Fake Tales of San Francisco
23 December 2007 at 12:03 pm

I keep having to remind myself that I'm on vacation and thus do not need to worry about the following things: money; how much I drink; how I'm going to get home; whether or not the dog is bothering anyone. That's right, I'm in San Francisco, where Damien is as welcome in any bar as I am. God, I love this town.

Katie (of the Grey Shirt Incident) and her fiance came into town on Friday night and helped me close down the bar. I couldn't quite place my finger on it, but I have subsequently been in a great mood; she and P are the sort of couple that ooze good juju. You meet them and just know, or at least hope, that they're gonna make it, and if they can find each other, there's hope for you to find someone, too! Anyway, they took me out for a pre-birthday brunch, we had lovely conversation over bananas foster french toast and double lattes, and I began the mad rush to get the hell out of dodge.

I left Santa Barbara around 3ish and made fantastic time (and gave several outstanding performances serenading my iPod) and got into the city around 8ish. One hellish four block walk from my car to my brother's apartment, when I was determined to get all my crap (overnight bag, comforter, purse, computer bag, Trader Joe's bag o' food -- my brother has two refrigerators in his apartment, neither of which ever has anything more in it than a spare beer and some mustard, and Damien on his leash) to the apartment in one fell swoop, during which time Damien decided to take a giant poo, necessitating the process of setting down everything I had carefully layered in various places on my appendages, sherpa-style, and then picking it all up with one hand to prevent contaminating any of it with the bag-o-poo. The very second I got in front of Matt's apartment, a parking space opened up right in front. THANKS, UNIVERSE. V. FUNNY.

I quick re-application of makeup, a walk around the block to wear Damien out,...more later, Geo's on her way for brunch.

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About me
Hi. Morgan, 27, of Santa Barbara, CA. I am a hypocritical admirer of rhetoric (when it is my own) and an observer of literary trends. A secret: I don't take anything very seriously, and that includes myself.