|Eat, drink, and be merry. Wait, where’s the sherry?|
This weekend was a typical weekend for me, which pretty much means I was channeling Dionysus and getting those who I consider my friends drunk all over the Bay Area. I did such a good job that everyone in my sphere of influence was indeed hungover the next day (and this is also why I’m only barely getting around to writing about it on Monday). Granted, it was for legitimate reasons: birthdays and post-LSAT. Everyone knows that you should spend your birthday in some sort of happy daze, and after taking the LSAT you really ought to have some assistance in wiping your memories of that test. I definitely wish I’d had a friend like me to ensure I unwound somehow after I took the LSAT, and I’m glad I made it a personal goal to make sure I wouldn’t let anyone I knew suffer through it sober* like I did. Which is why I’m such a good friend, if I like you I’ll see it as only natural for me to want to make sure you have the best time of your life, and that means I’ll tend to your needs as if they were my own. It’s common sense, to have good friends you have to be a good friend.
Highlights of the weekend definitely include getting some guy’s number in the Castro (only I can go into the Castro and get gay men to give me their numbers…if only I’d have the same luck with boys who could actually like me back), and eating interestingly shaped pastries. Reviews for Three Seasons, Hot Cookie, La Tortilla, and Sweet Breams.
P.S.: I am grateful for whatever it is in my own magical DNA mash-up that makes it so I am immune to these things called hang-overs. Concussions, though, not so much (that’s a story from a time when I was younger and thus more foolhardy).
*For the record, anyone who knows me quickly discovers two facts about me: I work hard and I play hard. Also probably that I’m somewhat of a control freak. With that said, I have very strong opinions about drinking and driving and always encourage people to imbibe responsibly, and am probably the one person you would want to let yourself get terribly wasted with because I’d make sure you’d live to see another day. Granted, you’d probably be hating me and/or the 20 tequila shots the next morning if you’re prone to hangovers, but you’d be alive nonetheless. With the added benefit of knowing you spent (survived?) a whole night partying it up with me!