As it turns out, my procrastinating ass missed the Alcatraz tour that I had paid for and reserved for 6:10PM sharp. I overestimated the promptness of MUNI and ended up missing the target by…a lot. I instead made a quick stop over to the Virgin Megastore, as I had never been, then promptly headed down Market St. to purchase tickets for Bob Saget’s performance at the Warfield.

Since it was about time for doors to open and I had my unallowed camera with me, I headed back to the Sir Francis Drake to clean out my pockets. On my way back down Powell, I stopped and picked up two slices of chicken barbeque at a pizza/Asian food joint. I then continued down Powell to Market and headed to the Warfield. After having my ticket checked, I placed myself at a somewhat empty table on the main floor. Not long after that, the previous occupants of the table, who had been up purchasing drinks when I arrived, returned to the table. I made acquaintances with them and their friends who showed up not long after. We had a good chat about our hometowns, comedy, and whatnot.

The show was rather entertaining. It was great to see Bob Saget in an entirely different light from that which one is normally accustomed to. He was pretty funny, though I wouldn’t say “hilarious,” per se. He relied mostly on vulgar language and humor rather than material that was actually funny ha ha. It was extremely entertaining nonetheless, and I’m sure I would have enjoyed it far more had I consumed more alcohol.

After the show, I headed back to my hotel to find a decent bar to hang out at. When all else failed, I decided to hit up the Crazy Horse Gentlemen’s Club, which was next door to the Warfield. I had never been to a strip club before, and it was 11:30PM and I had nothing else to do. Hey, why not? It was quite entertaining, no doubt. I walked in to a room full of scantly-clad women, old, lonely men, and a solid concentration of d-bags, and picked a seat somewhat far from the stage. As the night progressed, and more strippers tried to work me into a lap dance, I moved closer to the stage.

As the night progressed, one very determined stripper approached me for a lapdance. She cast some sort of spell where I was completely unable to say, “No thanks,” so I happily obliged. Hey, you only live once. So we hit up the ATM, went to the back area, and partied for a bit. It was quite an expensive, enjoyable experience. There was still a depressing, desperate air about it, but fuck it, I’m doing what I want to do. I’m living.

Around 2:30AM, I decided I was pretty damn beat. I headed up Powell, stopped at the Walgreen across the street from the Drake, purchased some snacks, headed to my bed, and assed the fuck out. That concluded Day Numero Uno.