Second Star to the Right, Straight on ’til San Francisco
Hello Disasters. I’d like to introduce a friend of mine, let’s call her “S.F.iasco.” She and I reconnected at the last Natural Disaster party and, having spent much time as a Silicon Implant, she has offered to weigh in with her insights on the female dating scene in San Francisco:
I love all my San Francisco boyfriends. Some shop with me, others work with me, and a lucky few peel me off bar stools when I’m too drunk to dance atop. Recently though, I’ve decided that many of my closest bros here are infected with serious cases of what the natives call “Peter Pan Syndrome.”
Having spent three college semesters as a pre-med major (read: I watched the first two seasons of “Grey’s Anatomy” while skipping class), I like to think myself a qualified diagnostician. So I created the following symptom checklist to ensure my brognosis was accurate for each test case:*
1. Is he mischievous … and open to wearing green tights during Bay2Breakers?
2. Does he believe he can fly … metaphorically like R. Kelly and physically whenever under the influence of substances procured in Haight-Ashbury?
3. Does he refuse to grow up after the age of 30?
Check. Check. Day-um.
Don’t get me wrong, I love the lost boys of San Francisco. They’re a killer time and genuinely good guys. But like Peter Pan before them, these lost boys like to spend their off-hours flying around chasing ladiez, sword fighting with the guys, and “hanging in groups.” Commitmentphobia seems to have hit “Will Smith” levels on their “Independence Day” meters. Even “The Bachelorette” had to travel SFO>LAX in order to find a band of misfits ready to take her out for dinner at a restaurant other than Taqueria Cancun.
While SF girls love Peter Pan, sometimes you really start to miss Ruf-i-o! Despite his unfortunate hair choices and generally surly demeanor, he never made Wendy feel like Nana the dawg.
*Results not guaranteed or typical. Side effects include disillusionment, “the talk,” and situational drunkenness.
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