Not So Blonde

Road Trippin’

So none of these pictures are my own because my dumbass forgot the digital. I’ll have to wait to get my film developed to share the personal shots. How archaic.

Thursday: I left work around noon and started out on the 5 hour drive to San Diego. R’s flight wasn’t getting in til the afternoon so there was no need to rush out there. The trek wasn’t bad at all although incredibly boring. And word to the wise, fill up the tank in Yuma because there is a long stretch of nothingness that will definitely try your patience — if not your gas tank the rest of the way to SD. I didn’t think I’d be dumb enough to run out of gasoline in the middle of nowhere but when I’m involved, anything is liable to happen.

I get to the vicinity of the hotel a little after 6 but since I didn’t know where the hell I was going, I got a little turned around. California is funny. One minute you’re on a surface street, the next you’re on the freeway. Literally. And once you’re on the freeway, forget about getting off for a while. Luckily I found the way to La Jolla which I had an inkling would come in handy later.

Make my way back to the hotel, finally. I thought it was on the beach. I think R thought it was on the beach, too, when he had made the reservations. Only when I opened the curtains we overlooked … a car lot. I think it bothered R a whole lot more than it bothered me because I really didn’t care. Ya know, cause I’m the girl and I say things like, “At least we’re togeth-eeeerrrr.” Cloying sweetness always seems to lighten the mood.

We drove around Pacific Beach for a while, looking for a place to have dinner. Getting sorta lost, sorta not but somehow did not find ourselves on a freeway. We weren’t sure where we were going or where to go, but we knew we didn’t want pizza. Which unfortunately, Italian eateries are in abundance in the San Diego area. We ended up here.

I can not express to you enough if you ever find yourself in Pacific Beach: Do Not Go Here. It looks cute and its right near the water but don’t believe the hype. R said our 1st mistake was going to a Mexican restaurant named Gringo’s anydamnway. The best thing I can say about it: On Thursdays, Gigante Margaritas are the same price as Grande. The worst: We think the food may have made R sick. We’re not entirely sure about that. It was either the food — or some kind gravitational environmental pull. R gets weird on me sometimes where all I can really do is nod while he cites back issues of the Harvard Medical Journal (R informs me that it is the: New England Journal of Medicine Big difference, BIG) or other such publications.

Whatever the case may be, the food or the pull: R was sick. Poor thing. He wasn’t feeling well at all. Honestly, its better that he was sick instead of me because if it were me, I’d have said, “Leave me in this bed in this hotel room in this strange city overlooking the car lot — to die, go on without me! Please!” But R rallied, so we still ended up doing quite a bit on our stay.

Friday: We drove up - about 10 minutes - to La Jolla, I knew getting lost would help later. R was suitably impressed that I knew the way. ~ AHEM ~ We spent a lot of time at Sea Lodge.

It was really cute, right on the beach and we settled in for some more mediocre food. I’m not saying there isn’t any good restaurants in and around San Diego, I’m just saying that R and I can’t be trusted to find one. Basically we just wanted something with no weird garnishes, no suspect glazes, no fast food, no pizza and anything chipotle-less. Tell me, is it that hard to come by? Apparently it is.

After lunch, we went and lolled around on the beach. It was awesome and I got a little sun. R was alternately trying to sleep or read his book, not doing either very successfully. And here he made fun of the People magazine I bought. Please, it doesn’t get much more light beach reading than that. But that’s the kind of ridicule you can expect from someone who considered bringing the Kissinger biography along in his vacation luggage.

The sand and ocean were beautiful, just so nice to be near water. You don’t know how much you miss it living in Arizona. After a couple hours, we went back to the hotel to get changed for dinner.

Oh boy.

I convince R, in his less than stellar state, to traipse down to the Gaslamp Quarter for a little wining and dining. Ya know, just don’t take a sick person there on a Friday night … and make them drive at that. The crowds, the lack of parking, the one-way streets. Our conversation consisted of:

“Stop sign.”
“Baby, could you please just let me drive?”
“Okay, but you just blew through another one.”

R will deny that but its true true true. We finally find a parking garage and walked around for a bit trying to decide where to eat. R suggests Croce’s. Did you know Jim Croce was dead? I think I did know that but being in a restaurant named after him, you half expect him to walk through the door.

The scallops and risotto were okay. I didn’t try whatever R was having. He doesn’t seem to have the best luck with food. We decided to call it a night after dinner, it was already after 12. I was having a bad hair night so I didn’t mind all that much. Let me tell you, sea air does nothing for the ‘do. Environmental pull is right.

Saturday: We found a cool little breakfast buffet right down the street from the hotel, complete with $1 mimosas, all you can eat strawberry crepes and college football: Pacific Beach Bar & Grill.

Alas! Normal food! After stuffing ourselves, we were going to go to the beach again but it clouded up on us so we drove over to Seaport Village instead. I did a little, err — lot of shopping. Ya know, things for the kid, things for me. A cute candle holder from Harbor Lights. For those times I have guests over and they say, “Why, what a distinctive candlestick! Wherever did you get it?” And I can say, “Oh, I picked it up in San Diego with R.” Well. La-di-da.

We worked up our appetite somehow and ended up here for a bite. The hostess seated us in the furthest corner towards the ocean, right on out over it. Barf. Kinda made me want to throw up a little but R liked it, with that Navy thing and all.

The food sucked, save your money and just don’t go. Are you noticing a theme here? Honestly, R and I look like the pickiest eaters ever, but we aren’t, really. I swear!

We end up back at the hotel pretty early, Saturday night is probably the time that R felt the worst. Later that evening, I went and got him some medications and some soup. We turned in early. Well, I did. I left R up to watch When Harry Met Sally. Can you believe R has never seen it? Its one of my favorite flicks.

Sunday: We ended back up at Pacific Beach Bar & Grill for the Sunday spread. R got to watch his Giants beat the Packers and I got to eat about 6 more strawberry crepes. R always thought I brought some back to the table for him, too. Silly R. After brunch, we drove over to Coronado for a little while, but didn’t stay long. R mostly wanted to check it out in case he decides to do his duty there.

We had already checked out of the hotel when we discovered there was a mix-up on R’s flight. Instead of leaving later that night getting in at 5am, he was scheduled to leave Monday night, getting in Tuesday at 5am. Whatever R says, I think he did it on purpose. Heh.

We considered a couple of different options, none without — a change in fare and $100 cancellation fee, please! — When R decides to get us a night at his original choice in hotel: The Dana on Mission Bay. No pictures I’ve seen do it justice. It was perfect. Our room felt like a little bungalow, surrounded by palm trees with vaulted ceilings and cute shutters. Even though we were both kinda in trouble job-wise for taking an extra day, that Sunday couldn’t have been better. R was even feeling more himself.

That night, we were finally in the mood for some pizza. We went down to Mission Beach and ate at Luigi’s.

Yummy pie and lots o’ beer. Definitely worth the extra night’s stay. After we ate and drank, we stopped in a corner store and picked up some drumsticks and headed back to the hotel.

Psst … those were my idea. I can’t believe R actually ate one with me. Five minutes after my last bite, I was already off in dream land. Who knows what R did. Probably watched the Sci-Fi Channel or more BookTV. ;-)

Monday: Our Last Day. Unofficially, officially. Slept until noon and went to breakfast at IHOP. Fuck the bullshit on the nutty food, for real. Checked out of the hotel and went and laid on the beach for 3 hours until it was time to take R to the airport. It was sad. I’m not good at goodbyes. It was about 7p by the time I got on the freeway. I’m glad we spent all the time we did together but man, that driving at night business is no joke. Its not that I start to doze, I’m too wired to doze. Just creeped out and I need to make a promise to myself that I won’t drive at night again. Yikes.

Anyway, but I’m back safe and sound albeit tired as all hell. Same goes for R. It was worth it though. Thank you, R. ~xoxo~