My San Francisco Diary (or Six Days Without a Hairbrush)
Thursday: Became intimately familiar with Terminal D of the
Friday: Discovered that, touristy or not, the
Saturday: Went museum-hopping, and discovered the wax Eminem is waaay better than the real one, and nearly as cute. Got hit on by a waiter who said I reminded him of a Chilean economist he once knew. (Apparently, that’s a compliment on the West Coast.) Watched the Dyke March that night, which featured many naked boobies. Whilst wandering the packed Castro afterwards, a guy grabbed my butt, and then said he was sorry. Could not determine if that was, “Sorry I was forward,” or, “Sorry that wasn’t a better experience for me.” My ego required that I settle on the former.
Sunday: Watched the Pride parade, which seemed nearly as large as
Monday: Ventured outside the city to UC Berkeley, where liberalism lives. Re-discovered that making fun of liberals is nearly as fun as making fun of conservatives. Explored Muir Woods, where the trees are large and the trails narrow and high. (Good thing I am sure-footed.) Swung through
Tuesday: Stole food from hotel for flight, which was fortunate since the plane took off two hours late. Ugh. Invented "Snookums Razor", which states:
When you have refused to consider all rational options, all that remains is the completely insane.
Watched “The Pacifier” in flight. Was grateful that the TSA made certain there were no cutting implements on board, lest I decide to commit suicide rather than finish watching that movie. Landed in
Oh, and I made do for the entire trip without a hairbrush.