Love and Haight. Womp.

San Francisco. Home of hills, cable cars, and Rice-a-Roni. Memorable location of the First Vacation with The Love of My Life, hereafter TLOML.

Day 1: Rise at 4:30a, panic. Chicago has been experiencing unseasonably warm weather. San Francisco, on the other hand, is allegedly in the throes of the only real rainy patch it’s had all winter. I lurch sleepily around TLOML’s apartment applying clothing and complaining about outerwear. Taxi. Security. Boarding. Blur. We’re wheels up before 7.

The trip is relatively spontaneous, born of a Virgin America Groupon he spotted a few weeks back. Translation: a lot of the planning happened last minute. We’re seated two rows apart, both in middle seats. The most remarkable thing about my rowmates is that we all manage to sleep…ish…perfectly upright, none of us budges during the four-hour flight, and we manage not to say a single bloody word to each other the entire time. As good as it gets in economy.

TLOML and I reunite on the ground and head for the airport food. Quickly deciding it is insane to spend $5 each on plain coffee when you’re on a shoestring, we settle on granola bars and splitting a Five Hour Energy and make a beeline for BART. In no time, we’re downtown.

Unfortunately, this is where we realize we chose the wrong destination for our tickets, and are each $4.10 shy of escape from the station. Also, neither of us has a bill small enough for the stupid BART ticket machines, and the attendants do not make change. After 5 minutes spent enjoying our touristy humiliations, a station attendant permits me to exit long enough to break a twenny and come back to pay the appropriate fare to give us free.

Above ground, I learn two things: first, how important it is to keep a man with pecs the size of my head fed all the time on time, and second, that he must really love me, because I survived failing at the first. Well, I figured that out a week earlier when I tested his ENTIRE reserves of patience on some Sailor-Jerry’s-and-a-full-moon bullshit, but let’s stay on topic.

Blah blah omnidirectional rain with this hair? Blah hoodie shopping blah Old Navy fucklesticks and then it’s roughly eight hours since he ate a full meal and we are in Union Square with our luggage and he is hangry. It’s not really hilarious, but it is, because to keep from killing me he just sort of rumbles, “Woman, let’s get your shit and GO,” in his super-bass voice and looks at me huffily.

Early check-in at the King George hotel, Union Square. Small, but fantastic customer service, nicely located, and a steal. We drop our things and head out. In SF, it’s after 1p. We trudge, bellies rumbling, in search of food.

Along the way, I notice via street ads that Amber Rose is the new spokesmodel for Smirnoff Fluffed and Whipped and remark aloud, “Is that Amber Rose?” Once TLOML removes his foot from my back, which he was apparently planning to use to catapult himself toward the aformentioned bearer of this ass

Amber Rose

…I realize I should have been more specific, and that Wiz is doing me a solid and he doesn’t even know it.

We trudge uphill in what seems like every direction before locking onto our first target: lunch in Chinatown.

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