Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz

I went to San Francisco last night to have drinks with a colleague, followed by dinner with a DC friend who's in town for a few days. It was excellent. San Francisco, yay! A real city! With traffic! And expensive parking garages! And restaurants where you need a reservation on a Wednesday night! And requirements that you walk everywhere!

So today? I am exhausted. And have very sore feet, from the whole walking-around-the-neighborhood-in-search-of-a-restaurant-where-we-
don't-need-reservations-in-three-inch-stiletto-heel-boots. And, yes, I knew there would be much walking, but I had to wear them – the boots rock! This knowledge in no way precludes me from complaining about the sore feet today, though. Beauty over pain, c'mon people! (Followed by whining, which is definitely not beautiful. Just be sure to do it in private for the entire Internet to read.)

The highlight of this little adventure had to have been the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge, as it is officially known. The locals refer to it as the &*(#$%#& Bridge. It is annoying enough in regular traffic, but there was some sort of car fire thing that wreaked havoc on all the rest of us. But, I couldn't be too upset, because at the toll booth just before getting on the bridge, I had the following experience:

Me: *Hand my $3.00 to the attendant.*
Toll Booth Attendant: You are beautiful.
Me: *Laugh; thinking, Why, yes, yes I am.*
Toll Booth Attendant: I love you.
Me: Thank you! *Thinking, May I proceed now? And, can I bottle this stuff?*

Just so you get a complete picture, Toll Booth Attendant was 40-ish and African. I know this because he had an accent from Zimbabwe or Jamaica or something. Queens maybe? At any rate, this is why you need to look stunning every time you leave the house: you just never know when someone is going to notice your kick-ass black stiletto-heeled boots and radiant beauty.

Also, a shout out to 92.7, which, on my drive back to Sacramento, played a "Cheesy '80s Dance Mix Sung by Women with Fluffy Hair" for a good twenty minutes. Paula Abdul, Debbie Gibson, even a dance mix version of "Memory" from the musical Cats. No, no this didn't make me feel old. Or lame for still knowing most of the words to these very tragic songs. Nope, not one bit.

And now, I'm off to hook myself up to some kind of caffeine IV, if it's not too complicated. Because my tired little brain can't handle much exertion today. Nor can my feet.