Letters From The Bay, Week 2: Bones to Pick

I have a couple of bones to pick with this city.  I would pick them with my own hands, yes, I would pick them with tender loving care, but it is so effing cold here that my hands no longer move.

The Golden Gate University campaign “Shine” showing lots of pretty, sun-dappled students frolicking in the hot hot heat of the city?  It should be called “LIES!  ALL LIES!”  Because that sun?  That shiny, sunny sun? Not only does it not shine here, but I don’t think it even really lives here.  In fact, I think the sun went where the rest of California has gone: to Colorado.  Where the sides are square, the mountains are big, and everyone wears Patagonia.

San Franciscans really need to look into Patagonia. What in the heck is up with all the crazies wearing shorts?  Don’t they know it’s WINTER here?  Clearly July’s arctic conditions have made everyone funny in the head, because even I know the weather patterns by now: Summer = Winter, Fall = Summer, Winter = holy hell it rains a lot here, Spring = Lather, Winter, Repeat.  Duh.

Speaking of shampoo and nonsense, I have lathered, rinsed, and repeated every single day, and my hair eternally looks like crap in this town.  And if not crap exactly, then definitely an interesting haystack/wet dog hybrid.  I never won any hair awards, but I mean to tell you that I am not down with looking like a hybrid of haystack/wet dog.  I am actually not down with looking like any hybrid of any sort, unless it’s a hybrid of hot/awesome, thereby leading me and my hair to be rendered Hawesome by all who behold us.  Hawesome, I’ll take. And the hair experience I’ve had thus far, I’d like to return for a full refund please and thank you.

Here’s what I’m not returning for a full refund: all my IKEA stuff.  I think it matches my Patagonia jacket and mittens quite nicely.

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