San-fran-tastic…
** Saw a hottie mc hot hot at a Stanford tailgate and immediately imagined us having adorable mixed babies and fighting over if our kids would go to Stanford or Duke (sigh, gotta love elitist fantasies)
** CW’s (female) boss told me I looked pretty (yes, that’s all it takes for me to feel accomplished for a weekend)
** San Francisco food = eating my body weight in carbs
San-fran-fail…
** San Francisco food = eating my body weight in carbs
** CW losing her fave sunglasses .5 hours into the trip and almost breaking her finger on the plane (reserving lesbian joke possibilities for the sake of, well, anyone reading this)
** Burning myself on my curling iron, well moreso branding myself as my right arm now says CON (of Con-air, the brand, not Nick Cage). This happened shortly after I, literally, punched myself in the face while trying to pull up the sheets in a much needed nap.
** I got my favorite ring confiscated at the airport. That’s right. Confiscated. The bia at security told me I was rocking brass knuckles and despite my efforts to explain that I bought this (one of a kind) ring at the checkout line at Urban for $12, she still considered me armed and dangerous.
That ring was such a good conversation starter. Especially after my sprained wrist healed and no longer had an excuse to rock a wrist brace.
I would say I can just rest on my charm, but clearly, I will need to find another prop before tomorrow’s date…
