When you last heard from me, I fell into the deep abyss better known as the relationship with Proper J (for back story read this post and this post). Long story short, he’s no longer proper. As much as I tried to deny what it was, a commitment, it was just that. With that came several eye opening experiences that brought me to the realization that we were two very different people. In the end, I think we both learned quite a bit from each other. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to say at the end? Am I better off? Yes. I’ll try to be an adult and refrain from bad mouthing him as I’m sure he’ll read this blog one day, but I will have to call him out on two things. First, he said he didn’t know if he could continue to see a woman who doesn’t know if she wants to be married or have kids. Last time I checked, that was something most women worry about when they begin to feel their “clock” ticking. I am not one of those women. Guess he’s got a clock and minus a *ock. Second, he said “I am starting to reconnect more with my faith and we’ve been talking a lot about relationships at church.” Quick back story: Proper J started attending hipster church a few months before we parted. From what he explained, it’s a gathering of young Christians in flannel shirts and jeans at a music venue every Sunday, where they drink micro-roast coffee, step out for cigarette breaks and talk about Jesus. Supposedly the church has huge following all over the nation. I suspect they’re in Brooklyn, LA, Seattle, and Austin. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got nothing against Jesus, but I can’t help but wonder what methods they use for brainwashing. Maybe it’s something in the micro roast coffee! Moving on.

The rest of the year was a blur…

Vegas for a week – kill me. Tits McGee flys in for the weekend, fell in lust with a co-worker, get crazy at the Hard Rock Hotel pool, make new friends, have lots of drinks, make new friends. Tits McGee loses her shorts and does the walk of shame back to our room, but makes a new friend before she can even step foot in the elevator. Next day we fly out; look at each other in disgust and agree not to talk about the weekend with anyone else.

Visit Seattle for the first time. Checked out Bumbershoot. Jamie Lidell and his band blow me away – by far the best show that day. His gig getups are even more entertaining. Think he was wearing a crab net? What’s really got me head over heels for Lidell is that he’s  been putting out soul records for years, well before the surge of white boys singing soul – ahem Robin Thicke, JTimberlake, Mayer Hawthorne and Plan B. Stayed in Capitol Hill. Love the neighborhood. Love Seattle. Would never trade it for San Francisco.

Birthday bar crawls, dance parties and blackouts. Treasure Island Music Festival. Pookie, Tits McGee and I fall in love with Josh Carter of Phantogram – one of the most underrated bands in 2010 in my opinion, who rocked a smaller crowd during sunset, but killed it. Lots of trees burned. Hung out with Molly, pretend it’s 1998.

Happy drunken holidays and new year at San Francisco’s newest music venue, Public Works, that has something for everyone from up and coming indie bands to heavy hitting dubstep DJs. Annual holiday party. No porn was given out as gifts this year, but many crotch photos were produced. Hello Europe! Barcelona, Paris, and Rome. Eat, drink, people watch, smoke, party, repeat. Barcelona discoteca. Dance to good techno then get tired of American indie rock that starts playing. Smoke and make new friends. Do hip thrusting gestures with them and chant “San Francisco”. Go to dubstep show first night in Paris. Meet Parisians. We eye their splif and make them friends too. Go to sold out Matt & Kim, Young Knives and Aeroplane show in Paris at Fleche d’Or. Parisians put their cool aside and get wild for Matt & Kim, crowd surfing and all. Meet Swedish hot guy, smoke ciggs with the Young Knives and chat about good ol’ London. If you’re in Paris, seeing a show here is a must. Next up was an underground dubstep/dnb/reggae/hiphop party at Le Batofar, red tugboat on Seine River. Drink expensive beer, meet cute boys and girls from Paris, Italy, and London. Parisian girl who works at McDonald’s speakes five languages. Guess it helps her take Big Mac orders? Dance while the boat is rocking and turn down an offer to hang with Molly, swaying boat + drinks is more than enough. Visit the Pope at the Vatican. Tits McGee calls her Italian Vatican hookup she met last summer. We cut long line, go through a hidden network of stairways/elevators. Sistine Chapel. Breathtaking. Party in San Lorenzo university district. Have big beers and strange red mixed drink.

Returned to U.S. Luggage lost. Happy to be home and bored at the same time. Catch up with boys I was casually seeing before I left. Confirmed, they are boys. One of them is crazy. He asks, “Big wedding or small wedding?” I respond, “No wedding”. See ya. Find out another started seeing his ex again, the one who lost her job by being on Facebook too much, being too clingy, and is crazy. Attractive. See ya. Go to sold out Tune-yards show. Merrill Garbus’ almost one woman band hits the crowd with some hiphop worthy beats and unique yodel vocals. Didn’t play Sunlight, but new album will be in constant rotation after seeing it live.

And that brings us to current day. I am happy to report that I am ready to take on summer. Stay tuned for more reports on my shenanigans.

Wednesday: The Ferocious Few

I had planned for Wednesday to be a quiet evening of good food and company at Delarosa, with WriteOrDieChick. Just as I was heading out to meet her, my roommate informed me that The Owl Mag was putting on a show at Café Nu Nord later that evening. Expecting that dinner would completely consume me, I had a feeling the chance of me mustering the energy to make it was slim to none. At every dinner WriteOrDieChick and I have shared, we’ve worn our hearts on our sleeves and spilled our guts to each other during each course; this dinner was no exception. By the last sip of booze, we were both squiggly, full, and emotionally spent. After dinner we parted ways and I knew what I had to do, make it to the show for some music therapy. I called upon Proper J to be my co-pilot (one day premature of our next planned meeting). I knew he’d be good company and up to it. Not knowing who was playing, we approached the stage upon our arrival to find out. Not entertained by the opening bands, we fell back on plan B, beer. To Proper J’s surprise and excitement, The Ferocious Few headlined the show, a band he’s been following since their days of playing guerrilla shows on the streets of San Francisco. I wasn’t familiar with the band, but Proper J let me know that I was in for a treat. He was right. The Ferocious Few is now on my list of talented local bands to look out for. I couldn’t stop thinking Elvis + The White Stripes (w/ a better drummer says Proper J). If you love rocknroll, and I mean, rockroll (I often use the term loosely in my posts to refer to anything bad ass, but in this case, I mean in its purest form), check out The Ferocious Few.

Thursday: Two Door Cinema Club

Credit: Proper J

So it would seem that the hip Irish community in the Bay Area loves more than Whiskey. They love Two Door Cinema Club. A ton of people of Irish decent and many others who were not, filled 330 Ritch for Two Door Cinema Club, hailing from where else but Ireland. I’ve been wanting to see them play ever since they appeared on  the Kitsune Maison 7 compilation. Side note: if you aren’t already a part of the Kitsune comp cult, I suggest joining. Every compilation/remix album they release catapults a handful of artists into dance party show land – my friends and I treat it like the bible. With Kitsune Maison 9 out now, guarantee on seeing a few of the artists play this summer (there’s also a great remix of Something Good Can Work on 9). The entire crowd danced and there were smiles on everyone’s faces, including Proper J’s and mine. How do you lose all your friends in a tiny club for hours? You have a ton of fun and unintentionally tune everyone out; which is what Proper J and I did. Happy Birthday MaddenRadioDisaster – hope you enjoyed that champagne of beers without me.

Friday: Wallpaper

Credit: Proper J

I was never really a fan of Wallpaper and going to see them live was not on my list of priorities, but Proper J bought two tickets and bribed me with a pre-show dinner at Bar Crudo. How could I have turned that down? Good food is my weakness. This was my first time dining there and I can honestly say that it had to have been one of the best dinners I’ve had in a long time, if not the best. We had the Lobster Beat Salad, Hamachi Collar, Mackerel & Uni Avocado Toast. Everything was delicious, but if I had to pick a favorite, it was the Mackerel wtih fava beans, mint, strawberries, aged balsamic, which can only be described as a perfect spring day on the coast (if it had a taste of course). Our initially androgynous waiter (whom we declared a man after the 2^nd course), provided great service and was rather endearing. He asked what occasion we were celebrating, at which point Proper J and I look at each other with the ‘we don’t need an occasion to celebrate to order a bottle of wine’. We answered, life.

After dinner, we headed across the street to the Independent just in time to grab two whiskey/gingers, and a shot for birthday boy, Bangs. Happy Birthday old man Bangs! And then something weird happened; I got into it and started to dance. Front man Ricky Reed put on a good show. He channeled Bel Biv DeVoe and performed Poison on point. I was actually impressed. Well, to be fair, any new artist that calls upon early 90’s r&b impresses me (I can’t help it, I grew up listening to it). Wallpaper is perfect ‘pound some drinks and let’s dance’ music.

I hail a cab by running up the middle lane of the street (squiggly courage) that is almost stolen by some drunken bro. Proper J and I hop in (see yuh, bro!) and head to Edinburg to meet Chillean, TallAssG, and Tits McGee. Four shots later, and a stop at Whiskey Thieves, we find ourselves back at TallAssG’s apartment. Someone warms up some leftover pizza and I start to hand feed everyone (pizza feeding orgy, not as exciting as a regular orgy, I know). Then out of nowhere a plastic bag filled with something hits me in the face. Then another bag hits Proper J. We look at our laps to find a few pounds of trees. I knew it was old man Bangs’ birthday, but at that moment, it felt like mine. With a to-go bag in hand, and Proper J’s hand in the other, we make it home to celebrate old man Bangs’ birthday, but this time, without him.

Saturday: Yeasayer

Credit: Proper J

Thanks to a friend, I got the scoop on a secret (sponsored) Yeasayer showthat took place in North Beach, steps away from the Pier 39 strip. Proper J arrives at my house on bike, I hop on mine and we ride to the liquor store to stock my basket with beverages. After a flask, a 45-minute wait in the cold, 30-minute wait for three free drinks, Yeasayer gets on stage and plays Sunrise. The new album, Odd Blood, aint’ so bad, but All Hour Cymbals makes me wants to tap my feet and the do the body roll (try it, it’s hard to do, really). It was definitely worth wait. Later in the evening we ride to Super Burrito, closed. We settle for this pizza/deli joint, next to The Bigfoot Lodge. I’d been the re numerous nights to satisfy my drunk munchies with a slice, but I still don’t know the name. We opt for sandwiches; what a pleasant surprise. This diamond in the ruff had one of the best meatball sandwiches I’ve ever had. I wish someone named Tony worked there to make my Italian deli experience more authentic. I’ll settle for Juan (Hey, hey, Juan-y, thanks for the delicious sammy).

Sunday: Recovery and Bay to Breakers Prep

My posse’s theme for B2B this year is Yacht, Nautical, and Old Money. Look o ut for stripes, blazers, men & women in short white shorts, ascots, monocles, captain’s hats, cigars, and bottles of champagne. During our withdrawal, Proper J and I decided to shop for the occasion. I must say; I like the lo ok. Feeling pretty out of it and realizing our 4 night, 5 day staycation together was soon coming to an en d, we picked up a delicious Caprese salad and ravioli from Ag Ferrari Foods, then ride to Embarcadero to have an improptu picnic on the plot of grass beneath Cupid’s Span (you know, that bow and arrow sculpture, which according to Wikipedia symbolizes the place where Tony Bennett ‘left his heart’). Yes, I know, so cute it’s gross (finger down the throat motion). In our defense, it was unplanned.

And so my recap concludes. I’ve lived to tell the tale of four solid nights of over the top good times. Two things I’ve taken away from this experience. One, I love San Francisco. Two, I appreciate it more because of these past few days with Proper J.

Stay tuned for my Bay to Breakers recap. I’ll be at Alamo Square Park next Sunday at 10 am, corner of Hayes and Steiner, toasting (champagne glasses) and getting toasted. Stop by, say hello, make new friends, and sail away with us. Hope to see you there.

-FR

*Disclaimer: This post totaled 3.5-4 pages in a word doc. It hasn’t been proofed. What can I say, I’m excited to post!

Part One

All the real writers out there have already analyzed Coachella every which way possible by now. I’m sure another review of the highlights, whether you were there or not, is the last thing you want to hear, but I’ve got to say a few words (promise I’ll make it quick). It was Epic. Yes, operations were off, but aside from those details, it was a great kick off to the festival season and summer tours. My personal highlights were Yeasayer, Little Dragon, La Roux, Sleigh Bells, Kaskade, and of course, the Jova. Yes, Kaskade. I have been a fan for years and unfortunately missed every show he’s done in the past decade. He is the reason I love house music. In my opinion, one of the most underrated, San Francisco hailing musicians.  And yes, I am a huge house music fan as well as a huge fan of rocknroll – it’s possible! Other Coachella non-music related highlights: land sharks at night, singing ‘The Roof is On Fire’ while an actual roof was on fire, drinking beers at 7am with our housemates, watching one of them dry heave at the mention of an insect, hearing about him waking up in the driveway face down by a cop who thought he was dead, swimming with Molly, escaping to Ihop still drunk and being revisited intermittently throughout the following day by our dear friend Molly (ahem).

Now the gossip.

Having been at the festival all weekend, with little to no reception, I didn’t check my email once until the evening of the last day. In my back log of emails, I discovered one that was of high interest. Subject line: “[Jerkface] has added 4 new photos to Piccassa”. Real name omitted, for privacy purposes of course (as much as I want to put this guy on blast, I have half a heart). Jerkface is someone I had been dating casually since January of this year. Also, for those of you not familiar, Picassa is Google’s version of flickr. I received this email because I am subscribed to this Jerkface’s stream, with rights to view his albums apparently. I wait for the email preview to load on my phone, which takes forever because I’m not on 3g or 3gs and well, I’m in the desert. As I’m waiting I think to myself, I’m looking forward to going home because I kinda miss Jerkface. The preview loads. And there they are, staring right at me, 4 photos, different angles, of a pair of breasts. I forward/reply to this email to Jerkface immediately – “Umm?”. A night and several hours later I receive a response:

“shi*, did that post on my buzz??!? it doesn’t look like it did..   i thought i uploaded them as private. i just figured it was time to get those off of my phone…    but couldn’t bring myself to delete them forever. does it bother you that i’m keeping them?”

Can you guess what I did next? Yes, a little Spring cleaning. See yuh!

Part Two

I returned to the city, physically and mentally exhausted. My body reacted in line – flu, paired with a 16 year old boy going through puberty acne breakout. After spending the entire following week in bed, I emerged and attended a birthday dinner at Little Star Pizza in the Mission. With Kara’s Cupcakes in tow, I set out to celebrate with the usual suspects. I also made arrangements to meet a new prospect. Now, anyone that knows me knows that it’s not my style to arrange a meet up with a new prospect when I’m out with the gang, but I’m glad I did. At Cassanova, a few glasses of wine, champagne, and shots later, the crowd parts and he appears in the distance. He waves and I smile. As I’m heading toward him, I think of the reoccurring conversation Manatee and I have regarding the Hello Handshake vs. Hello Hug. What variables factor in when making the split second decision? If you have done research on the social and environmental factors, I would greatly appreciate you sharing your findings with me. Thanks.

I decide to go with the Hello Hug. It was executed semi awkwardly, but nonetheless, the best choice. Some women prefer the Hello Hug, a partial test to make sure a man doesn’t have moobs. I’m happy to announce that new prospect (Proper J) does not have moobs. His friend, Bangs, arrives shortly after and we get to talkin’.  Most of the talkin’ is done by Bangs which I didn’t really notice until he left to grab a bacon wrapped hot dog at which point and Proper J and I were left alone to fend for ourselves. Don’t get me wrong, I think Bangs played a really important part in this first meeting. It gave Proper J and I a platform for jokes. A guy that can make me laugh is instantly sexy in my book, and he did. In the end, he asked to take me on a “proper date” and I accepted. Proper J took me to dinner and drinks, during which the waiter winks at me and a bar patron hits on me while Proper J is in the restroom. The bar patron’s pick-up line is, “Do you ever get tired of see and talking to the same people over and over again?” Proper J returns and gives him a stern look. Bar patron apologizes numerous times and falls back. Aww, Proper J, knight in shining armor. He even gave me a proper peck goodbye. Blush. Oh, did I mention that he took me to Oola for dinner, scene of the Silverfox crime. Things like this only happen to me. Proper J still get’s an A for effort. Get the ribs, they are everything everyone says they are.

Part Three

This past week flew by, probably because I was having a lot of fun. Another night out with the usual suspects, celebrating yet another birthday. Isn’t it funny that often time it’s the guests and not the celebrant that have the most fun? That was definitely the case this time around. We caught Solid Gold and Lemonade at the Rickshaw Friday night. From what I can remember, both bands did a good job of making us dance and as long as a band can do that, I’m an instant fan. This night was also the night of my first official black out. I say official because there have been times when I’ve forgotten a conversation, or a person I may have run into, but never an entire half of an evening. And so here I am, in my late 20’s, trying to recall what happened during my first official black out. Just plain embarrassing, or awesome, I can’t decide. Oh, I almost forgot to mention, Proper J was present for the duration of my absence. I think I’ll ask him to guest blog and recall the evening’s events during my time travel (blackout). Stay tuned. And in the meantime, visit his rad blog. I’m jealous I didn’t think of it before he did.

***Edited 5.4.10 10:17 pm to include Proper J’s account of blackout

It’s 9:30pm on a Friday night and I’m sitting in my unlit bedroom reading comedy blogs.  Great start to the night, right, but at that point I had no idea what it had in store for me.  I’m sober and a little sleepy but totally ready for a night at The Rickshaw Stop with some good company and great music.  I throw on some suitable threads, place my favorite beanie on top my dome and walk aimlessly down the street look for the illusive yellow cab.

Get to the bar and walk right in thanks to the guest list hook up from Rose and start looking around for the “car bar”.  Finally figure out that “car bar” just means, “We are getting drunk by the car before we go into the real bar and spend a bunch on overpriced booze.”  Makes perfect sense to me.

By the time I find the whole crew they are all sufficiently plastered.  Car bar booze done we mosey into the venue and take a listen to Solid Gold.  Decent set but didn’t make me move all that much.  While the music was playing we all decided to have a couple shots, backed by a couple beers.  Everyone was smiles and high fives at this point, and for good reason, Lemonade was about to throw down a great set!  We all danced to our hearts content and worked up quite a sweat.

After dancing our asses off, Rose and I decided to go outside and get some fresh air.  Apparently hip electro indie pop (or maybe is my boyish good looks) get Rose going, cause at this point she grabbed me by the shirt threw me up against the closest car and proceeded to initiate an epic make-out session.  From there we found what was left of the crew and made it back to the pad for recap conversations and some water.

By this time it’s 3am and I’m thinking it’s about time for me to make the long trek back to my place on the other side of the city.  I tell Rose my plans and she agrees it’s probably a good idea.  As I’m finishing my water she proclaims, “Wait! I have an idea!” Grabs me by the hand and leads me into her room, and throws me on the bed.  I can totally appreciate the aggressive approach.  And this is where the romance ends… Rose lays down next to me fully clothed (jacket still on), snuggles up and says, “That’s nice” and proceeds to immediately fall asleep.

Not quite sure what to do, I get up and contemplate whether I should move back towards my apartment or stay in the warm comfortable bed next to a pretty lady.  Finally my smarts overcame my drunkenness and I hopped back into bed, snuggled up and fell asleep.  Cue alarm, a frantic Tits McGee and a story that sounds something remarkably close to this blog post.  Blackout explained. – Proper J

***

Next thing I know, it’s 7:25am. I wake up startled by the alarm I had set during my black out, leap over Proper J who I am also startled by to find in my bed, and ran to the window to see Tits McGee’s car still parked outside.  I run to the living room to find her passed out on the couch. I shake her (taking pleasure in doing so) and inform her that she has 5 minutes to get to work, that she should call in sick, and we should go to breakfast. Unfortunately, she declines and leaves for work. I return to my room, to my bed, and to Proper J, in my bed and pull the covers back up. I look at him then proceed to pull the covers back down slowly to reveal both of us, fully clothed, my jacket on and zipped to the top. Now, why he was in my bed with me, both of us under the covers, both fully clothed, he’ll have to explain. All I know is that when we woke up, I was still drunk.

We go to breakfast at my all time favorite breakfast joint in the Polk Gulch, New Village Cafe, and of course, I don’t have my wallet because it’s in Tits McGee’s car that she sped off in to work. Proper J and I take a few bites of our food and decide that it has not helped with our recovery. Being the smart people we are, we walk to Blue Bottle for coffee instead of water. We part ways and I schlep over to Tits’ work and I feel like I’m in the Sahara. I needed water bad. We get to her car and I inhale a gallon of water. I realize it’s Saturday and that I have agreed to pick up my new bike in the Mission. I think, how on earth will I ride this bike from one corner of the city to the other, drunk? So I did and I almost shat my pants. Note: riding a bike and watching out for cars, doors, potholes, homeless people, and trannys (trannies?) is difficult.

I get home in one piece, too tired, too hungover to shower, and fall asleep, kinda.

Part Four

An hour later and still the hangover lingered. My search for the food cure began. It started with Boogie who arrived 3 hours after agreeing to accompany me on the hunt. I learn that he’s late for sound check for a Brazilian music party that he’s spinning at, located in the basement of a SOMA restaurant, Bossa Nova. We pick up Sushi Chef and his new prospect, then head to the location. Noticing that I am about to faint, Boogie brings me upstairs and we all partake in a tasty meal. Having lived in SOMA previously for a few years, Bossa Nova has always been one of my haunts. Since having moved to another neighborhood, I haven’t been in quite some time and forgot how much I was missing. If you’ve never been or haven’t been in a while, pay them a visit. Order the pork chop w/ sweet mashed potatoes. Drool. After dinner, we descened down a steep flight of stairs into the basement to find the space transformed. Bar stocked, candles lit, and Brazilian baile funk blaring. The drinks are dealt and consume the hair of the dog. Sushi Chef’s new prospect, who just moved to the city from Jersey earlier this year, asks for my opinion on men in San Francisco. How fitting that she’d cross paths with me – a lifestyle blogger who rants about her San Francisco dating experiences. Trying to not poison her with my jaded outlook, I gave her a simple answer: flaky. I can’t say it enough. For the men reading this post, if you really want to impress a woman (for whatever reason), stick to “Friday at 8” instead of texting late.

We leave before the party opens to the public to freshen up at my place. My roommate welcomes us with beers in hand and at that moment I know that sleep is not on the agenda, not this evening, and not for me. Next, I find myself at Leisure, the grown up “Popscene” as many like to refer to it, dancing to Britpop next to boys in bow ties. I think the majority of the males in attendance were not playing for my team. I could be wrong, but if I’m confused about which team you’re playing for and it’s really my team, you’re probably doing something wrong. Hey, I like a bow tie as much as the next girl (the dapper gentleman look definitely makes me swoon), just don’t overdo it. My night ends with a couple in full costume, that tries to pull open the door of the cab that I’ve already climbed into. The man says to me, “Lady, oh no no no, this is our cab.” I tell him, I’m not getting out of this cab, but you’re welcome to come with me and I flash him a wink and a smile. His woman sees me, grabs her man and says “Babe, no, no babe, there’s a cab behind this one.” Amazing how powerful a wink and a smile can be.

To Sum it All Up

I’ve been having a lot of those awesome moments when you’re having such a great time that you feel almost as if you can breathe. I take a step back, take a deep breath and chills follow.

Once when I got to hold the string of balloons that stretched over and above the entire polo field at Coachella, the sun setting and Phoenix was playing. Again at dinner, singing Happy Birthday and sharing good food/drink with dear friends. And last but not least, last night, when I realized I really enjoy the company of Proper J and want to get to know him better. The theme seems to be simple pleasures. I’m not surprised; I’ve always lived for them.

You’re all caught up. Again, my deepest apologies for being away for so long. I know all of you have been on the edge of your seats. Well, stay tuned. I have a feeling I’m going to have a lot of great stories to share in the near future.

-FR

Game Developers Conference Expo Floor

I spent last week distracted by about 20,000, mostly male attendees, at the the Moscone Center, San Francisco, for the Game Developers Conference. Sure, you’re thinking, geek central, but this game enthusiast/game professional demographic sure has a come a long way. One seemingly heterosexual producer even tweeted “…surprised how gdc fashion has trended upwards from black t-shirts to polos, comfortable knits and even *gasp* sports coats”, which I chuckled about quietly to myself as I sat in the back of a talk all about the timesuck Facebook game, Farmville. Anyhow, this post isn’t about video games. My experience at the conference just got me thinking about stereotypes and how often we overlook people we meet or pass that could be potential matches, or friends.

During the conference, an award show took place for the best of game everything. The whole production was impressive and most of everyone cleaned up really well for the occasion. I’d passed these men in the hallways of the conference by day and hadn’t given them a second look. All of a sudden they had transformed into dapper gentlemen, with neck snapping appeal. They strutted confidently to take their seats, to the beats of Daft Punk and Phoenix (wait, gamers like the music I do?!).

The conference closed out with several open bar parties. In my effort to forget, or temporarily ignore stereotypes, I introduced myself to developer at the bar and had an entertaining conversation completely unrelated to gaming (they have other interests?!). I invited him to join my friends and me on our party tour. He had been sitting on a bar stool and as he stood up, I quickly realized that he was a fairly small man who must have been six inches to a foot shorter than me (and I was wearing flat shoes, what if I had been wearing heels!). I’m sure he’s dealt with situations like this for the most part of his adult life, but I couldn’t help but slouch (which I’m sure he noticed and I now feel terrible for). My interest meter went from 10 to 0. Then I thought, why it that I associate short with “not attractive”? Another stereotype? Does being a short man mean he’s less capable of certain woman pleasing actions (g & x-rated)? We didn’t hit it off, but we did become friends.

All I’m saying is that everyone deserves a chance or a second look. Who knows, you may make a friend.

And now the details. Last week left me completely perplexed. I’ve been casually seeing Jersey for about two months and I was really enjoying his company until things suddenly went awry. Oh, and no he isn’t anything like the d-bags from the MTV show, or is he? Long story short, he decides to confess that he lied to me about spending Valentine’s Day with friends; he spent it with a woman he’s been “seeing”. Funny thing is, it’s not that he’s seeing other women that irritates me (and by seeing I mean having sex with), it’s that he lied about it, waits three weeks to tell me, and thinks everything will be cool. Really, guy? Why even mention it at all? I consider myself to be one of the least naïve people I know, so I am pretty sure the answer is for a pure selfish reason – to rid himself of guilt. When I’m newly dating someone, I never assume that he is dating me exclusively (unless otherwise expressed). I do think it’s important to inform one another early on that you are seeing other people. I also think there’s a big difference between saying you’re seeing other people and saying you’re seeing other people because you enjoying having sex with multiple women, which he said after saying “I like you, but I don’t want to hurt you.” With all that manure that has spilled out of his mouth, I think it’s safe to say he has similar qualities to those of his Jersey Shore brethren. Back to the drawing board.

Update: Just as I finished writing the previous paragraph of this post, Jersey said, “It’s probably too little too late… but I would rather date JUST you right now.” What an interesting twist, wouldn’t you say? I’ll spare you those annoying details.

In other news, I witnessed the most brutal bar fight I have ever seen on Saturday night at the Hemlock Tavern. Tits McGee and I were having an innocent night out – two drink max and making conversation with averagely handsome fellas to the right and left of us at the bar. Then, a bro standing immediately to my left (most likely part of the snuggie pub crawl – ugh) gets a fist to the face. Bottles and glasses take flight. Instinctively, in a Matrix-like manner, I lean back, push Tits McGee out of the line of flying debris, and managed to get us away unscathed. So much for knights in shining armor, hmph! Meanwhile, the man who was punched and apparently hit with a beer bottle had blood pouring down his face. Wonder if it was the punkrock or the Snuggies that got those guys all riled up. Rocknroll.

Sunday I accompanied a friend to Ghirardelli Square, who has been living in the Bay Area for the most part of his life and had never been. Crazy, right? There were a few awkward, this-is-kind-of-romantic  moments that got me feeling slightly nostalgic. This friend and I had dated at one point in college and reconnected recently. Is it a bad idea to reignite an old flame, or should it just be left burned out? What do you think? Maybe I’m just a lonely sucker wishing someone would have been there to push me away from those flying beer bottles that were headed toward my face. Maybe I can hire someone. Wait, that’s supporting prostitution. Nevermind.

-FR

Atlas Sound, via sfweekly.com

Not a huge fan of Deerhunter, but from the moment I first heard Atlas Sound, solo project of Deerhunter’s frontman Bradford Cox, it’s been in constant rotation on my “Dekan” playlist (naked backwards so no visitors who want to play DJ on my macbook think I’m a pervert). Take a listen; trust me, it’s good for that stuff. Anyhow, I caught him and three other bands I’ve never heard of at the Great American last Friday. Of the three opening bands, I’ve become a new fan of only one – San Francisco, indie rock band, Geographer. Though Atlas Sound headlined, I’d have to say that Geographer stole the show. Some of the first songs they played sounded a little Postal Service-ish, which worried me. They reeled me back in midway through their set with a more organic, but still electronic sound – with heavy cello/drums, heavy bass, light keys and dark synth. I suppose you can do some dancing to Geographer, but I’d say it’s more of a hard heel tap. Good for dekan time too. As for Atlas Sound, I was expecting a backup band of sorts, but it was Cox, his guitar, and his harmonica, and to be honest, I’m glad. I’m really happy to have caught him in such an intimate venue. He sounds just as good live.

No story from me would be complete without a twist, so here it is. As I’m enjoying the sights and sounds, I spot an Atlas Sound fan, which I quickly identify as someone I’ve dated. Standing less than 15 feet in front of me and off to the side, he spots me then whispers to a friend. After 10 minutes of glancing my way, he walks toward me, right past me, to the bar. Good thing I had a friend with me to tell horrible things about him to. Then shortly after, he walks right past me again toward the exit, at which point I decide to tap him on the shoulder and say hello. He says, “Oh…I have to go. See ya.” Whatever happened to saying, “Hello”? A note to all: whether you run into someone you loathe, loved, or you’re just acquainted with, have the courtesy to greet that someone properly. Manners, are they just a lost art? Thank you for reading this post and please read my next (see, how hard was that?).

FR

Saturday, I decided to stay close to home and head out to a few places on Polk with some good friends. We went to Lush Lounge to check out the new location/remodel. Within five minutes I had a feeling I wouldn’t be back again. Let’s just say my blood started to boil and I had the urge to get into a girl fight (and I’m a lover!). Fifteen minutes in, I was dead sure I wouldn’t return. If you like overly crowded bars with bros and bro-ettes pushing their way to get to the bar like it’s going somewhere, Lush Lounge is the place for you. Am I the only person who thinks there should be a Jersey Shore, San Francisco spinoff? To right the wrong, we ran straight to Hemlock, for drinks called Mind Erasers (first time I’ve tried ‘em and I highly recommend). Midway through my good time, I see Mr. Off Key, a 3-date mistake I made earlier this year, walk through the door, look me straight in the eye, then scurry to the back of the bar. I mentally toasted to his demise, threw back a few more and danced our heart rates up to Montel Jordan and Notorious B.I.G. at Vertigo (hey, if you don’t indulge in dancing/singing to 90s jams, we can’t be friends).

With rain on Sunday, I closed out the weekend in style by staying home, with movies, chips, Bob’s Donuts and good company. Btw, Bob’s has these giant donuts that I have not been brave enough to try yet, but it’s on my list of things to do. I was also reintroduced to Combos – tasty goodness. I watched Medicine for Melancholy. According to Netflix, it’s about “Waking from a one-night stand that neither remembers, Micah and Joanne find themselves wandering the streets of San Francisco, sharing coffee and conversation and searching for a deeper connection.” In short, it’s about two hipsters and their clashing views of what it’s like to be an African-American hipster. Although the film focused a lot on society roles and race, I thought it to be mostly visually appealing – probably because I have a thing for all films shot in San Francisco. It’s also cool that it pictures a lot of local haunts and not just the usual Golden Gate Bridge shots.

Last week was great, but I’m especially looking forward to this week: Noise Pop Pre Party @ Nightlife at the Academy of Sciences, Noise Pop Happy Hour @ Bender’s, Atlas Sound @ the Great American Music Hall, and game night (Apples to Apples, Catch Phrase, and other alcohol friendly games) with Manatee, Tits McGee, and friends.

Can’t wait to tell you all about it.

-FR

Where do I begin? Friday I skipped out a little early (gosh, I’m such a rebel) and headed to happy hour(s) at Maya in SOMA with coworkers www.mayasf.com . The place has been around for a while and it’s a frequent haunt for people who work in the area, but I still think it’s worth the trek if you think you’re a few too many blocks away. Why? Beers/mojitos/fresh margaritas (hate that mix crap) run $3-5, $2 tacos (who needs Tuesday for cheap tacos), and you get a FREE tower of mini appetizers with endless chips and salsa. Did I mention happy hour is until close M-F?

Later that evening we headed to the Red Devil Lounge (which is a misnomer if you ask me, since lounge often implies a bad techno playing yuppie bar, and the Red Devil is far from) to watch a friend’s band play -The Atomic Love Bombs . The San Francisco-based indie band, influenced by the likes of The Velvet Underground, The Kinks and The Brian Jonestown Massacre, just released their first album last year,Let it Burn. Check them out www.atomiclovebombs.com.

Saturday was nostalgic. Thanks to a friend and his +3 guest list, yours truly attended ETD Love, brought to you by long-time SF Bay Area promoters Skills. Yes, I attended a rave. Now, before you start (ahem, or continue) to judge me, let me just say this, I had a ton of fun. Aside from the 18-20 year old boys (who very well could have been <18…I mean, I know I had a fake ID way back when), approaching me with clever lines such as “I lost my wristband”, “I’m 21 next month”, “I like older girls”, and my favorite “Facebook me”, I managed to dance up a sweat to headliners 4Strings and The Thrillseekers. Now, if I could just get attendees to start wearing black again, or real clothes and not underwear for that matter. I’m so far removed…are there undergrounds with a shady person at a map point with directions anymore?

Sunday hurt, not for the reason you think. As planned, I attended the annual San Francisco Pillow Fight at Justin Herman Plaza. I prepared myself by downing a six pack of Miller High Life and a bottle of cheap champagne. I armed myself with a down pillow, given the name “Felix” by one of my best friends/twin and pillow fighting team mate, Manatee. Manatee, Tits McGee, Felix and I got some good hits in and didn’t lose a single feather or drop of blood. Go team! I must say, there were quite a few good looking gents and ladies too. If only we weren’t so busy smashing each other in the face, there could have been some good prospects for 2am sexts.

Monday was spent with Caesar, the wine drinking dog, and my frequent bacon eating, dance party partner in crime, Chilleen. We figured we’d let Caesar indulge in some hipster dog butt sniffing as a post Valentine’s gift. After an hour of lounging and treats (milkbones for Caesar, beers for me), I notice a familiar face in my peripheral vision – dun-dun-dun… an old fling. My first reaction was to let Caesar off the leash, run after him and never return, but before I could, old fling notices me and comes over. Here’s our story – we spend a good amount of time together over a span of 3 months or so, he meets Tits McGee, Manatee, and some other friends and we all spend the day in Santa Cruz. We get back and spend the night together; that is the last time I see him. Over a year passes and I get an email from him asking how I’m doing. I didn’t respond because I was in a relationship. Now you’re caught up. He’s telling me what’s new and then asks if I would be up to hanging out. Now, being the jaded, pessimistic, “firecracker”, as my roommate likes to call me, my immediate thought is, what a shameless, no good, son of a …. Then I remembered the theme of my weekend – break the routine. I agreed to hang out. I know what you’re thinking, Felicia Rose, you are the epitome of naïve. Despite what you may think, to the contrary, I’ll make him wish he never asked for a second chance or wish he never screwed up the first. Stay tuned.

-FR

As we were spinning to Temper Trap’s Sweet Disposition (Can you believe it? A group exercise class to music that isn’t bad aerobic techno?),  I remembered hearing from other girlfriends about how creepy it is when they’re approached by men at the gym.  I thought to myself, ah, the good ol’ double standard.  I’m almost sure that most men don’t find it creepy when women approach them at the gym, if that ever happens at all.  My gays tell me it happens all the time and efforts often produce positive results, but I don’t think it’s common for heterosexuals.  So, is it socially acceptable to hit on someone at the gym?  I say yes, but your approach needs to be very well thought out.  None of this, “so, you come here often?”

After a 20 minute wait we were seated. Our orders were promptly taken and we were given our “free scone before noon”, which I expected to be of typical scone size, but was in fact a mini, or rather bite-size scone. I suppose you can’t complain when something’s free, but if there’s one thing I hate it’s being misled, especially by breakfast, when it’s usually so good to me. Then, there it was a on the menu, “Your choice of Home Fried Potatoes or greens served with entrees”. At that moment, a wave a disappointment engulfed me. Where have all the hashbrowns gone? Of course, I settled for the home fried potatoes and got a traditional breakfast to go with them: 2 eggs, bacon/sausage, toast (it’s the only proper way to fairly compare breakfast spots). In the end, neither he nor I were impressed. He, being the man I woke up next to who will remain nameless for the time being, got the fried chicken & waffles, with the fried chicken smothered in some kind of mushroom gravy, making the chicken soggy. Note to eats: most people like their fried chicken crispy. I think the chefs should stick to doing what they do best, Burmese.

If it’s within a 3 block radius of you, I suppose some of the other dishes are worth a try. If not, I’d Eats somewhere else if I were you. Perfect hashbrowns, I know you’re out there. I will find you.

-FR