Thank you for everything San Francisco.

Thank you Jeffrey and Brian for the superlative company, the sage beverage guidance, and the excellent restaurant recommendation. Please also thank that dude you know who had the open house I crashed, and whose beer I drank, and whose toilet seat I left up.

Thank you Brenna and Luis for the awesome time, and the righteous dinner, and haunting the night with me like alcoholic vampires and/or Spaniards. And thanks also for being good sports about me retiring for the evening (morning) once I started seeing two of each of you. And for the really bad Roadrunner impression.

Thank you Jamie for driving my ass around this weekend at all hours. And for being such a consistently excellent dude with whom to hang. And for your flattering but deeply misguided idea to launch a Kickstarter, to fund a SuperPac, to fund my non-existent run for Congress.

Thank you to my FBI buddy – who I’m not allowed to name, or photograph, or make eye contact with – for a great meal. And for introducing me to your kids. And for letting me hang out with your wife May, who is still way cooler than you and remains out of your league.

Thank you Ted & Laura for letting me bask in the gorgeous light of your kids. And for disrupting your demanding schedules to accommodate me. And for spending your precious babysitter time – time that could have been used for a rare date with each other – listening to me talk about utterly inconsequential nonsense over brunch. And for walking me to all the places your kids always make you walk to when you don’t have a babysitter. And for simply being two people I love.

Thank you P & R for staying up waaaaay past your bedtimes, and being such excellent and good-natured hosts. And thanks for making a point of seeing me this morning even though you’d already gotten a potentially hazardous dose of me on both Friday and Saturday. I probably would have just said “to Hell with him – we’ll just read the Facebook version.”

Thank you Chino SF for the pork belly whatchamacallit. Thank you Tipsy Pig for the insane cheese that comes with those pretzel bites. Thank you Chow for the brunch, and L’Aviateur for the other brunch. Thanks to that one bar in The Mission with the Game of Thrones inspired drinks for The Mother of Dragons and The Mad King. And thanks to that other bar for stuff I don’t remember because booze.

And thanks most of all to Erin, without whom this magical mystery tour would not have been possible. I return home to you having reached Peak Michael and/or Zenith Hamilton. Which is to say that I’ll probably be every bit as insufferable as always, but I’ll secretly have a great attitude about being so.

Mwah!