5. There are a ridiculous amount of juice bars in my neighborhood.
Maybe it’s an artifact of my West Hollywood location, I don’t know. There is seriously a juice bar on every other corner. It’s like that line in “Best in Show” when Piper Posey says she met her husband at Starbucks. Not at the same Starbucks, but the one across the street. It’s ludicrous. How much juice does a city need to drink? How do they all stay in business? Where does all this juice come from? Mysteries.
4. The city is HUGE.
Duh. But it really is. No weekend visit or circuit party fly by can prepare you for its sheer immensity. It’s gigantic. From Downtown to Santa Monica, Long Beach to the Valley—(not technically, I know, all “Los Angeles”)—there exists a massive and incredibly diverse urban and semi-suburban megalopolis. Streets, neighborhoods, cities within cities: it’s vast, teeming and almost overwhelming.
3. People here love their dogs.
San Franciscans love their dogs, too. And this place takes it to a whole new level. Service dog regulations are flouted with as much impunity as anywhere in the Bay Area. Dogs are everywhere—on the sidewalk, at the table next to you, in the arms of that girl buying lipstick at the Bloomingdales. And I have to say dog lovers here spend as much on pampering and protecting their pups as any of their Bay Area counterpoints. For every juice bar and smoothie place (see above) there are almost as many doggie day spas and organic dog food spots vying for your pooch-loving dollar.
2. I’m developing a serious addiction to the Yogurt Stop.
Here’s how it goes: ask for a small sample cup, try out all of the artificially sweetened low-fat dairy “products” on offer, and then pump small mounds of your favorites into a gigantic paper bowl. Then proceed to the “toppings” bar and douse the whole thing in sugar free hot fudge sauce and candy mm’s (not the peanut) and a teaspoon’s worth of crushed heath-bar (to limit the calories). Pay at the weigh-in station, find a spot out front and enjoy.
Maybe it’s the sidewalk seating, the hot evening air, or the ridiculously sexualized logo—I’m not sure. All I know is I practically ignored these places in SF. Now, this place knows my name.