But the weather in SF sucks.  It just does.  That’s how amazing the city is.  The weather sucks and it’s still in the top three.  Pretty impressive feat, no?

Since the wedding was east of SF we headed into the city afterwards to spend two days walking uphill.  Staying in Union Square is fun and right in the center of everything awesome.  We walked to Chinatown and ate Dim Sum.  We hoofed to the piers.  Bought hash in the Haight, and danced like mofos in the Castro.  (The last two are absolutely untrue, but were added for color)

Speaking of color, I have none.  Well, I have a little when I hang out in the sun for a few weeks.  But get a few too many minutes out there and I turn red.  Which sucks because it looks like I’m always embarrassed.  But I rarely get embarrassed.  Except about my face being red, ironically.

We went to Alcatraz because I had never been.  Jessica lived in San Fran years ago, but she was a sport and took me.  I don’t know why I never made it there in the past, but it was time.

Alcatraz is one of those city to-dos that when you’re done you go, “Hmm… okay.”  You’re not thrilled you did it, nor disappointed.  It’s a 5/10.  You should do it, but don’t get pumped up in advance.  It’s a prison, you see cells.  That’s about it.

Altogether you’ll spend at least two hours there, and even in the high 40s, there was sunlight.  And since I don’t equate sun exposure with low temperature, it didn’t occur to me I could get burned.  Yet, I got burned.

The good news is my hair turned more blonde, which satisfies my ego because at 35 I am still desparately clinging to the fact that blonde equals greatness.  Which, of course, it doesn’t.  But in my world it’s what makes me special!  Let me have it, people.  I don’t ask for much.

So, here I am after about three hours in the 50 degree sun.  Ladies, prepare to have your panties melted right off.

I am writing for a new magazine and they are nice enough to put me on their fancy “contributing editors” page.  So, in typical D.J. fashion, I scheduled the shoot for the day I got back from a wedding.  In fact it was on my way home from the airport, where I still reeked of plane farts.

That stale plane smell is really awful.  I know people have all sorts of allergies and things, but why not some form of fragrence?  Like that  eucalyptus shit they douse spas in?  That stuff is amazing.  If I was going to wear cologne (which no man ever should, by the way – or at least no man ever should to work) I’m just going to rub a eucalyptus leave on my crotch.  Wrists, too.

Back to the bad planning.  I ate my ass off this weekend – was at an Hindu wedding, and despite their thin physiques, Indians eat stuff loaded with butter and oil.  It’s delicious, spicy, and ruins your clothing.  But also not low-cal.

Then I went to San Francisco and did more eating for two days.  Then I boarded the plane today and came back.  I’m totally going to squeeze my face fat out using Photoshop.  Hey, chicks do in on Vogue covers all the time.

That’s all for tonight.

The rest of the wedding party received these oak casks where you can make your own aged whiskey.  Pretty cool for them.  I don’t drink.

My bag was totally different.  Dave had reached out to a  merchandising  company that makes clothing with your brand on them.  Here’s what I opened up…

I started to tear up – truly one of the best gifts ever provided to me.  And now I will be able to provide it should you want to wear my brand and my essence.

You don’t want to know how I actually plan on getting my essence on all these clothes.  But I do have a plan.

Since I have my own clothing line now, I can consider the Kardashians contemporaries.  Girls, let’s get a drink.  Uh, hey, big Kardashian?  You can hang back.

And while I don’t believe we can heal others with our positive thoughts, or in crystals or guardian angels, I do believe in meeting someone at the right time that can border on magic.

If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you know that I  invited a reader to fly up and spend Thanksgiving with me and my family.

Then, over New Years, I visited her in Atlanta, and even had a small ThoughtsFromParis reader party!

Since then Jessica and I have made future plans to spend time in February in Chicago.  Then, in the spring we’re heading to a wedding out in San Francisco.  So, this is moving along nicely.  We speak every day, and we really focus on talking about honesty, insecurity, and needs.

And dating me is not a bed of roses.  I’m awesome at being self-absorbed, distant, critical, and non-compassionate.  I also seem to make women cry.  I’m in therapy though.  Working on it.

But despite whether I’m a dickhead in the relationship or not, she and I have to stay together.  Why?

We both have weird fixations on shed cat whiskers.

I wrote a tweet last July about how I ate a cat whisker.  I found it on the kitchen counter, and I had never seen one around before, so I thought it would be funny to eat it.  It was funny.  At least to me.

As I was telling Jessica this story recently, she went dead silent on the phone.  Here’s what happened next.

I, too, have a weird thing with cat whiskers.

Explain!

I used to collect them and put them in a bag.

(alarmed)  Uh, why?

I thought you were supposed to keep them.

(more alarmed)  For what?

I don’t know.  I never really thought about it.

What did you do with them?

I brought them into the vet during a regular checkup, and pulled out the bag.  The vet said, “Why did you bring those in here?”  I said, “I thought I was supposed to keep them.”  He looked at me funny and told me to throw them away.

You’re obviously making this up to goof on me for eating one.

I wish I was.

Scene

How could we not end up together.  Kismet!