You won’t need directions.

Photo by the fabulous Tangobaby, who I’m gonna have take my picture. I haven’t written her back to tell her yet, because a) I am lazy and b) email often feels like work, but it’s true. I’m gonna get my portrait made.

Snacks & Shit

Some eating and drinking things:

• I have had salted caramel ice cream two times in the past two days. It comes from Bi-Rite creamery near Dolores Park, and it’s been heralded as the best ice cream in all of San Francisco. The first time I tried it, Friday, I ate a scoop on a child sized cone in the afternoon, on a bench, all by myself. The moment my tongue took on the full weight of the flavors I momentarily moaned. It is, without a doubt, the best ice cream I’ve ever put in my mouth.
• Yesterday Ian and I went to a basement brewery in Noe Valley. The house belongs to a guy who had his basement renovated by the show “While You Were Away.” They turned it into a pub, complete with tap. He does not have his license yet to start selling his beers, like Daddy’s Chocolate Milk, a delicious stout, but visitors can come to an open house every few weeks and sample the goods. Selling beer is completely illegal, but tipping for tastings is not. It was a tiny little basement, with about 7 or 8 guests. When we arrived the brewmaster was telling his two year old to get her diaper changed. Not your typical bar experience. And walking into the basement of a stranger and asking to taste his beer is not something I would have ever imagined myself doing. But, I’m glad I did. It was a unique experience, and it turns out the brewmaster doubles as a pro blogger for eBay during the day. What are the odds?
• Friday night that same Ian and I went to Minimum Champagne and Wine Bar, a tiny spot off of Mission in the Mission that seats just 12 people. We got a window seat and tuned everyone else out. Afterward, we found a school stoop on a side street and talked and laughed some more.
• I am having this right now, and it’s as bad as he says it is.
• Following Minimum we tried getting into Velvet Cantina but there was a 45 minute wait, and we were way too starving for that, especially me, since I’d skipped lunch. So, we took it on over to Phat Philly, where I went down on a classic with Cheez Whiz with wild abandon. And onion rings. And a diet Coke, of course, girl’s got to watch her waistline. Can I just ask you, Tennessee, why I’d never had a cheesesteak before? Were y’all holding out on me? Is there a place to get this wonderful post-dranks delicacy known as sliced beef with melty cheese on a roll with onions and peppers in Nashville that I don’t know about? Because, hot damn, that’s a hell of a sandwich. Not something you’d want to eat on the daily, or even the weekly, mind you, but whoa. I love that I get to be 31 years into this life, and can still be blown away by new and exciting foods.
• I think I need to try pork belly. It’s everywhere.
• I found the closest thing to a great Southern biscuit in the heart of San Francisco’s Mission District. I thought it could not be done.

the dumb one is all “lets keep fighting. we’re foxes.” and the smart one is all “dude. i’ve discovered some shit. i’m bringing fire to the people.” and the dumb one is all “but this is instinctual for me. i can’t learn.”

This has delighted me in ways I cannot describe. May it bring you the same amount of squee.

[via Matthew Baldwin]

When you are authentic, not hiding behind snark or anonymity, but genuinely letting parts of yourself loose to the world you open yourself up to attacks. It stings, no doubt.

But what you get back in return - advice, good humor, budding friendships, endless support, all where you never expected it - trumps the nastiness ten to one.

Don’t share if you don’t want, but don’t do it out of fear. Shine, and see what happens.

This morning I walked out the door, late, and down the sloping hill to look for a bus. Instead I found my boyfriend. Running in to him at a bus stop unexpectedly is like going to work and finding your desk covered with cupcakes. With pink sprinkles.

After a ride six blocks, I left him on the bus, and boarded a BART train. I watched a woman French braid her own hair, something I have never even been able to do to anyone else, much less myself. A young boy with a European accent I couldn’t place explained to another young boy what Berkeley was like: “Young students, people in flowing clothes, revolutionaries and poets, bums.”

After exiting the train car I swooped around a mother and her three children who were all holding hands, walking four abreast. I was too irritated by their blocking of pedestrian traffic and toddler-pace that I failed to find it cute. Even though it was.

At Pine and Front a cop car screamed up, slid to a stop, and an officer climbed out. A man in the middle of the intersection pointed to the northeast corner, where I finally saw what the police were there for. A woman, screaming, her legs maybe broken, or, just, somehow not near her, in a lump in the street. Officers attempted to pull her out of the road. Her face was twisted, and she howled. My walk light turned white, and I had to go. Attempts to look back on the scene were obscured by hurried pedestrians and darting cars.

A man told me he liked my coat.

I arrived a good half hour behind schedule.

UPDATE: This comment from the very boyfriend I ran into this morning deserves front page status:

I’m glad that you wrote this because after you got off the bus, I had an amazing rest of my trip.

First, I get a seat and sit with my crutches in front of me. As you know, it was a crowded bus. As the middle-aged man in the aisle did not know, my crutches are not a reliable thing to hold on to. The bus pulled away and he nearly fell over as my crutches and I were unprepared to bear his weight.

Then, the larger gentlemen next to me starts complaining about something I don’t understand, and appears to be talking to me. Finally I get it: something smells like garlic and he is displeased. “I don’t mind it, garlic,” he says, “but not first thing in the morning!”

A few stops later a cane-wielding middle aged black guy and an elderly Hispanic woman are both aiming for the one remaining seat in the front of the bus. He asks if she’s going to sit there, and she replies (in Spanish) “I am going to sit there, but I am in pain and moving slowly.” He sits down and says to her, “This is America, lady. I don’t speak Spanish. Here in America, we speak English! Am I right?”

A few moments later my garlic-obsessed friend leans over and says “Spanish is our second language, isn’t it?” I nod in non-official agreement.

Same friend has a buddy named Charles a few seats over. At 7th and Mission, they stand up and exclaim “Heading off! Out of the way please!” as they move towards the front of the bus. When people aren’t moving out of their way (both Charles and my friend are large gentlemen), my pal starts shouting “Let us offboard and then you all can board. Are you too stupid to understand that?”

One of the boarders in question, clearly with a better grasp of Muni etiquette, states loudly “Are you too stupid to get off in the back?” To which guy replies “We’re elderly! We get off in the front!” and she replies “Y’all ain’t elderly, y’all is just high.” Good times. I was laughing. Neither Charles nor my garlic-in-the-morning-loathing compatriot appeared to be much older than 50 or so.

I love the 14, particularly the 14L.

7×7, the website about San Francisco, published a list of 100 foods you must eat in San Francisco before you shuffle off. It’s an impressive round-up, and in just over one year I’ve had eight:

Tea-leaf salad at Burma Superstar

I had this with Ariel, who was in town briefly for work. She recommended this place, which usually has a crazy long wait thanks to its being on the Food Network and shit. But we didn’t have to wait too long. At her request we had the fermented tea lead salad, a delicious concoction made right at your table. What they don’t mention on the menu is that, HEY! You will be up alllll night if you are the least bit sensitive to caffeine. I think I flew home.

Beer sausage with sauerkraut and grilled onions at Rosamunde Sausage Grill

Right next to Toronado, a divey beer bar with an awesome selection and surly bartenders. Strike that, make it bartender. They are always understaffed. I had a beer sausage one day with a hefeweizen after a sunshine-y day in Golden Gate Park. Yum.

Prime rib at House of Prime Rib

I don’t like prime rib all that much, but the best I’ve ever had. The beet/iceberg salad they serve before hand is almost as good.

Cheeseburger at Taylor’s Automatic Refresher

I love working so close to the Ferry Building.

Buckwheat crepe and a French cider at Ti Couz (minus the cider)

See my review on Yelp.

A cheese slice at Arinell Pizza

Simple, thin crust, so good.

A margarita at Tommy’s Mexican Restaurant

Came here for my roomie’s birthday party. The food at this place is not so hot, but the margarita will make you fall in love.

Irish coffee at the Buena Vista Cafe

Actually had this on vacation back before I moved to San Francisco. I don’t like Irish coffee all that much.

Tonight, I have the chicken pot pie at Liberty Café. I have a date with my roommate; this place is in our neighborhood. It was complete coincidence that we planned to pot pie the day this list was published. I can’t wait.

COMPLETELY UNRELATED: Have you stopped by my work blog lately? No? Oh, you definitely should.

I love you, internet.