I went, I ate, I shopped, I walked. Sleeping, not so much.
San Francisco was great, ya’ll. I so needed a vacation. I just needed to get the heck out of town. I had these grand plans to traipse about the city snapping photos of my adventures so I could have a show and tell extravaganza for you guys so I packed up my camera and proceeded to not take one single solitary photo. Oh, except one, where I took a photo to document the fact that my shoes matched the decor of my hotel room. Margaret Bourke-White, eat your heart out.
So I will spare you the photo of my swanky shoes in my hotel room. But, as long as we are on the subject of the hotel, get this. One of the quotes on the website of this hotel said “if the hotel was an actor, it would be Harrison Ford.” I’m not kidding. It really said that. Can anyone please interpret that for me? Because the hotel was lovely, but I didn’t once think that it reminded me of Harrison Ford. It reminded me more of, say…a very stylish Mr. Belvidere. See, this hotel staff escorted Biology Girl and me around like they were in love with us. Every time we got on an elevator, a valet was there to chat with us. Every time we entered or exited the lobby, there was someone to ask us if we needed anything. We walked into our room to find a valet fixing an ottoman in our room. There was a knock on our door one afternoon and it was another valet who kindly changed the batteries in our phone. They gave us directions, they found us reservations, they did it all. At first, I called it Great Customer Service. Then, I called it Is It Our Pheremones? After a while, I called it Leave Us the Hell Alone. At one point, between leaving our room, riding down the elevator, and exiting the lobby, we were saying this to various staff members who acknowledged us or told us to have a great day all the way out of the building: “Hi…thanks…thank you…hello…fine thanks…good…thank you…hi…hello…yes…thank you…” Seriously. From the moment we left the room to the moment we left the building. Maybe they want you to feel like a celebrity (Harrison Ford, of course) because by the end of it I wanted to say “no comment” or throw a can of baked beans at them like Hugh Grant.
Oh, and speaking of celebrities, we went to this restaurant and had a celebrity sighting. Well, a semi-celeb. Marisa from Top Chef Season Two. As we were leaving, she was sitting in the lobby, waiting for a table. I am positive it was her, because I stopped in my tracks and I stared at her. She noticed me doing it too. That’s right. I’m frequenting places where there are semi-famous people sitting there, and I stop and stare at them from two feet away. I’m high class that way.
And another thing? The frenzy that was going on in the H & M store was nothing short of Beatlemania. The pushing, the shoving, the hordes of people. Are they blowing crack through the venting systems in there? I wanted to buy each and every one of the sales workers a giant cookie for the crap that they are going through on a daily basis. But I didn’t. Because, you know I needed that money to go towards a purple skirt and a sweater dress.
Also, (and yes I know these paragraphs are disjointed all you friggin’ editor-type-blog-readers out there) Bio-Girl and I were in a large department store, buying some unmentionables, and the sales lady referred to the bodice of a chemise that Bio-Girl was looking at as “the part where the breasts go.” I think Victoria’s Secret needs to adopt this as an ad campaign, don’t you? New this fall, more things where your breasts go.
I also spent some time with my friend K, who fed me crepes, took me to SF MOMA, and escorted me to the airport like the gentleman he is. He even laughs at my dick jokes, which is especially gentlemanly of him.
At the end of all of this, I was to be on the plane and home by 9:30 pm. Thanks to the wonders of modern travel, I was home by 3am. I did a lot more than this on my trip, but United has fucked me up with sleep deprivation to the point where that is all I can remember. Bio-Girl, K, Harrison Ford hotel, H & M frenzy, Marisa from Top Chef, and bra humor. Thanks, United Airlines!
Kiss the rings, I’m out.