As you may or may not know on December 31 of 2011, I left the confines of my Filbert Street apartment and embarked on an all new adventure with my dear friend Merry. Although incredibly sad to leave my two roomies, Shanny, the time had come for a homebase upgrade.

So on Sunday, January 1, hungover as all hell, I packed up my shiza and moved the five blocks to a new humble abode. Within approximately 48 hours Merry and I had settled in, thanks to our bribed friends and family, and were ready to embark on what we knew would be an absolute shit show of a time.

In the seventeen days we’ve lived here we’ve come to discover the following: Living in Fort Mason is exactly like going to summer sleep-away camp, but with booze and discretionary funds at your disposal.

Our situation is unique in that the group of houses on our block have been recently renovated and upon their completion, all of the neighbors moved in simultaneously. Being part of the Golden Gate National Park, each tenant was screened and selected based on a very prescriptive set of criteria. This has resulted in a group of financially sound adults, open to living in a community-oriented environment, i.e. people ready and willing to rage.

My only concern moving to Fort Mason has been that of our personal safety. Not to say I couldn’t hold my own, but stumbling home from the bars at 2am and walking through a pitch black forest would make any lady nervous. Despite purchasing matching headlamps to avert rapists and crazies, Merry and I still felt uneasy about the situation…That was until we met the Fort Mason “Camp Counselors” or more commonly known as members of the National Park Federal Police (NPFP) and San Francisco Fire Department (SFFD).

This past weekend marked our first to opportunity to play at our new place and in the 72 hours celebrating the civil rights preached by MLK, we had six visits from the NPFP and three visits from the SFFD. I will note only one of the instances actually involved any illegal activity (i.e. accidentally dumping trash in the wrong trash. not kidding), the eight other visits gave us quite the reputation amongst the two groups of officials, as well as our neighbors.

All in all month one of thirty-six has started off with a bang (read into that how you please) and between the men in uniform and, of I forgot to mention, the bevy of single dude neighbors, we’re sure to have a safe, pleasant and happy tomorrow.