Call me Jo: SF Excursion Part II

So I've finally decided to post some pictures from San Francisco. I am sorry to say that I can't find any pictures that were taken during the day that occurred when we were not drinking. Wait. I take that back. We took a cab down Lombard Street (too lazy to walk, this was on Sunday) and I have quite a few clumsy shots taken from the back seat of the cab. Every other photo is of my friend and I drinking margaritas down by the pier, at the bars at night (I say that we blended in with the locals in an extraordinary way; my friend says I'm never able to do such a thing and that I stand out, probably in an obnoxious manner, TBD).

View of the city as we drove along the curves of Lombard:

A quick recap. I must make it quick since it's been a week since I've returned from SF and there's other things to write about, and other posts to move on to. That Friday night my friend and I arrived and promptly took the train the wrong way into the city. That is, we were not going into the city at all but heading towards ghetto Richmond. After we got that little mistake fixed, we soon found ourselves in our hotel; bypassed the annoying concierge--this guy who wanted to get us into a VIP party on Saturday night with 2,000 other VIPs--and we showed up at a restaurant my foodie boss recommended 30-minutes late. The restaurant was Town Hall in SoMa. We stayed for a few hours and drank a bottle of wine and ate seafood and caught up on the last 8 months of our lives. I caught a busboy on my way out and asked where we should go and ended up around the corner at 83 Proof, a bar with no name above the door and the entire place reeked of weed and the bartender looked exactly like Stanford from Sex and the City. We did rounds of shots with the bartender and others, and by the end of the night my friend was making the bartender a birthday card out of napkin (it really was his birthday, or at least I hope so) and I was taking crazy pictures with anyone willing. Bar tab at the end of night: $14.

Moving on. Saturday we shopped and walked all day long until late afternoon where we found ourselves on the touristy Pier 39 area drinking margaritas bigger than my head. We were halfway done with our second frosty treat when my friends called me and said they were coming to pick us up. I convinced the bartender to give me a to-go cup for my margarita, but management caught him before he could pass off two sippee cups and straws my way. Out the door we went to the curb where my friend found a fork in her purse. We paused for a moment; we have no idea where said fork came from, but later that night my friend gave the fork to a girl in a 5-star hotel in Union Square "as a birthday gift." (Is there a birthday theme happening here?)

But I digress. Three friends plucked us up and off we went to Pac Heights where I had a 7:00 ghost tour scheduled. I repeat: a ghost tour. We took a three hour stroll through Pacific Heights at night with a spooky-looking fellow who was our guide. He came complete with a lantern. We brought wine along the tour and afterwards we ended up at a dive bar in the Marina playing pool and wearing spooky ghost pins, courtesy of Tour Guide. The night ended with us on top of the Sir Francis Drake in Union Square looking at the stars and views of the city. After, we sang songs with a homeless man who threw a dollar at us and then found ourselves drinking shakes in an all-night diner.

Old college friends. I'm not sure who that is in the way back behind me: