This morning I woke up with the kind of hangover that makes me seriously weigh the pain of getting up to walk to the bathroom against the horror of wetting the bed.
I made it to the bathroom, but let’s start at the beginning.
San Francisco is, without question, the strangest city I’ve ever lived in. Which is surprising, because after 10+ years of living in New York I really did think that I had seen it all. The thing about San Francisco though, is that the crazy is brazenly out in the open. It’s proud of itself. It’s that guy who body checks you in the middle of the street and that guy a few blocks down who tells you that you have a beautiful smile, even though your mouth is closed, followed by a declaration of how he’d like to eat your hair.
This city seems to sanction its crazy, hosting street festival after street festival, continuously giving its residents a reason to be drunk outside in the middle of the day. That’s another thing about San Francisco, it’s a city full of lushes. Jamie and I were talking about this the other day, about how we don’t fit into any of the overt San Francisco cliches (gay, pretentious, hipster, gay pretentious hipster, etc.), but we do fit the quieter mold of likes-to-drink-heavily-for-no-reason-at-all-other-than-the-fact-that-it’s-a-Tuesday-and-wine-is-better-than-no-wine.
So, being that yesterday was a Tuesday, we figured we’d partake. We bought our Two Buck Chuck and did the thing where I sit on the barstool and she stands across the counter from me and we talk until there’s nothing left to say and we drink enough wine to want more wine and then we sprawl out on the couch and watch a randomly selected Friends DVD and discuss how unrealistic it is that women on TV seem to always be wearing a man’s dress shirt after sex as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, when really, I can’t think of a single situation in which I’d get out of bed and be all, “That was lovely, can you hand me the shirt you wore to work today?”
Somewhere between the DVD watching and the obsessive wine drinking, we also managed to severely burn a batch of popcorn and then “fix” said popcorn by melting all the butter in the fridge over it so that we could eat it anyway. Which is to say that this morning was rough and that it’s pretty much going to be touch and go for the rest of the day. Especially since I’m about to leave to get a Brazilian wax, something that falls near “vigorous aerobic activity” and “talking to my mother” on a list of the worst possible things to do while suffering from this kind of hangover.
Yes, this is your cue to think kind and gentle thoughts for my soon-to-be-pained vagina. Unless you’re this guy and you get your giggles from taking a bottle filled with your semen to the grocery store and spraying it on unsuspecting women, in which case I’d appreciate if you never ever ever thought about my vagina ever at all.
Posted in: day to day shenanigans, san francisco, the nicole & jamie show
{ 32 comments… read them below or add one }
Okay, semen squirter gun guy is fucking fucked up. That’s a lot of f-bombs but I really think that’s the only way to do it justice. Oh and I wish I lived in San Francisco and not Moose Jaw. Oh, one more thing, I hope your vagina is okay. Is that kind and gentle enough?
I have nothing funny to add, because I’m too busy hating you for how good this post is.
I think we need to stop being friends. There’s not enough room in our apartment for you, me, Marvin, and my big fucking fat envy.
You had me at wine on a Tuesday. Miss yo face.
I TAKE IT BACK I SOWWY I WOVE YOU FOWEVEWWWWWWW.
Good. Because you know, I actually *do* think there’s room for your envy now that we gave the blowup dolls away.
I totally thought this post was going to be about the street festivals where guys wank out of their upper-storey windows onto the crowd. (See: Folsom Street Fair, Dore Alley/up your alley Fair).
Good luck on the Brazilian! I’ll be…. well, I’d say that I’d be thinking positive thoughts about your vag, but that would be sort of creepy. So I’m not. I’m totally not, not one bit. Except maybe I am.
Well shit, if that dude’s not thinking positive thoughts about your vagina, I’ll do it for him. That’s just the kind of person I am. I think they call that “magnanimous”.
Did you watch the Friends episode where Monica and Rachel fight over the last condom? Because Rachel is totally wearing a man’s shirt in that one.
Don’t ask me why I know that.
Next time, to get the most out of being intoxicated, may I suggest “drunk waxing”. Sure, you’ll still want to kill yourself in the a.m., but at least the painful details will be fuzzy the next morning.
Oh man you gotta see the crazies in Vancouver. They would blow your mind, in the way that’s not sexual or even happytime at all. They are, also, on far more drugs than the crazies in SF, which is not just saying something, it’s saying something. I know this because I actually get to see the drugs these people do, because, well, it’s Canada and you can do drugs in the street here.
I guess my only point was you should see these people.
Happy vag thoughts.
Wine is Fine All the Time. That’s my motto! Brazilian waxes and semen throwing ninjas, no comment! Love this post as much as we collectively love wine!
Wine is always the answer, always.
I love your face!
I’m also jealous of your wine-drinking ways & appalled/disgusted by semen-spray guy…ew.
sad. I wish I was there for all of that. and yes. THE DRESS SHIRT THING.
I feel for your vagina.
That’s what blind men say when they’re trying to have sex.
Let’s file hungover vaginal hair tearing under Reasons I’m Glad To Be A Boy. Let’s cross-file it with Penises Are Awesome.
The only way I could do a Brazilian wax is if I was black-out drunk or on tranquilizers. No other way around it.
Hey! Great stuff. Saw you quoted over at Hippest Snippets, and figured I’d be in for some good writing here, and I was not disappointed.
Consider me a regular!
Excellent point about Friends and the shirt wearing thing. I never really thought about it before.
It doesn’t matter if I drink on a Tuesday or Saturday, I still feel disgusting the next day. curse of getting older I suppose…
We thought your post was so cool that we quoted you at ours. Who are we? Just two people looking for the best writing on blogs. Our eyes hurt from looking through so many, but it’s ok, we have monocles.
Stay hip!
Man, wine always does me in. Happy recovering!
This happens to me also (notice I’m the victim here), except when we run out of things to say and there’s still lots to drink, we always end up watching Shop Erotic… a home shopping show that sells dildos. I wonder what that says about our relationship…
I wear mens shirts to bed. Call the cops, I don’t give a fuck.
That is probably the best synopsis of San Francisco ever. SO TRUE.
I have to say, a woman wearing a mans dress shirt and nothing else is the hottest thing ever! Or rather a woman wearing my dress shirt and nothing else is the hottest thing ever! I really dont care what attire girls wear in other guys bedrooms.
One of these days Ill figure out why thats such a turn-on to me. Until then, it remains as sexy as lingeriemaybe even sexier.
I just stumbled across your blog and you are hilarious!! I can’t comment on how much pain your vagina is gonna be in from the waxing because I have no guts to do that myself.. but I can comment that you are right and I would not want that semen guy to even think about my vagina either.. creepy.
I feel as if I’m a bit young to be reading your blog, but I can’t stop myself. They’re so addictive that it’s unfathomable.
Your vagina is so lucky to have you.
::joy tears::
good luck for the wax – only a brazillian? the next time i go, i’mma get a clean sweep – front to back. *scared*
love your style of writing! xo
Eat your hair?! Did that really happen? Funny!
Hangover + Brazilian wax always= so much pain. But sometimes you just have to do what you have to do. Maybe it’s just me, but the 16 times I’ve been pierced and two times I have been tattooed didn’t hurt nearly as bad as the wax. Not that this stops me. I think that this demonstrates my commitment to personal grooming…
i never understood the dress-shirt-after-sex thing either.
they’re not comfortable, and they have lots of buttons. throw me a sweatshirt instead, yo.
Seriously, there’s a lot of friggin’ buttons on a men’s dress shirt. And if it’s good sex you barely want to roll over off your back, let alone get up to get the shirt from the closet/dresser/ball on the floor. Let’s be real…you maybe grab a T-shirt or the comforter but in reality you run around awkwardly with bits jiggling that just do not look attractive jiggling and pray he will want to see them in their naked jiggling glory again.
Men’s dress shirt…bullshit I tell you…
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