My San Fransisco treat

Some women get Rice A Roni. I've got the following story:

It was July 2005, and it was unbelievably hot - one of the hottest summers I've ever suffered through. The temperature soared into the high 90s at least four days out of the week, and the air was uncharacteristically humid for Los Angeles. At the last minute, I had decided to make the most of my July 4th holiday weekend by flying to San Francisco to visit my singles scene Supertwin, the fabulous Tabitha. I landed in Oakland airport early on Friday afternoon. Tab picked me up and we headed back to her place; she lives in a small town about a half hour's drive from the city. Our first day hanging out was pretty standard issue. We had lunch, shopped a bit, went to the movies, had dinner, and walked the Iron Horse Trail afterwards to burn a few calories.

On Saturday morning, we headed in to San Fransisco. What a city! It's as windy as all get-out, but gorgeous. I wasn't prepared for the sheer size of it; I had always pictured it as a west coast version of Boston, but in reality it's much, much larger. A bit of trivia: it's actually the fourth largest city in the state of California. Apart from its steep hills, the city features an eclectic mix of architectural styles. Victorian houses share the same space as skyscrapers, and the city is flanked by the natural beauty of San Francisco Bay and the Pacific Ocean.

We parked in a garage near Broadway and Hyde, and began the long walk up to Stockton Street, to have brunch at Moose's. Tab and I both miss the walking city atmosphere of Boston, so whenever we get together, we push each other to walk everywhere. We figured we'd work up an appetite before starting the day. Moose's is one of the best-known restaurants in the city, most recently for making an appearance in the flick Just Like Heaven. The movie makes the restaurant look like a young, happening spot, but when Tabitha and I sat down for brunch, we were vastly outnumbered by octogenarians. It didn't matter; our waiter was funny, and the food was amazing. I had french toast stuffed with peanut butter and bananas, with strawberry compote. Delicious!

Next on our agenda was the Coit Tower, a 210-foot landmark dedicated to the city's firefighters. My thighs were screaming as we huffed and puffed our way up Telegraph Hill, passing cars that were literally parked at 45 degree angles. I started to understand why real estate is so hard to find in San Francisco; it must be so hard to move into these buildings, people just don't ever move out!

The tower itself is amazing. We had a half hour wait for the elevator, but it was worth it for the breathtaking views of the Golden Gate Bridge, Alcatraz, Pier 39 and Treasure Island. Dear readers, if you have not seen these things, you need to see them at some point. Absolutely worth the trip!

Afterwards, we decided to get back down Telegraph Hill by taking the Filbert Steps, a picturesque, three-block long set of stairs with well tended gardens and art deco buildings scattered along the way. A few flights down, we stopped between two houses while I took photos of some trees and flowers. Suddenly, Tabitha freaked and started to bolt down the stairs. "Oh, no no no no. Oh my god. Not okay. NOT OKAY!"

"Hey!" I took off after her and stopped her one flight down. "What the hell is going on?"

"There is a guy..." she shook her head. "A guy. There is a...not okay. Oh, god, EW. Ew, ew, ew. He's in the window right up there. Didn't you see him??"

"What guy? What window?" Tabitha pointed, but refused to move. I headed (unadvisedly, I admit) back up the stairs towards a small blue house that stood right next to where I had been taking pictures. The house's front door opened right onto the stairs; the living room's curtains were open, and anybody could easily see inside.

There was a thirtyish guy standing right in front of the floor-to-ceiling picture window. Completely naked. Well, that's odd. What the hell is he doing standing there nake.....? Oh, no.

Oh, yes. He was jerking off. Spanking the monkey. Choking the chicken. Flogging the dolphin. Punishing the Pope...and looking directly at me.

A lot of women have a story like this tucked in their mental Rolodexes. The Picture Window Wanker was not, in fact, the first time that I had been exposed (ahem) to public masturbation. When I first moved to LA, I was taking a walk through Hancock Park around 9am and saw some landscaper abusing himself on his client's front lawn. He made a point of making eye contact with me, too. Readers, what is up with that? Please fill me in. There's nothing wrong with being penis proud, but, gentlemen of the world, would you kindly keep it in your pants? If a woman wants to see it, she will let you know. I really wanted to ask both of these guys, what are you getting out of this, exactly? Is it the thrill of being caught? Is this impulse a result of Catholic repression? Were you dropped on your head as a baby? What?? Of course, a sensible woman does not attempt to start a conversation with a man who's got his dick in his hand, so all of my questions are, sadly, still unanswered.

One thing I have been able to figure out is that these guys get off on the horror and shock of the females they flash. But by the time a woman is in her 30s, if she's seen one dick, she's seen them all. Unless it can sing "You Will Be My Music" in Frank Sinatra's voice, it's really not going to shock me all that much. As my Nannie (mom's mom) once told me, "They're all the same under the foreskin." Yes, that quote comes directly from my pious 80-year-old grandmother who never, ever misses Sunday mass. She takes no prisoners and is one of my heroes.

So, during the brief moment that I stood face to face with Wankster, my mind reeled. What can I do to freak this guy out as much as he thinks he's freaking me out? I turned around to walk away...then I turned back, made eye contact, smiled and waved, just to see what he would do.

He kept right on wanking, but he waved back...with his free hand.