massage.  Raegan was concerned at first about me having a young, attractive masseuse.  Then we met our masseuses.  She was no longer concerned.  Let's just say it was apparent that neither was buying what I was selling.

The rest of the day we spent relaxing in and around the spa and inn.  That evening we ate at Celadon, which is not owned by an Iron Chef, so my interest was much lower.  We were both exhausted at dinner, and probably would have fallen asleep in our respective steak and risotto, had it not been for the couple sitting to our neighboring table.  Obviously on their second or third date, they were both pretentious, lacking moral compasses, and made sure their conversation proved both those descriptions.  Here's an example (with translations):

Guy:  "What wine would you like?" (I would like to get you just tipsy enough to lose judgement)
Girl:  "You know, I'm all Cab'd out today."  (I have already had too much Cabernet, which limits my ability to say complete words like 'Cabernet')
Guy:  "Hmmm..."  (That's interesting.  Please get tipsy now.)
Girl:  "I want something thats clear and defined, but not too heavy."  (Does anyone here believe I'm cool yet?  No?)
Guy:  "Okay."  (Get. Tipsy. Now.)
Girl:  "How about this one?"  (I just pointed at the most expensive white, just to see how much this hook-up is worth to you.)
Guy:  "Sounds good."  (It's worth it.)

Well I'm sure they'll last.

So funny thing that night, we left the fireplace on by accident, and it turns out that if there is ever a real fire in our house, I will die in the flames.  Raegan woke up with the room hotter than Houston in July, and me still passed out asleep.  With a pool of sweat on my chest.  Just sleeping.  No big deal.  I never did wake up, by the way, and Raegan now knows not to count on me to save the kids and dog.

The next day we hit the valley, went to a cute town for lunch, realized the town reminded us waaaay too much of the shopping district in North Dallas, and fled.  We went to a vineyard, Joseph Phelps for the wine snobs reading this, and got carded upon entering.  I must have shaved that day, so I'm sure they were wondering what a 12 year-old boy was doing at a wine tasting.

We had a free wine tasting there, compliments of our inn (Thanks, Missy, that'll be all), and made complete fools of ourselves.  I choked on the first glass, because it went down the wrong pipe, but everyone in the room was again probably thinking, "Someone ought to get that 12-year-old out of here."  They all laughed.  Raegan laughed, too. A lot.  It's fine.

Well, after we finished drinking ten glasses of the reddest, driest wine we'd ever tasted, I learned some things.

1.  I have no clue what "tannins" are.
2.  "Sommelier" means "professional alcoholic."
3.  I don't taste any hints of any fruits in wine.  Except dead grapes.  I taste those.
4.  Don't bring your 14-year-old daughter with you to a wine tasting.  Especially if you can't keep your hands off your boyfriend.  Especially if you're the woman sitting across from me and I have to watch the awkwardness for two hours.
5.  That was my last wine tasting.

Raegan and I left with purple teeth and realization that we have no palette.  Oh, and Raegan learned that the size of a glass matters.  Anything smaller than a fishbowl and the sommelier will tease you in public.

That evening we ate at Bottega, which is owned by a Top Chef Master.  Not an Iron Chef, but enough to keep me interested.  It was, as usual in Napa, absolutely delicious.

We enjoyed one more evening at the inn. After we [told ghost stories], we hit the hay, looking forward to our journey to San Francisco the next morning.

To be continued...

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