I am in San Diego. Actually, I am in the fancier town of La Jolla, because we is fancy people. What do you do about a vacation when work is slow, hubs is barely working, and gas is almost $5 per gallon? You jump on the opportunity to house-sit and puppy-sit when someone puts the word out. You email that person back right away even before your husband agrees, because you know that he will in fact come around before you put him in the car for the nine hour drive. He will see that this is the only way the family will actually get a vacation this year. I believe it is called the 'staycation'. $80 worth of gas got us here, and as long as we keep the dog alive and happy and the kids from breaking all the damn hummel figurines, we are golden.
So here I sit, on a lanai* which belongs to the mother of one of my sidebar/blogroll/link-homies. And no, I am not telling you who, because I really like this place and don't want any competition next time she goes away (provided my children don't break any of the precious hummels and we aren't forever banned).
I can see the ocean two blocks away from here, and let me tell you - it's pretty. Not only that, but the beaches here are lovely! It's like another taste of Fauxwaii. The sand is so soft! The water is not quite as icy as up north....though not as warm as some of my thicker-skinned friends have tried to convince me.
My children have no interest in that 'other land', so we are going to Legoland next week - and holy popsicles, Batman, are we excited!! People tell us we have to go to the zoo as well, and so I guess we will - more out of avoidance of the embarrassment we would surely suffer if we admitted we went to San Diego and didn't visit the zoo than out of personal desire to go there.
One of the main attractions down here, besides the zoo, is beer. Yes, beer. Especially for hop-heads, so I am in heaven right now. Last night dh and I committed ourselves to the dedication of taste-testing as much locally brewed IPA as possible during our stay. This started with a trip to the local BevMo, where within the aisles we could be heard squealing in ecstasy as we foraged for local IPAs and found not only IPAs but double IPAs and barleywines - it was a hop-head's dream. Upon our commitment to the beer
Not just pizza, but thin crust pizza, which is the only kind of pizza I will eat.
So last night we immersed ourselves in local culture and ordered some very local pizza. It was so local that the store front was nearly invisible. We drove the block three times before we finally spotted the pizza place. This was due, in part, to dh's navigation skills, impaired by a sudden onset of Turret's episode, in which he could only shout the word, "BUGATTI!" every time we drove down the block. This did, of course concern me, but mostly because I was getting really hungry. Finally, I had to put a stop to this so we could get on with the pizza eating and beer tasting. "STOP SHOUTING BUGATTI! STOP IT! FIND THE PIZZA PLACE!"
Okay, apparently there is this car which can give men orgasms by merely being viewed through glass - a Bugatti Veyron. That would explain the shouting. And apparently there are only 15 of these cars in existence. And the car dealership right next door to the pizza place had TWO of them!
So I said, what the hell, go for it honey, if it makes you happy, and handed him 1.6 million dollars.
Okay that last part was a lie. I pushed him out of the car and demanded that he return with pizza in five minutes or I was not sharing any of the $50 worth of IPA in the back of the car.
Twenty minutes later he could still be found drooling and leaving handprints on the glass as he took 300 photos of his beloved fantasy car.
So I picked up a lifeguard who was desperate to seduce a forty something woman with two small children (happens to me all the time) and we shared the beer and got drunk and smashed some hummels for fun and went to Vegas and got married.
The End. (for now)
*It is too a lanai. If I want to pretend I am in Hawaii that is between me and my own delusions.