Pt. 2 Night In The City

Apologies for the lateness of this one - stupid internet threw me into a panic and went out for a few hours last night. It was like being in the dark ages!

You know you're in San Francisco when, of all places, Tower Records has an entirely unsubtle "Gay Porn" section that shames the generic “Adult” section it sits by. Naturally, I walked out with a Madonna single, the new Dixie Chicks CD and Campfire Twinks*.

The car ride up is a blur of sunlight fading and reappearing. While sleeping (I do that on long car rides), I overhear my old friend/new roommate say he doesn’t really care for my cartilage piercing; something about it being “too young” for me. (When I mention that I heard this later, we agree that it will look better once the starter stud is out and I can put in a ring or something. The Princess makes sure I overheard the part where she had my back. Duly noted.)

Cue the requisite stop at Pea Soup Andersen’s and a couple of potty breaks later, we finally arrive in beautiful Oakland, California. Commence the locking of windows and the obligatory, “Welcome to Oakland, bitches!” routine. Commence also the lookout for Hammer’s former place. Pay the $3 toll on the Bay Bridge (editor’s note: I’m willing to pay to leave Oakland, but to get back in?!?!). Finally, we’ve arrived: the highly recommended Nob Hill Motor Inn will be our home away from home. The kindly girl behind the counter makes us feel welcome and points to our room. Lo and behold, it’s 103 - the same one we stayed in last year! Kismet, I tells ya. Kis. Met.

It was previously decided that there would be no repeat of last year’s fiasco, where the Princess and FB both fell asleep and I ended up hitting Martuni’s (a local piano bar/dive) alone. The plan this time was simple: hit the room, change and shower, if necessary and hail the cab. All goes according to plan. There’s standing room only at the back, where they keep the piano. Then things get interesting. As I'm buying a round of drinks, a nice girl approaches and strikes up conversation while waiting for the bartender to come back around and take her order. She explains that she's been at the bar since 8pm and is celebrating her graduation. I congratulate her and we talk a little about how some her friends sang at the open mic. Gathering my drinks, I tell her it was nice meeting her. Apparently, it was good for her, too because her response was to pat my ass as I walked off.

Normally, being hit on my a girl wouldn't faze me. In a cruel twist of fate, I think more women are attracted to me than men. But being hit on my a woman in San Francisco is a more surreal. And in the dark of a bar, being hit on by a girl with short hair, dark-rimmed glasses, and a polo shirt causes even further concern. As I set the drinks on the table, I turned to my nearest and dearest and spit it out:

"I think I was just hit on by a lesbian. And I'm pretty sure she thought I was a girl."

The Princess,, without missing a beat, tried to be supportive:

"It's the light in here. And it's loud. Or maybe she wasn't a lesbian and just thought you were cute."

FB response, on the other hand, was, well, you decide:

"It's your hair. Very lesbionic."

Have mentioned lately that I love these guys SO much?

Part 3 later tonight...

-J.

*I kid, I kid. It was Campfire Twinks 2.