Thank the Playa

And I found myself walking down Folsom St in a black kilt and leather vest at three o'clock this morning, recognizing that almost everyone else still out was wearing more or less normal clothing. But we had closed down two dance bars already, and amongst the hundreds of people partying that night, about ten percent were, like me, dressed a little weird. Not that I gave a shit, I only noticed. Noticed because being out in San Francisco's invigorating night air, looking for the car, sobered me up.

It started at 10pm at a theme camp fundraiser (Hookahdome) at F8 (corner of Folsom and 8th). We got in a line where some people had fur or kilts or whatnot, a woman was wearing nothing on top but duct tape, and another nothing on top at all, so we figured we were in the right place; but after a few minutes we looked ahead and found the venue wasn't F8, it was Bondage-A-Go-Go. Whoops. So passed it and went next door, but it sounded fun, looked fun, filed it away for future reference.

The "funraiser" started out great: The back room was overcrowded with people drinking and smoking hookahs while several belly dancers jerked their lissome bodies in time to Middle East-inspired dance music. A cushion on the floor two feet away from a talented set of hips is not a bad place to be. Eventually though the party was just the usual DJ set with booze and lasers and while dancing is always a good time, and getting kicked out of a mirror-lined smoking room at closing time was also a good time, the party jones was not satisfied, and the various parties were getting hungry. So we walked down to the DNA Lounge, where some pretty good pizza was being slung next to an after-hours dance floor that closed down while we were on it.

Another long walk to end up in a long line at the Endup, and it was the fact I don't smoke that made me the volunteer to go get the car while everyone else took advantage of the chance to stand in line. So I did; but when I pulled up, they said, Go park, come in! It was another fundraiser, and for Distrikt, of all things. Can't lose! It was jam packed, and of course I didn't care, only found it amusing, that almost everyone was half my age; but when the sky over the back patio was turning a brighter shade of blue we decided it was time to carry on to the freeway.

Took a detour onto Treasure Island because I hadn't yet seen Bliss Dance in her current post-playa environment, and it was sunrise besides. So as the lights went down in the City, and the sun shone on the Bay, did we want to be there, oh, o-o-oh, oh yes.

Then I drove home, an hour and a half into the rising heat wave while my goddess slept soundly. And now, having done my reporting, I'm going to go act like a guy on Vyvanse^® and Get Shit Done. But for this ability to ignore a complete lack of sleep, I don't thank the drugs. I thank the playa.