Saturday, March 15, 2014

The Bullshit of San Francisco

Let me tell you the myth that is presumed about San Francisco. You know, the one about how all the single ladies in the world should flock to San Francisco because the men are o'plenty. I'll tell you right now. It's complete bullshit.

T: Are you single?
Me: Yea.
T: You're going to love San Francisco. There are so many dudes.

A: Are you single?
Me: Yea.
A: You're going to hate San Francisco. There are so many dudes.

Two months in and I'm now able to say with certainty, all that they say about this city, no matter what you hear, is a lie.

I've never believed in the statistics game. So when people told me the boy:girl ratio would work in my favor, I wasn't interested. After all, there might be more fish in the sea, but who cares if they're all guppies? I'm looking for a whale shark.

But what people fail to realize is that once you whittle down to the real players in the game, it's actually a pretty level playing field.

I'll break it down for you.

STEP 1 - Determining the female players 
Pretty straight forward. If you're dumb, ugly, or unemployed (in order of importance), you are automatically disqualified. You can be the only girl in San Francisco. You will still remain single. All qualifying females, welcome to the Hunger Games.

STEP 2 - Determining the male players
A bit of a filter. There are three types of guys in San Francisco.

Type: Tech Nerd
You will actually never encounter this type. The last interaction he had with a female was when his mom cut off the umbilical cord. And this probably happened much too late after birth.

Type: Stage 5 Clinger
He spotted you as soon as you made your debut in the city. He immediately tried to monopolize all your time and cockblock every potential male headed in your direction. He might be an okay guy, but the fact that he won't leave you the fuck alone makes you want to throw dead kittens at him. Run, don't walk, to your nearest exit.

Type: The Douchebag
He's refreshingly clever, sarcastically charming, and probably one of those assholes who contributed to the increased rent prices in this overly inflated city. You want to hate him, but you can't because he's already given you multiple examples of how he just may be the male version of you. And God forbid you ever end up hating yourself.

Not surprisingly, the Douchebag is the only real candidate. But as I mentioned before, after all is said and done, you might be facing an equal ratio. Or, dare I say, be at a disadvantage. And given how good these guys are at doing back-of-the-envelope math, I think they've already figured this out.

Which brings me to my point. These whale sharks aren't hungry. and they're not going to bite unless the bait is good. I've spent a lot of time with these resident douchebags and it's helped me realized the truth to my theory.

Me: Nowadays, guys think they're being really forward when they send a girl a FB message.
J: I used to do that. But then I realized it's not that hard for me to get girls.

Tuesday, March 4, 2014

The alcohol dilemma

I was going to write a post about my move to San Francisco, but the only parts of it that were worth mentioning led to what this post is really about. Just know that I'm alive and appreciate the efforts of a certain few to make me less suicidal.

Anyway, as I was riding the bus to work today (I know, they make you ride buses in San Francisco; they assure you it's a privilege versus evidence that you should've tried harder in school.), I thought back to a story I heard over the weekend.

A few weeks ago, I went to a party and met a bunch of new people. That's literally all I could say about the night because I vaguely recall anything specific minus some bombass Korean food at 2am.

The story I heard was that I had carried these lengthy conversations, had been slightly confrontational, and at times, a bit shamelessly forward. (I'm leaving it vague intentionally.) I was shocked. I don't remember any of that. And sadly, I couldn't deny that it could've happened.

Then I thought back to another night where again, nothing. Can't remember a thing. I remember eating a bunch of red velvet cake pops and that's about it. I couldn't tell you who I met and what I said. Nope.

Why? When did this start happening? I'm pretty sure this is new.

Then it clicked.


The thing is, my whiskey drinking is recent. I believe that just like the brands you transition into over time, alcohol is the same way. You know, Kate Spade in high school, LV in college, Gucci post-college, Chanel post-business school, Hermes post-business school job. Right? Yes.

So to remind myself of what happens to me when I drink, here is a cheat sheet. It may be different for each person, so give it a thought yourself.

Tequila (21-23)
Newfound courage to dance like a Korean popstar and party till 5am. Taking shots of this is your rite of passage into alcoholism. It's a gateway drink. Clean buzz, no hangover, but once you fight with this bitch, you guys will never be friends again.

Rum and other weird shit (24)
A warp into a land where you're always on vacation, and everyone is your friend so you come home with a bunch of pictures with random people. Super sweet, high calorie sugar bombs. It's okay though because you're young and have the metabolism of a 6-year-old and have this firm belief that you'll always be skinny.

Vodka (25-29)
Three things can happen: (1) aggro-angry, will fight you and your dumbass boyfriend, crazy, (2) super emotional, life is so hard, ugly cry, or (3) really chill, in tact memory, and a good time. It's a risky gamble, but you always start the night hoping for the best. Easy to drink, low calorie. After awhile, your high tolerance and the fact that it tastes like nothing makes the whole experience boring.

Whiskey (30+)
Non-stop verbal diarrhea with this uncanny ability to shamelessly say things that may be true, but you have no idea because you can't remember what you said. Black out, or brown out if you had someone drink half your drinks for you. As you drink more of it, you learn that the good stuff actually taste much different than the mediocre stuff - which encourages you to keep drinking, and thus this has less chance of getting boring.

Dilemma, my friends. I'm starting to only want to drink whiskey. So what do I do? Hope that blacked out Connie will be responsible enough to not thoroughly embarrass herself so that sober Connie doesn't have to sit and wonder if she should shutdown her Facebook?

To be determined.