Saturday, July 22, 2006

I Left My Heart Universe Pants in San Francisco.

Weenie Enema was on hiatus while I wandered over to San Francisco for a week to explore California burgers and actual sun exposure. As a result, I have come to the conclusion that San Francisco should forego the bovine experimentation in favor of the old San Francisco stalwart Rice-A-Roni and I have tan arms, which were mostly peeling and infected until today. Word. No one wants to hear a long-winded itinerary, so I will merely supply a few choice locations that a civilized human being would enjoy scaling 88 degree inclines to see.

1. Danielle Steele's mansion.

I heart the Spreckels Mansion. It's in Pacific Heights and I don't think tourists even know it exists. I didn't actually see Danielle Steele or a withered copy of Toxic Bachelors outside on her sidewalk though. She has Mexican workers trimming her shrubs. In the non-sexual metaphor way.

2. The Dumbest Baseball Fans in the World.

Do people who conveniently ignore blatant disrespect for the integrity of baseball deserve to have the most gorgeous ballpark in the country? How did I end up with the sewage-infested blue and orange eyesore in Flushing? If you can stomach obscene stupidity and people inanely cheering for a swollen-headed steroid injecter, it's worth a look. I would not recommend walking through the warehouse district to get there though, unless the thought of sweaty reformed prisoners excites you.

3. Danny Tanner's House.

I know there were others who altered their schedules on Tuesday nights at 8 to watch Bob Saget and his astonishingly unfunny daughters and their "uncles." I'm equally sure that these same people who fidgeted through the end of Wheel of Fortune and impatiently waited for the Tanner family to sprint up the hill and have an impromptu picnic accidentally stumble upon Full House on Nick at Nite all the time now and feel REALLY self conscious about those past transgressions. How did a show with wretched acting and even worse writing manage to hold its own for eight years?

Unless there were a slew of closet Dave Coulier fans. I have a lot of trouble believing that though.
This was the only area of San Francisco where I saw a french bulldog. It was chocolate and had a bright pink tongue that looked like slippery cotton candy.

4. Ghirardelli Chocolate Goodness.

I personally think Ghirardelli chocolate is pretentious and way too rich for my delicate palate that yearns for the simplistic milk chocolate wonderment Hershey's reliably delivers to 2,545 bodegas near my apartment. However, the smells wafting out of the factory/ice cream parlor reminded me of when I used to pretend that I was Charlie Bucket in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. For those who don't eat Symphony bars, they have a golden interior wrapper immediately surrounding the chocolate. I would sharply inhale and imagine that I had just won a Golden Ticket. Then the self-created euphoria would wear off and I would just be sitting on my couch with wrinkled tinfoil and my cat gazing at me sympathetically.

Olivia update!

Olivia's new toys are the blue, sweat-stained inner soles of Amy's sneakers.
I don't think she actually puts her mouth on them, but she likes to stare at them a lot and tentatively tap them with one paw. Then she gets bored, eats two pieces of Meow Mix and falls asleep in the cabinet or behind the futon.


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