San Francisco's Alchy-traz

[original post: Oct.01.2006]

Good evening ladies and gentlemen.

Looking back at my previous entries, I noticed that they all seem to have this semi-polished tone, usually commenting on some cultural phenomenon, blah, blah.

Despite that, I've decided that I'd like to break with tradition and gush a 'lil bit. I said 'lil!

So - here it goes. *Ahem*

This last weekend, I drove out to good 'ol Sanny Franny (as Anthony calls it) to hang out with Anthony (my best friend from SoCal), as he came up for his 22nd birthday. For those of you who don't know Anthony... how can I characterize him?.. Well, I can't. Just think of the opposite of me in pretty much every way (minus the gay part), and add a flamboyant, caffeine-infused personality that likes to bitch slap people. That's Anthony.

We essentially spent the entire weekend in the Castro, which would be a bit much with any other group besides this one. Needless to say, I was good and drunk over the weekend. And I don't mean that I ended up trashed Saturday night, chased a cable car, and befriended a tranny. That didn't happen. I was continuously drunk the entire two days between:

-Japanese sake (which I never previously tried and now I'm convinced that it's fabulous)
-wine
-mimosas
-more mimosas
-beer
-more beer

The mimosas surfaced at brunch on Sunday at this very retro bar/café/club called Lime that seemed like it would fit perfectly in an episode of The Jetsons, or maybe Austin Powers?

And there were British people in our group! I adore the Britons. They were just way cute and way British and brunch felt a lot like Sex in the City. A LOT.

So Lime has the best policy in the western hemisphere, and that being that they serve bottomless mimosas at $5 a head. And it's decadently ridiculous how quick they are to refill your glass. I had somewhere between 8 and 10 mimosas. God only knows how many Anthony had. So I was drunk. And there's nothing better than being drunk at 11:30 a.m. in Castro wandering around trying to not be a big 'ol walking gay cliché, even though it's pretty damn obvious.

The Castro Street Fair was in full swing on Sunday, and let me just say this. Castro is amusing enough sober. Trannies, daddies, and bears, oh my!

And all the while, the Brits were going anywhere and doing anything (this is when the beer started to flow). At this point, I am not really able to move, in straight lines. Or see, in straight lines. Somehow I find my way to the YMCA table with Anton, and somehow I manage to score two baskets with one of their nerf balls to win a YMCA waterbottle and a week's YMCA membership. How the fuck did that happen. I'm not quite sure how I was able to make baskets as I couldn't walk in a straight line. Eh..

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The moral of this story?... if you're going to be drunk before noon, you might as well be in Sanny Franny.

-Fin-