Hard Partying

So amazing what hours of primping can do...for other people. We, on the other hand, rolled out of bed like this.

Partying in SF is not so much entertainment as an endurance test. Firstly, no matter what weather it's like near your house, or how cute your new dress is, a cardigan/jacket/both is required to brave the squally winds and b*tch of a fog in the city. Then there's the inordinate stress of finding the place. As head non-driver, I am constantly struggling with different retarded GPS systems. After that whole palaver, there's driving round and round for a park. Shouting and cursing at every godforsaken imbecile who takes one ahead of us. Then, finally, after the stars have aligned and a human sacrifice made, a space is found and the whole car erupts in a self-congratulatory cheer.

Mind you, we're still two blocks from the place. There's still picking your way through the unusual streets–here a posh new office block, there an alley populated by various homeless people and surly old security guards (is there any other kind?). Once accomplished, belly up to some bar small enough to fit into the private rooms at Zouk.

Aaah San Francisco. How much do I love thee?