I write to you, dear reader, from Fremont Street in Las Vegas, Nevada. Here at my hotel – the Golden Gate Hotel and Casino – I wait out the extreme midday heat, letting my somewhat brackish lunch digest. The room is decent; the bathroom is functional. Smoking is allowed so
Women’s travel: Ok, we hate to be the ones to tell you, but going out-of-town for a bachelorette break can never be cheap cheap. There’s transport and accommodation to book. There are L-plates/wacky wedding veils to be bought (and, regretfully, worn). There are shots to be drunk. Many shots.
When I was in Las Vegas last weekend, the thing I could not stop obsessing over, apart from the buffets and 99-cent margaritas, was alllll the breast implants. It was like a breast implant convention. And I guess most of America is used to this, but I was somewhat alarmed.
Over the past few years I’ve watched as San Francisco has been pulled out from under us and sold to the highest bidder. And I’m fed up and heartbroken. San Francisco is for everyone, not just the wealthy elite, and this is why I’ve decided to run for mayor....
Some people can go ahead and buy new pants when they need them. In my sad budget, I have to actually put money aside for a purchase of this magnitude, in minuscule, bi-weekly increments. Weeks later, when I have almost amassed enough, I invariably fuck it all up by deciding,