Sex. Coffee. Chocolate. White wine. Oysters. Good Vibrations.

Yes, you read it right. That is how my Saturday morning went. Or it may have been Friday morning. I cannot remember. It was that damn good.

There’s a boy up in SF who’s giving me the “full court press,” to appropriate a basketball term… and wow, is he ever doing it well. For starters, the “morning” didn’t even start till 10:30. The coffee was fresh-ground, from Cafe Abir. It magically appeared on my nightstand, with exactly the right amount of cream in it. The chocolate and wine occurred *while we were waiting to be seated* at the oyster bar. (Because baby gets grumpy when she has to wait.) The oysters…well, there were two dozen of them, all for me. Then off to Good Vibrations, the fabulous female-owned sex toy shop that all horny city-dwellers know and love. And finally, back home to test-drive our purchases. Meee-ow!

I was actually supposed to be interviewing a tour operator in Nicaragua about volcano surfing Cerro Negro…and I did. Much, much later. I also read up on elephant polo. (It’s much like equestrian polo, only reeeeaaallly sloooow and not as scary. The elephants sometimes wear makeup.)

I was writing a story on obscure adventure sports, in case you hadn’t figured it out. And I actually did make some progress. Not even daytime drinking or extreme endorphin overload can stop this girl from working, especially when a deadline looms. I am not sure how the boy will adjust to this, but at the moment, he’s playing it cool. 

We’d actually planned to go shopping for a slutty outfit for me to wear to the Exotic Erotic Ball, but that didn’t happen because

a) I was working

b) 7PM came of nowhere, and we went downtown to meet my sisters

c) I decided I didn’t want to go to the Exotic Erotic Ball. Too much nasty on parade, too many strangers trying to grope, sorry, not for me. Besides, I just got a big ol’ whopping serving of freaky at the Folsom Street Fair. (I will post pictures, so you can see what I mean.) In fact, I’m still dealing with the fallout.

So anyway, it was an early night–glass of wine at Place Pigalle, dinner at Delle Stella, back home and to bed.

“You know, this morning would make a hell of a blog,” he said.

“I think you’re right,” said I.

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