Rows of Vagina Pink Houses

Oh, San Francisco, how I love thee. Let me count the ways; your delicious ethnic food at every corner, dirty bars in which stirs crazy fun times, the multitudes of parades and riots...the list never ends. I left my heart with you to root a lifetime ago and with you it has settled.  Your bridges lay as open arms who welcome those from every walk of life and from every corner of the world.  No matter who you are, which race you are, who you choose to love, or what you choose to wear, there is a place for you in San Francisco.
I was first introduced to the city by the bay at fifteen while taking a trip with my childhood friend, Geneva, and her family.  While smashed in the family wagon, we crossed the Bay Bridge and I was instantaneously mesmerized by its beautiful fragility.  The tall, sparkling buildings of the Financial District seemed like they were balancing on a wafer-sized island and the long rows of identical homes looked like winding, snake-like conglomerates that reached beyond the surrounding horizons. Upon entering the city, the energetic buzz of the streets and the diverse ethnicity that flows throughout lit a flame within me that has kept me coming back for years. 
I must admit though...I had help with this love affair.  The beautiful memories I have of San Francisco are always punctuated by the presence of one awesome guy.  I met my best man-friend Megumi when I was a Senior in High School.  I was eighteen and he was twenty-four.  We met through an old work colleague and a mutual friend.  One word to describe our energy together was instantaneous. It's been one of those special friendships where our chemistry was tumultuous and our conversations and underlying inside jokes totally alienated anyone else who wanted to hang out with us. 
We have had the most amazing times just hanging out and doing otherwise mundane things together.  Running errands like going to the grocery store or to the bank became a flagrant throw-down of sarcasm and bullshit, which is, of course, always fun. Games we played together while publicly observing others never became old. But, as time passed, the observation games that we developed were the most colorful and fun parts of our city escapades together. One of our favorite hangout habits was driving around the city (usually after an amazing meal of any Asian persuasion) for what seemed like hours on end.  The habit began as a fun time-waster and became a never-ending game of gut-busting vagina jokes. 
As you can imagine, the city has a wonderful array of very colorful houses that stretch as far as the eye can see.  As Megumi and I would drive around the city streets, we would find the most amazing homes painted in different shades of purple, salmon, and peach.  These homes are what became sought after...and deemed the "Vagina Pink Houses."  Each house had a different tone to it, which meant a different "vagina." The homes with a brown undertone to the pink paint were known as "Latin Girl Vagina Pink." The ones with a slight purple tint were known as "Jamaican Jerk Vagina Pink" or "Black Girl Vagina Pink."  My personal favorite were the homes that looked they had been doused in Pepto-Bismol or liquid Bazooka Gum...those gems were known as "Catholic Girl Vagina Pink" or "Barbie Vagina Pink." But, it didn't stop there; every shade of home was different which of course flared our hungry imaginations with visions of different colors of vaginas.  Megumi, of course, had more personal experience in this arena since I only know one vagina and it's colors well.  However, if the pink was not of obvious persuasion, we would usually come up with an agreement on which color goes with what region of vagina's origin.  This game has dwindled off with the years but is still ongoing and is still too funny and hilarious to stop.  It's one of those things that you either get and want to play, or you're grossed out and shoot a nasty lip curl/stink-eye.  Either way, I totally understand.
Although my time in the wonderful city of San Francisco has not been recently spent, my memories are vivid and fantastically beautiful.  Every moment I have spent there is fondly remembered and kept very close to my heart.  Like a diamond ring, it sits upon me forever, glistening throughout; with each memory a different facet on the stone.  Every memory unique; filled with dancing, singing, walking, watching, drinking/smoking, and general fun tomfoolery nonsense. My image of San Francisco can never change; the nostalgia lays upon me thick like the city fog.  I will never forget my times within the city's bridges and next to my awesome friend, who is now nothing short of a brother to me.  Here's to the good times, the present times, and the future times spent counting the endless rows of Vagina Pink Houses. Cheers!!!