Sunday, September 7, 2014

Phototacular SF

I've been housesitting for this bunny all weekend.  It's been glorious getting out of my apartment, away from the roomies, and just not doing anything.  The bunny wants nothing to do with me, so it's just been me and Netflix.

When I watch Netflix, I get to thinking.  And while I was thinking, I realized I haven't spent a single weekend staying in since...February?  As a bit of an introvert, this is toxic.  Housesitting was that much-needed time to clear my head...and head cold.  I'm currently typing this with a throat that feels like I spent all night  shoving burnt matches down it.  Lovely.

I've been a bit in the pits lately.  I don't know why.  I think it's anxiety about the future or something dumb like that.  I've been out with friends having a blast, doing the dating thing (which I wish I could write about, but my fear that karma is real won't let me), volunteering, studying and preparing for the future, yet I feel sad.  I don't know.  I'm in emotional limbo, I guess.  I tried to wash away the sinking feeling with mani-pedis and BeyoncĂ©, but weirdly that's not working this time around.  So I figured I'd spend Saturday strolling around San Francisco with my camera to clear my head instead.  Yep, just me, my camera, my Spotify playlist, and 10,000 tourists out and about on an 80 degree day.

The weather.  The bridges.  *Some* of the buildings.  *I'm* here.  I mean, how much better can a city get?!  People here are pretty cool, usually dreaming of the next big thing and then actually making it.  Probably while fueled by a recreational drug of some sort, but that's neither here nor there.

Anyways, onto the pictures:

Whoever Nelson is, he has a kick-ass last name.
We San Franciscans soak up the sun when we can.  It's pretty rare around here during the summer months.

The little java house that could.

In case you were wondering what the underside of the bridge looks like, it's just as boring as you'd imagine it to be.

I don't know, I just think tug boats are adorbs.
Fancy pants.
Cupid's Bow.  Also Gap headquarters.
Menacing bird.
 I wasn't allowed inside.

Why do things that look so good taste so bad?
Bike cabbies: significantly less annoying than car cabbies.
I can only assume they were clapping for me.


I really liked seeing all the small fishing boats at Fisherman's Wharf.  A good reminder that the place isn't just a tourist trap: it's still thriving with its namesake's industry.
I never took Elmo for a Marina resident, but I've been surprised before.

Crissy Field is for lovers.  Also frat bros (not pictured).

People getting married and making me feel so old, so alone.

We had a moment.  Then he tried to shit on my head.
What most of my walk looked like: me and hundreds of other people with their cameras.


That's me!

Postcard SF.

I ended up walking 14 miles *and* making a pitstop at Trader Joe's.  Not too shabby.  I still better.  I also have a brutal sunburn to show for it.  Battle scars, you know?
Feel free to use this as a cautionary tale as to why should always put on sunscreen.  Even in San Francisco.  It feels worse than it looks.

Thursday, September 4, 2014

Don't Forget About the Americans

Omid moved to London today, so I decided yesterday was as good a time as any to skip work and spend the day romping around town with Omid's perfectly coiffed hair instead.

On Wednesday I spent a leisurely morning in bed and strolled over to Omid's just in time for lunch.

The weather couldn't have been better timed to make Omid second-guess leaving, as well as for a top-down drive with friends--including the canine supermodel--to go get sandwiches.

This lovely number is from Ike's Place on 16th Street for anyone who's curious.  This was my first time there but I imagine they'll know me on a first-name basis shortly.  I had the Pilgrim, and my only regret is that I didn't order two.

After lunch we decided the only thing that could help cure our Omid-separation anxiety was more food, so off to Souvla in Hayes Valley it was for frozen yogurt topped with baklava and honey.  Ask for extra syrup.  Trust.

I then pretended to help Omid pack while really just sulking. Packing then took the shape of dancing to Shy'm and thinking about what to eat for dinner because we're responsible adults, is why.

What, I ask you, is a proper dinner without aperitifs first?  Had at our old standby, Blackbird, so we could reminisce over our Omid memories while properly sloshed.

This was followed by the last supper at Super Duper, because we're San Franciscans and if it's tech-savvy and fried, we'll shove it in our face and love every last bit of it.

Followed by more drinks at Toad Hall, Omid's last hurrah in the Castro.
The place was (surprisingly?) dead for a Wednesday night, which gave us ample opportunity to sit around looking like our damn gorgeous selves...

...and then owning the dance floor.

Followed by more drinks and tearful goodbyes.

Bon voyage, Omid!  Say hi to Prince Harry for me.

Tuesday, September 2, 2014

The Past Month-ish According to Instagram

I know I've been a bit off the grid lately.  I can't even remember everything I did.  Yes, it's because I was drinking.  Luckily, I documented some of it on Instagram, so let me get you (and myself) caught up.  Behold the poorly-lit beauty of my Instagram feed, brought to you by a cracked iPhone 4S.  Still kicking after almost three years!  I really need to invest in an upgrade...

End of July:
I got back from visiting my sister in Chicago.  Chicago's amazing.  I maybe kind of want to live there.  I shared a video with you and took three weeks two days to unpack.  I took some Instagram pics which I intended to turn into a blog post but my typing fingers were sore from so much texting writing the next great American novel.

First week of August:
My friends celebrated their first wedding anniversary with an official reception, which was spectacular but also reminded me of what a spinster I am, which in turn got me to rediscover binge watching Absolutely Fabulous self empowerment and stuff.

Second week of August:
I rediscovered Fruity Pebbles (also part of the self-empowerment plan). 

I cut my hair.  Why?  Because I felt like it.  My hairdresser told me I'd never get laid with short hair.  I asked him, "Is that a promise?"  We then continued to argue about feminism, politics, and motorcycles for an hour.  I think he and I might be soulmates.

I got called a slut by a sign at a bar.

I went to Outside Lands and fell in love with Tom Petty all over again.

My niece turned one and is already more accomplished than I am.

Third week of August:
I ate blue Sour Patch Kids, which brought me toward enlightenment.  For about five minutes.  Then I just got heartburn.

Your forgot to wish me a happy Left-Handers' Day.

Robin Williams died.  It got me and the rest of the world thinking about mortality.  I cried.  It must have been the tipping-off point for me of something, because I found it hard to get out of bed and put on clothes for a while.  Sometimes you get in a funky mood, and no matter how much you try and shake it, you have to roll with it for a while, you know?  I consulted my horoscope for advice, and it basically told me I'm screwed.  I'm better now, thanks to some very funny Instagram feeds I've been following.  Astrology can suck it.

A dear long-lost friend came to visit from France, which cheered me up immensely.  I reminded her how we party here in America.  She seemed grateful.

Fourth week of August:
I went to see SNL's Sasheer Zamata perform stand-up at The Punch Line.  I laughed and laugh-cried and got drunk on absurdly overpriced cocktails.  I didn't realize a two-drink minimum was a real thing.  

Omid is leaving me for London, so we dressed up like Spice Girls to celebrate.  I told him the pacifier was a bad idea.  He told me I was a bad idea.  Tessa looked like a knockout like always.

Seattle friends came to visit, and the Giants won 13-2 for the occasion.

Fifth week of August (Is that a thing?  I don't know, I've lost track):
The sun came out to play in San Francisco.  I got sunburned.  Don't worry, though: it's foggy again.
I also hung out in the Marina, but please don't tell anyone.

The countdown to Omid's takeoff continues.

Things are busy.  Good busy. I hope they're good busy for you too.