For example, on Saturday morning, my first in the city: At the end of the hair-wash shower, when I bent down to turn off the water, the hot water valve loosed itself from its moors and just kept turning. Hot water came pouring full force into the tub. I jumped out of the steaming inferno, reached around to shut off the main water valve, and found it absolutely immobile. I rushed madly about the house, looking in vain for a phillips screwdriver to retighten the valve. I was dripping wet, my hair flailing like a mop, the sound of rushing water filling the bathtub providing the soundtrack. I had no luck in the screwdriver search. (I vaguely remembered a red toolbox, and I was correct, but the toolbox was behind an open door and not visible to a casual scan or even a desperate search). I found a cheese spreader, but that didn't help. I tried a butter knife and, miraculously, I was able to use this to tighten the loose screw enough to be able to shut off the water (at half-a-turn off kilter). There was, oh, four or five inches of water in the tub at that point.
There were some hairy moments there. Calling Doug's cell phone would likely have been futile, as he was definitely still asleep. It was, in fact, too early to randomly knock on the doors of unknown neighbors, although that may have been my only alternative. Did I mention that I was naked? Dripping wet? My hair hanging around me like seaweed on a mermaid?
I went off later a bought a new phillips screwdriver (before I had a chance to speak with Doug and find out where the tools were), but since I still can't get the main water valve to shut I'm not going to risk any amateur plumbing. Doug, fortunately, has a second bathroom.
Other than that I've been hanging around the city, seeing a smattering of friends, and eating some fine meals. Saturday I did make it to the Exploratorium to see the San Francisco in Jello exhibit, and while the Exploratorium (and the whole day with my old friend and her family) was a delight the exhibit turned out to be a mere piece of the whole installation and quite tiny at that -- it was cute, but disappointing. Each night seems to end with my hanging out with Ned at one neighborhood-feel gay bar in the Castro or another where I have random conversations with handsome strangers. Last night, at the Pilsner on Church Street, we talked at great length to the handsome and charming Brazilian bartender (who had almost no other customers at that point). New SF conclusion? I really would be able to find a regular publike place here.
Tomorrow Mom and Dad arrive and then things get busy indeed.