Residents of San Francisco often refer to the city as a “bubble.” You know, a big civil-rights-loving-wastoid-environmentalist-organic bubble. It’s easy to get acclimated to this place and forget that not every city embraces trannies and public nudity, if not copulation. The other day while deciding what to get for lunch, I realized in a three block radius I had the option of Chinese, Thai, Italian, Japanese, Mexican and Indian food. With so much culture at our finger tips, I thought it would be a good idea to pinpoint a few warning signs that it may be time to take a vacation to remind yourself that this fantastically insane city isn’t so ordinary.
1. You’ve forgotten it’s illegal to drink in a park or on a beach.
There are more open beers on a sunny day in Dolores Park than there are notches in Dakota Fanning’s bedpost. Anywhere else, people that get drunk in public in the middle of the day are referred to as raging alcoholics, but we call them our very dearest friends.
2. You don’t flinch while writing a four figure rent check.
The average two bedroom apartment in San Francisco goes for $2,987 a month. According to Forbes, this is the 4th most expensive city in America. It seems like a lot to pay to step in human feces on the way to work or get ejaculated on while riding the bus. But hey, at least it means you’re cute.
3. You never seem to have the right outfit for the weather.
The cold winter was finally coming to an end earlier this year, and I went shopping to find new swim trunks to prepare for days at the beach. When I walked into the store, the only shorts I could find were on clearance and size XXL. That’s when I realized it wasn’t the end of the cold foggy months for corporations, it was September.
4. You can’t figure out anyone’s sexual orientation (or sometimes gender).
Nobody here really seems to be 100% in either direction. Granted, most people have a preference, but just because you prefer ice cream doesn’t mean you don’t get a little drunk sometimes and like frozen yogurt.
5. You measure your life by when you hear the Tuesday noon horn.
Nothing reminds me of my mortality like the Tuesday noon horn. I think having a weekly city wide test to make sure everyone can hear instructions when this place finally crumbles to the ground and everything blows up before we drown is pretty exciting. Whenever I hear those sirens, I know two things in life are true. The importance of living in the present, and no matter what, Ashley will always be the fat Olsen twin.
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