Not So Blonde

Saturday, not always a fun day

In the interest of keeping it real up in this joint, I’m going to tell you a not-so-fun part of the trip to San Diego. Because we do nothing but keep it real here, right? Right.

Early Saturday morning, R left the hotel to go to the base. I had gotten up around 5:30 and noticed he was gone so I thought he might have just left. He hadn’t, he told me later he left around 2:45.

This started what became many jokes of him leaving me like a “cheap whore” in the dead of night. I was joking and R would joke right back and say, “If you were a cheap whore, you think I’d have put you up at the Westin?!”

R had an early flight to the undisclosed location and had to prepare, this being the reason for such an early departure. The poor thing must have been dead ass tired but he didn’t even come back to the room afterward to rest after the long day at “the office”.

Instead, he called me in the afternoon and said to meet him outside of the hotel. This is the day that he took me on a tour of all the bases of which I posted about previously.

I really enjoyed it since when your man is somewhere, and you don’t know where, don’t know the places he sees every day - it tends to make you feel a little out of touch.

R should be used to this feeling I get, since when he surprised me with the ticket to New York a couple of years ago it was due to a few of my girls getting in my head. Generally making me feel weird that I had never been to his apartment and things.

Never mind the apartment was, like, 3000 miles away. Women…

But when I expressed to R this being the reason I appreciated touring the bases he said, “That must be a girl thing. Guys don’t care about that shit.” I don’t know, is it a girl thing?

As much as I was glad to see R getting his swagger back (after so much bad shit happening in Phoenix), it was also touched with a strained look about him. I knew he was under a great deal of stress.

I was not going to take this personally. It’s so very easy for me to take these moods, think I did something wrong, said something to set the sour mood - and maybe even cause a huge fight over it.

I read somewhere once that the key to a successful relationship is only one person can be crazy at a time. Well, I think it not only applies to crazy but to stressed, upset, fill in the blank.

So knowing R was stressed the hell out, I was going to slap a smile on my face and be nice no matter how grumpy he may get with me.

We get back to the hotel Saturday evening and R finally took a nap. We had planned on going to the harbor for dinner but by the time he awoke and we were ready to go, he was afraid the harbor would be pretty much dead.

He asked me, “Do you want to go to the beach or the Gaslamp?”

The beach is R’s and my place that we’ve always had fun. Our (was his first) favorite hotel, the Dana, is in Mission Beach and our favorite brunch spot is in Pacific Beach.

The Gaslamp, on the other hand, we’ve never had fun in. I talked about one of our excursions there in this post and since I know people don’t usually like to go back and read older posts I’ll just tell you my favorite part:

Another trip to San Diego was pretty much the same. We always end up at a restaurant we don’t really like since everything is always so packed, you get in where you fit in.

Not saying the Gaslamp isn’t fun, but R and I have never had fun there. Did I want to give it a 3rd try? Can I get a: HELL NO?

R was pissy the entire way to the beach. I stayed silent in the car and didn’t say much. You know when your partner is in a bad mood and you don’t want to say anything for fear of setting them off?

Not that R would have backhanded my ass but he does get his “Steely Dan” voice and hearing that voice from him makes my blood turn cold.

We park and go to PB Bar & Grill. Um, okay.

This is normally a place we go to during the day. The nighttime crowd is really rather young and I’m way too old (and uh, coupled up: hello, meat market!) to have fun in a place like that.

We ate, and then walked around and ended up at another bar. I really wanted to walk on the beach. We walked right by where I first told R I loved him and I thought it would be fun to revisit it.

I have to say the highlight of the night is R insisting he said “I love you” first and let me tell you, if your honey ever wants to believe that, let him.

But we end up at this other bar, have one drink and R grumpily says he wants to leave.

Fine.

Instead of trying to find another place, or going to the beach like I wanted, we went back to the ho-tel.

Again, I didn’t say anything and just let him drive. Plus, we had drinks in the room. Plus, I kept telling myself what I talked about in the earlier post of my first day there. Our lovely time being, and not speaking, the feeling of being very loved.

Y’all know that we women can let our minds go sometimes. “He doesn’t love me. He’s not happy to see me. He’s not even glad I’m here.”

I giggled inwardly and thought: I know you love me, Grumpy McGrumpster and I’m not falling for this bullshit.

We get back to the room and R rails me with: he wanted to go to Gaslamp, he got a hotel close to the Gaslamp so we could go there without worrying about parking, he couldn’t understand why I chose the beach when it was so far away and he really wanted to stay close so he could drink and not worry about driving.

There was more as the night went on, slightly belligerent drunk people-speak (on both sides) but that was the gist.

In my defense I told him: You’re the one that lives here, how am I supposed to know where we should go? Or even where we’re at? Or even that we’re in proximity to someplace YOU wanted to go, but didn’t tell me? And, why give me the choice?

But, one thing that pretty much deflated my whole drunken bravado was when R had said he wanted to drink. R’s not a big drinker. Ever. He’s not the nicest person when he’s been drinking (I’m a hugger) and he knows this so chooses not to do it.

I knew then, R’s not himself. I was still mad, don’t get me wrong. I went downstairs to have a cigarette outside (shhh) to remove myself from what could surely turn into a huge argument.

I came back upstairs and all was calmer and I didn’t even get (that) mad when R flung the kicker, “You just don’t always communicate well.”

Men.

I went to sleep… and awoke, to a much better day.

I’ve long stopped expecting every moment R and I spend together to be a fairy tale. Sometimes, other things get in the way and you get through it. In the end, you’re a stronger couple. While I could have done without the dramatics that Saturday night turned out to be, it’s life. Life happens.