If you don't, I don't care, I'll pull down your underwear

Because turning lead into gold is easier than parking on a Friday evening in San Francisco, we're in the exceptionally dorky yet practical habit of riding our bikes everywhere. Last night we rode to an impromptu holiday dinner with all the folks in Eric's lab. I was wearing a skirt and heels because I see no reason to compromise on looking good just because I am taking self-propelled transportation, and also because I am pretty good at riding in a skirt without showing anyone my underpants.

After dinner, everyone except for one other dude went home, probably because they all live down the peninsula and it has clearly drained them of their will to live, or at least to have fun going out on weekends. So we three city dwellers went to a bar that smelled like a swimming pool to gossip about everyone who had gone home.

After comprehensively dissecting the social dynamics of the lab and excessively reminding each other how great it is to live in San Francisco, it was good and late and definitely a respectable city hour to head home. We made our way out of the bar to discover, to our shock and horror, that it was pouring rain. This doesn't happen here! And it had been raining enough that there was plenty of water collected in the streets, so much the better to spray your butt and all up your back.

The ride home was wet, cold, miserable and yet kind of exhilirating. And though it is icky and horrible to feel like a drowned rat, there is nothing better than then climbing into bed and feeling like a warm, cozy rat.