The Zone leaves for its summer vacation in Oregon in two days. We finally got our hotels all set, but we are lacking one ticket to the one event that WineGuy has been pining to attend, the International Pinot Noir Conference. Specifically, the Passport to Pinot, a half-day tasting on a Sunday afternoon. Somehow, in our child-rearing, hormone-fighting, testosterone wrestling, WG failed to purchase a ticket for himself. He kept waiting, thinking we’d find someone to watch our kids for an afternoon there. Now, it looks like it’s too late.
I called the festival office. The secretary said there were no more tix left for that event, but that she’d put me on the waiting list. It was only small encouragement to hear that the office was acting as a clearinghouse for exchanges of tickets. I tried posting something on Craigslist, but it got flagged and removed for some reason that I’m still trying to investigate. I posted a request to the Portland, OR forum on TripAdvisor.com and have received nice responses, none containing a ticket.
Then, I called and emailed an acquaintance from the Snooty School. Let’s call her Barbie. I mentioned our Portland trip to Barbie months ago, and she continually offered to “hook us up” with her famous winemaker friends. She deigned to return my email saying she was busy with visitors. When I asked her for some help getting that ticket, she basically said “you’re screwed, but I might look into it.” Thanks. A lot. Bitch.
The final nail in the coffin is that the friend’s son, who was supposed to watch the boys on a Saturday morning so WG and I could go to the beerfest alone, has apparently backed out. I got some convoluted message from his mother yesterday after synagogue. The son put me in contact with a couple of his friends to babysit, but they never responded. My only hope is that the wine country restaurant where the son waits tables can make a connection for the winefest ticket for WG.
This trip is shaping up to suck entirely. Now, I’m going upstairs to pack the boys. They’ve been fighting, screaming, and throwing things up there for an hour.
“By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.”
~ William Shakespeare, “Macbeth”