Slice of Pink

Recipe for a Fabulous Saturday

The Spot, good friends, and good beer.

Some sunshine.

Some {antique} shopping.

Some happy hour sangria.

Not pictured: some cheese, a tub of cookie dough, Bananagrams.

Beachy Waves

My girls' getaway in Carpinteria was all about beautification: facials and manicures and pedicures and Bumble & Bumble hair products and 40 minutes spent on the makeup aisle in Rite-Aid.

In fact, I spent a full hour attempting to put beachy waves in my hair, following the instructions of a 12-year-old girl on YouTube. This is approximately 50 minutes more than I typically spend on my hair. I dutifully twisted and blow dryed, twisted and blow dryed, twisted and blow dryed.

And I ended up with this:

One side wavy, the other straight.

Of course, the waves on the right side of my head completely fell out after we had already left the condo and were well on our way to the brewery. And, friends, with a choice between going back home for another 30 minutes of twisting and blow drying or going to the brewery with half-done hair, I elected the brewery. I'm sure you're not surprised.

The Oaks Gourmet Market

I spent a fair amount of my time in The Oaks Gourmet Market during my visit to Los Angeles this weekend. Let me tell you what I ate from the market and you'll understand why my purse is full of receipts from the place:

1. A Liquid Garden Smoothie: carrot juice, beet juice, spinach, ginger, apples, almonds, honey, apple juice.

2. A carrot cupcake.

3. Brown Butter Sea Salt Cookies.

4. A Fresh Veggies on Cranberry-Walnut Toast sandwich: cucumber, avocado, shaved fennel, red onion, artichoke hearts, sprouts, chive cream cheese (hold the tomato, please).

5. A Cake Monkey Peanut Butter and Marshmallow Cakewich: yellow cake sandwich filled with peanut buttercream, housemade marshmallow & coated with bittersweet chocolate.

There are about three thousand other things I want to try, including this:

Gingersnap liquor. Serious regrets for not picking up a bottle when I had the chance.

Visiting the Getty Villa

I am so excited to cross #2 off my 31 Before 31 list: Visit the Getty Villa. Mrs. Curieuse, Jenny, and I spent a lovely afternoon touring the grounds and galleries of the Villa and enjoying the amazing weather in Pacific Palisades.

It had been over 10 years since I had studied Greek and Roman Art--which is what the Villa is nearly exclusively comprised of--and, although I was an Art History major, my focus was Impressionism through Post-Modernism. I could remember very little about the things I learned in the single Greek Art and Architecture course I took in 2000 except a) the styles of Greek columns and b) the vessel they made the wine in (what? at least I remember the important details). Here it is: the krater, a vessel for mixing wine:

There, now you know the important stuff, too.

Perhaps I should take an Art History course this year! Wouldn't it be fun to brush up on a long-since forgotten period or two?

Happy Friday!

The next two months are positively exploding with fun plans, some super-top-secret and others not-so-secret-but-equally-awesome. I'm kicking off the fun tomorrow morning with my 2nd annual Jenny & Janet Birthday Extravaganza. It's fabulous having a favorite friend who shares your birthday week--what better excuse to plan a girly-getaway with lots of cupcakes and good wine? The lovely Ms. Curieuse is going to help us celebrate in style in Santa Monica. Hooray!

What are your weekend plans?

Inside the Maid's Chambers

A couple of weekends ago, we ended up with a free hotel room in Solvang, a Danish-style town with hotels that have windmills outside. Case in point, the view from my room:

I have a couple of things to tell you about the weekend. First, we ended up at a casino and, because we hate to gamble, we spent the majority of our time at the casino buffet. We spent so much time, in fact, at the buffet that we ate both the buffet lunch and the buffet dinner. I like to get a lot of bang for my buck. And, even still, I think I overpaid.

More importantly though, during my trip to Solvang, I went to a place I have never gone before: into the maid's chambers at the hotel. I'm always interested in the maid's chambers (what do three million tiny free lotions look like?), but they usually keep that stuff of total lockdown because, as it is, people nab free stuff off the carts in the hallway. So you can just imagine what people would do with access to unlimited cheap shower caps!

So, I accidentally left a pair of earrings on the dresser in the hotel room and, although they were not particularly expensive, they were a gift from my sister and I really wanted them back.

On the drive home from the casino (buffet), we passed the hotel where we had stayed the previous night and I made us stop to pick up the earrings. The housekeepers had all gone home for the evening, so the young guy at the front desk called the gal that had cleaned our room. She said that she, indeed, found the earrings and that they were in the maid's room, inside a bucket.

The clerk took me back to the maid's chambers to look for the earrings and it became instantly clear that it was going to be quite a task to find the earrings because people leave a lot of stuff behind when they check out of a hotel room. And the poor maids store it away, in the event that somebody comes back to collect the stuff. Here's a small sampling of the items awaiting their owner to come pick them up:

+ A dozen cheap tiaras, presumably remnants from birthday or bachelorette parties
+ Several pink boas (to go with the tiaras, no doubt)
+ An unopened container of Best Foods Mayonnaise
+ An unopened container of French's Mustard
+ An open jar of pickles
+ A jeweled ring in the shape of a leopard
+ Half a roll of purple crepe paper streamers
+ Dozens of pairs of earrings
+ Half a box of pretzels
+ An unopened box of Oreo cookies
+ Pens
+ A boxed set of DVDs featuring movies from the '40s
+ A plastic microphone

Hey! If you are sad about leaving that jar of mayonnaise in Solvang, it's waiting for you.

See You in Sunny San Diego

Exciting news! I'm going to BlogHer!

I know, I know, I said that last year and then totally flaked. But this year will be different because:

a) it's in San Diego (on my side of the country)
b) I'm bringing a friend (get excited, she's awesome)
c) I booked a hotel room (at the official Blogher hotel)
d) I am tired of missing out on all the fun (and all the champagne)
e) I hate declining party invitations (I'm a YES person)
f) it's important that I meet some of you in person since, when I talk to other people about you, I refer to you as my "friend" even though we have never met
g) did I mention the champagne?
h) I need an excuse to buy a new pair of shoes

In other words, I will be there fo' sho'.

So, are you planning to attend?

P.S. A small correction: I had a broken link on the last post. For some reason, when I copy and paste links, an extra html is sometimes added at the end. I have no idea why it does this! Anyway, please enter to win a $50 Macy's gift card and/or a copy of Elizabeth Buchan's brand-new-not-even-released-yet book Separate Beds.

Ringing in a New Year

I rung in 2011 in Ojai, a lovely and quaint little town in Southern California. We stayed at The Blue Iguana Inn in a two bedroom Southwestern-styled suite with Jenny and Gavin where we drank wine and champagne--plus a spectacular Ojai Orange Martini at Azu (I don't know the exact measurements, but it's made with Belvedere Orange, Orangecello, lime juice, and a dash of orange juice, so it can't be that hard to figure out)--and ate delicious things, including honey baked brie and an embarrassing amount of Italian take-out.

Good friends plus tons of cheese plus red wine plus a blue iguana in a santa hat equals a great way to ring in a new decade.

Tartine

If you are ever in San Francisco, you should wait in line for some sweets and bread at Tartine.

Mark Bittman calls it his favorite bakery in the United States.

Signs

Here's a little collection of signs from our recent visit to the Ferry Building in San Francisco.

Before I was a vegetarian, I loved salami, so I am intrigued as to what exactly a "salumi cone" is. According to the sign, it is world famous, so one of you out there should be able to fill us in!

{Update: the lovely Janet informs us, in the comments, that a salumi cone is just that--a cone of meat! Sounds delicious!}

So Pink Vegas Birthday Extravaganza: The Suspects

I know I've been talking about my very Vegas birthday for over a week now. Believe me, it's even worse if you have been hanging out with me in person. I'm just nonstop: The dueling pianos! The Diamond Fizz cocktails! The hot pink hotel room! The cupcakes! The day at the Bellagio spa (a birthday gift from my friends Gavin and Jenny. OMG, I know! How lucky am I?)!

Very lucky, as it turns out.

Very lucky to have these wonderful, wonderful friends.

Very lucky to be celebrating two birthdays in addition to mine (I know, big surprise considering how it's all me! me! me! on this Slice of Pink site).

Jenny, Jeff, and I were born within a week of one another, so this was actually a grand birthday merrymaking bash TIMES THREE. Which is so the way to go, especially with such fabulous friends (and fellow Aquarians).

Happy Birthday Jenny! Happy Birthday Jeff!

(And, by the way, how awesome is Jeff to have totally gone along with the very pink birthday party? Or, maybe it actually went down a little more like this: Jenny's vote for a pink party + my vote for a pink party = Jeff is outvoted. PINK IT IS!)

Great times, marvelous friends. Very lucky, indeed.

So Pink Vegas Birthday Extravaganza: The Cupcakes

On Saturday morning, after a night of merrymaking--dinner at Mon Ami Gabi, requesting songs from the dueling pianists at Napoleon's Lounge (Benny and the Jets, Push It, Billie Jean), and enjoying bottles of wine--the bell man arrived with a gift from my friend Jenny. Cupcakes! And, ohmygosh, not just any cupcakes, but a dozen Cupcakery cupcakes piled high with buttercream, sprinkles, and iridescent GLITTER. Oh, yes. Fairy-tales cupcakes!

Is there anything better in life than being all dressed up with one's best friends eating glittered chocolate peppermint cupcakes?

So Pink Vegas Birthday Extravaganza: The Flamingo

If you are going to have a very pink birthday celebration, you'll need to stay at the very pink Flamingo hotel in a Go room. The room comes complete with a white vinyl headboard, pink striped wallpaper, and a hot pink bathroom. There was pink mood lighting and a brown velvet couch with pink velvet throw pillows. Oh, yes.

We even had electronic drapes, which opened to this view of the Bellagio.

To celebrate my birthday, the Flamingo made us temporary Diamond Members, meaning that we got entry into a super-secret lounge with cocktails and cookies. It also moved us right up the waiting list at restaurants. Not quite accustomed to living the lifestyle of the rich and famous, I completely forgot about the card until we arrived for lunch at Serendipity 3 and the wait was over an hour. I pulled out my Diamond Card and voila! we were promoted to the front of the line. Nothing stands between me and my macaroni and cheese.

Guess who else was staying at the Flamingo?

Can you believe Jenny and I forgot to pack our tiaras? I hate when that happens.

So Pink Vegas Birthday Extravaganza: Sneak Preview

I have lots to share about my very grand birthday celebration in Vegas, but you KNOW you've had a good time when half your {uncropped} photos look like these.

Wine Tasting

Will and I took a day trip to Sonoma for some wine tasting, in an eleventh hour attempt to cross things off my list. I tried six wines, all red. I'm not sure if that's the proper way to wine taste, limiting one self to red only, but it was rainy and cold and I think rainy, cold days call for red wine.

Plus, I happen to just like red wine better.

Just a Doggone Minute

I met a football player in the elevator of my Chicago hotel on Sunday. He was staying on the 24th floor; I was on the 23rd. It was near check-out time, so the elevator was stopping at nearly every floor for people to squeeze on, and the football player and I chatted on the ride down to the lobby. I learned that he played for the Philadelphia Eagles and that his name was Mike. He was wearing warm-ups and gigantic diamond earrings. He was on his way to a game soon.

I forgot all about my elevator chat about two seconds after I exited the elevator--I was on my way to brunch at Bloomingdales, after all--but I remembered when Will picked me up from the airport. I reported on the conversation and briefly described the player, at which time Will basically lost his mind because the person I met sounded precisely like Michael Vick.

Who? Yeah, my reaction, too.

Michael Vick, as it turns out, would be the guy who spent 23 months in prison on federal felony charges for the extensive and illegal interstate dog fighting ring he operated in rural Virginia.

Oh, yeah. That guy.

So, I googled Michael Vick and, sure enough, he was totally the guy I chatted with in the elevator for a 23-floor ride. Certainly not my most exciting celebrity sighting (especially since I had no idea who he was until, like, 12 hours after the fact), but he did have a 34-yard dash against the Bears on Sunday night (whatever that means) and I'm pretty sure he's the only celebrity felon I've had the pleasure of meeting.

On recounting the story, one of my classmates asked whether, had I known it was Vick, I would have done anything differently. I think he expected me to admit that I would have snubbed Vick for his appalling treatment of animals but, in true blogger fashion, I replied that "yes, I totally would have done something differently--I would have gotten a photo of Vick and me for Slice of Pink." Say Cheese!

Hello Chicago

I'm back from a fabulous weekend to the Windy City (not so windy, by the way, at least not on my crisp but lovely weekend trip).

I met up with some of my favorite gals for a girls-only weekend of conferencing, site-seeing, wine-drinking, and pizza-eating.

We brunched at Bloomingdales and walked the Magnificent Mile to Millennium Park in order to look at a giant, reflective bean.

Lovely friends, lovely Chicago.

Falling for You

I've been in D.C. in the bone-chilling winter, in the sticky, sweltering summer, and in the lovely cherry-blossom-filled spring, but this was my first visit to D.C. in the fall.

And what a lovely visit it was!

The weather was mostly magnificent this weekend, cool and crisp, perfect for a sweater and tights. Zandria and I even had drinks on the outside patio of a restaurant Friday night, although we failed to take any photos documenting this (what kind of bloggers are we, anyway?).

It rained one day, pouring just long enough for me to get soaking wet on the long ride up the Dupont escalator, but by the time I dashed across the roundabout to the CVS and purchased an umbrella, the sun had come out again. And then, as if the world was apologizing for my having spent $10.99 on the flimsy umbrella, I found a twenty dollar bill without a soul around to claim it.

D.C., I think I'm falling for you all over again.

Golden Yellow

On the Metro this morning, I was sitting next to an older man who was holding a large, clear Tupperware container full of Nilla Wafers on his lap. What's strange about the situation was not the container of wafers, however, it was that the man's outfit--the pants and the shirt and the sweater--were precisely the same color as the wafers. The outfit and the cookies were such an exact match, from head to toe all golden yellow, it couldn't have been on accident. Maybe he was attending a potluck where one was required to dress as the food they contributed?

Luz en Yucatan

These are a few of my favorite photos from one of the hotels we stayed at in Mérida. The hotel, Luz en Yucatan, was a real gem.

The pricing system for a night's stay depends on your perceived level of personal success, with the hope that the wealthier travelers will be sufficiently sporting to help to subsidize the less wealthy. Before receiving a price quote, one must choose between being exceedingly successful, moderately successful, or not at all successful.

Free beer upon arrival!

Plus! Free shots 'round the clock! I mean, really, does life get any better than all this?

Good times.

The website says this: "We eschew rules and regulations so that you can more easily free yourself from the usual constraints and prohibitions. Indeed, were there an "authority figure" on premises, we would encourage you to "DISOBEY." All this in an effort to enable you to exhale and fully participate in our slightly skewed but decidedly benevolent reality."

Fun, no?

There were in-room hammocks, too, although I was afraid to actually fall asleep in the thing, fearing the hammock would somehow come detached from the wall causing me to crack my back on the tile floor. Sometimes I can be quite adventurous, sometimes not so much. Will, on the hand, is very adventurous. Just look how adventurous he is:

If you find yourself in Mérida, it's really worth a stay.

Clink! Clink! Clink!

Do you know that slot machines in big Vegas casinos these days don't take coins? That's right: You can't put a quarter into a quarter slot or a nickel into a nickel slot or a penny into a penny slot. You can put in paper things, sure--dollar bills or paper vouchers--but you can't pull some loose change from you pocket and drop it into a coin slot for a chance to turn your quarter into one hundred billion dollars.

The result of this is kind of sad. Not only can you not put change in, you also can not get change out. Gone are the days when a jackpot win meant piles of quarters filling up the tray, clink!-clink!-clinking! one by one. A sort of computerized clink sound plays when you cash out, but all you receive is a paper voucher with a bar code to insert into another machine or take to the cashier to collect your winnings, whatever they may be.

Our friend Mike had a voucher for one penny and, mostly to see her reaction, he visited the cashier to claim his cent. The hotel cashier did not even blink, she simply scanned the voucher and handed over the single coin.

You can still find the old-fashioned coin-operated slots in some of the older casinos off the strip. These are the casinos that offer dollar hot dogs and dollar shots and dollar deep-fried Twinkies. These casinos have been open for decades without once updating the carpets or the cocktail waitresses or the slot machines. They probably have never even changed the grease that they fry the corn dogs in.

Somehow we ended up at one of the casinos, the whole gang eating greasy fries and drinking alcohol from football shaped cups. We were throughly enjoying dropping coins into the machines, hearing the satisfying clink!-clink! of money dropping into the metal tray, and filling up plastic buckets with coins.

Some hours later, upon arriving back at our hotel on the strip, heavy bucket of quarters in hand, we approached the cashier to redeem our coins for paper bills. And here's what's crazy: the hotel wouldn't cash in our quarters. Our coins--the very currency Las Vegas was built on, for Pete's sake--were simply no good. Not only can you not play with coins, not only are you deprived of the clink!, but you can't even turn coins into paper bills. Coins are officially obsolete.

In any event, we returned home from our Vegas trip with some good memories, a desperate need for a nap, and one big ass bag of quarters.

A Brief Summary and A Question

Wow. Friends, I have so much to tell you, so many photos to show you. I've slept in seven different beds, in six different cities, in the last two weeks during a whirlwind adventure that took us to Santa Barbara, a wedding, Krispy Kreme, and right across the Yucatán peninsula. There were six plane rides, several bus rides, crazy taxis, and lost luggage. There were mosquitos. I did the shopping cart on the stage of Señor Frog's in Cancún.

We've been having a grand time.

And! The fun is not over! I have tickets to Pageant of the Masters and a wedding in Santa Barbara this weekend.

But! Before I get started telling you about our adventures, I have a quick question. Should I continue uploading photos to the Typepad albums (which are great, yes, assuming I stay with Typepad forever) or should I pay for a Flickr account? Or something else? What do you love and recommend?

The sooner we decide on the place I should put photos, the sooner I'll upload approximately one bazillion photos for your viewing enjoyment. Wait! Hey! Where are you going?

AWOL

Somewhere between our overnight flight from Sacramento to Guadalajara, or maybe between our flight from Guadalajara to Mexico City, or maybe between our flight from Mexico City to Mérida, our luggage was lost. This is completely unsurprising considering the utter chaos that is Mexicana Airlines, an outfit that seemingly runs with about 50% of the employees actually required to properly operate an international airline. In Sacramento, for example, the person who checked us in at the ticket counter was the same guy who hustled over to put us on the plane--and that was while we were still in the U.S.A., in our state's capital.

Here's a good rule for air travel: make sure you have enough in your carry-on to get you by for a day or two in case your luggage is misplaced.

We did not follow that rule.

Upon arrival at our hotel, we conducted an inventory of the items that would need to get us by until our luggage was located in Sacramento or Guadalajara or Mexico City or Mérida or wherever it was and reunited with us.

Inventory:

1 Snickers bar
1 Nikon D200 camera
3 camera lenses
1 Vanity Fair magazine
1 hardcover copy of John Adams
1 package red vines
2 safety pins
1 small bottle hand sanitizer
1 lip gloss
1 envelope of cash
1 pair sunglasses

In other words, almost nothing practical or essential.

We bought a toothbrush and some toothpaste and made the best of the situation. There were cold beers in our hotel fridge and free tequila shots in the lobby. We attended the Ballet Folklórico in the same clothes that we had been wearing for a good 36 hours. We washed underwear in the sink.

I can't wait to show you some photos of our adventures. Of course, I may not show you any pictures of me prior to the return of the luggage the following afternoon. Lip gloss can only do so much.

Don't Leave Home Without It

Just after Will clicked "confirm" on two flights into Mérida and two flights out of Cancún, I realized that my passport was no longer valid.

Awesome.

The good news is: you can get a passport in two to three weeks, door to door.

The bad news is: they are gonna make you pay for it.

After spending two hours and almost $200, I twittered:

Passport renewal fee: $75 / Expedited processing fee: $60 / New photos: $12 / Overnight shipping there: $17 / Overnight shipping back: $15.

Instamom immediately responded:

Leaving the country for a few days: Priceless.

Mérida

I've checked out an astonishing number of travel books from the local library in the last few weeks as Will and I went back and forth, back and forth, trying to choose a vacation destination that suited us and fit neatly within our time constraints.

We started with well-known destinations--Jamaica, Cabo San Lucas, Mexico City, Costa Rica--but finally settled on a relatively unknown spot: Mérida. It's the cultural hub of the Yucatán Peninsula, a city with art museums, ballet folklorico, and sites of historical interest, plus we can take day trips to see the archaeological remains at Chichen Itzá and Uxmal.

We may also spend a couple of days back on the beaten path in Cancún for some umbrella-ed cocktails and late night dancing, although that is still to be decided.

Has anybody been to Mérida? Cancún? Any advice?

Vacation, All I Ever Wanted

We've been in the process of choosing a summer vacation destination for some time now and it seems we really need some help! We were originally set on Mexico City but, hoowee, did that ever go right out the window a few weeks ago.

Here are the parameters:
+ I'd like to go out of the country, thus satisfying one of my 30 Before 30 tasks.
+ I'd like to go someplace where it is summer, because packing for winter can really suck.
+ The best week for us to travel is bookended by weddings, so we only have 7 or 8 travel days, which basically means we don't want to spend whole days on planes.
+ We are much more adventurous types than sunning-by-the-pool types.

(So, that would exclude Hawaii, Buenos Aires, Europe, and cruise ships, respectively)

Which pretty much leaves? MEXICO CITY!

Except:
+ We prefer not to get the flu, you know.

So--one week in a fun, sunny, not-to-distant, foreign locale. Where do you go?

Frequent Flying

I spent another weekend in sunny San Diego, this time slumber partying with these gals:

About two seconds after I booked my flight to San Diego for this trip, one of my favorite college roommates, Stacey, emailed me and said that she was now living in San Diego and that if I was ever in the area we should hang out (also, she's getting married! Congratulations Stacey!). I immediately called Southwest to inquire about extending my trip but, alas, I had booked one of those non-refundable sort of flights and it would have cost me $200 just to take a flight later the same day. Which was more than a roundtrip for a whole weekend.

Looks like I'll just have to visit San Diego again. Oh darn.

Blame it on the Bunnies

While I was meeting the Playboy Bunnies, one of their, um, handlers was asking whether or not they needed to freshen up before they went up to club. They looked fine--thick makeup, fake eyelashes, the whole shebang--but the Bunnies nevertheless requested some time in their rooms. I suspect that they didn't need to freshen up so much as they wanted a twenty minute break from all the drooling dudes with mullets and cowboy hats.

After meeting the Bunnies and getting packed up for the triathlon, we finally crawled into bed well past midnight, which was really 1 AM as far as we were concerned, because of the impending time change. We had to get up at 5 o'clock in the morning, a time of day I had not seen for a very, very long time.

And that's when the Bunnies started pissing me off.

The bass from the 9th floor club, where the Bunny party was taking place, was bumping through the walls, a constant rumble, rattling the window. I couldn't fall asleep and at 2:08, I plodded down to the lobby barefoot and in my pajamas to inquire about a set of earplugs.

The apologetic front desk informed me that the club would close at 2 AM, but that it was still only a little after 1 since the time change technically happened at 2. They could not locate any earplugs. They pointed out that the bumping was way worse for guests on the 8th and 10th floors.

I noted that I had to get up in three short hours for my husband's triathlon. The front desk clerk asked if I might like to speak to the manager. I said I would. It's not like I expected them to close the club or anything, I just wanted to point out that a hotel with a club poorly located over the guest rooms really ought to offer cheap earplugs to their early rising guests.

(I am thinking that it often appears that I am pushy or overbearing in these situations, which I assure you I am not. I am persuasive, yes, but only in the loveliest sort of way.)

They located earplugs. They also offered us dinner on the hotel.

(I suspect that I shouldn't completely blame the Bunnies. The Fantasy Springs Resort Hotel and Casino is surrounded by two things: desert and a trailer park. The casino was thick with smoke and people in fanny packs. It may sound like Vegas, but I can promise you that it totally isn't. My guess is that the Bunnies weren't super-enthusiastic about bumping in a club at an Indian casino in Indio, but that is pure speculation. Maybe they like that sort of thing.)

In any event, when we returned from the triathlon, I stopped by the hotel desk to inquire about the dinner. They asked about the race and I told them that Will had came in three minutes slower than last year but that it was definitely still fun. I expressed this in a most jovial, joking manner, but the clerk must have thought that Will was the Lance Armstrong of triathletes or something--where three minutes could really make a difference of some sort--because she told us that we could eat at any of the hotel restaurants! And that we should really bring our friends along, too! And order dessert! And charge it all to the room!

And I was like, no, no, no. That's crazy. It's really okay. Maybe just a pizza?

And she was like, Seriously! I insist! And get dessert!

And so we did. Monty, Lauren, Will, and I had mozzarella lollipops, Indian bread with apple butter, various entrees, and two desserts (something chocolate, something cheesecake). There was also sangria.

We were very happy:

And, also, drunk:

We intended to go gambling--you know, pay back our free dinner by losing at the slots--but by the time we were finished eating and drinking and eating and drinking, we were too tired to carry on. Had we gotten more sleep the night prior, we might have dropped a dollar or two.

30 Going on 13

About a month ago, my friend Jenny emailed me, saying that if I booked a flight to Southern California, she'd get us a hotel room in San Diego and we could have a fabulously girly weekend visiting two of our former students, Amber and Sarah.

I immediately booked a cheap flight for this past weekend.

Jenny reserved a room for us at the Westgate, a hotel so ornate that we immediately agreed the gloriousness would have been completely lost on our husbands who, incidentally, we left at home with an almost-two-year-old and a new puppy. We felt about two seconds of guilt--that we were enjoying sunny San Diego while they were potty training a puppy--until we realized that the grandness of the place could never be fully appreciated by two men who spent their day at Rubio's and then at a hardware store "for fun."

The hotel was full of sparkling chandeliers, antique furnishings, and tasseled drapes. Mostly everything was gold! gold! gold! in the most fabulous possible way.

This is how we turned on the faucets in our room:

We ate breakfast in the lavishly appointed hotel restaurant where the waitstaff inquired whether we were planning to attend the opera that evening. Some of the ladies at breakfast were actually wearing gloves--fancy dress gloves--and many were drinking white wine at 10:30 in the morning.

In two days we visited two candy shops so our purses were full of gummi raspberries, sour fizzy candies, and Bubbalicious Ink'd gum.

Classy!

We drank Cokes and ate huge sundaes at the Ghirardelli shop and ordered Milky Way Mochas at The Living Room Cafe in La Jolla. We had room service bring up coffee and stayed in our pajamas as long as possible.

Basically, we were 12-year-olds.

But, you know, totally classy 12-year-olds with credit cards.

Do You Know the Way to Monterey?

A recipe for a good time: combine lots of wine, rustic french food, girls vs. boys bananagrams, golf carts, an aquarium trip, sand dunes, huge bowls of chocolate mousse, and $13 worth of spice gumdrops.

More photos from our weekend getaway with Gavin and Jenny are here.

So Would Not Have Flown in NYC

On our anniversary trip this year, Will and I opted to go for the mid-week special that our bed and breakfast offered. For an additional $75, we would get a lunch and a dinner added to our stay, with all the details worked out for us. 

We had the lunch first, a lovely meal at the Historic Upham Hotel. Will had an Anaheim Chile stuffed with some vegetables and rice, I had a pasta dish. The whole thing was $35, but we didn't have to pay since we had some certificate printed up as part of our package deal. 

The following day was the dinner and we were instructed to show up at a place called Downey's at 7 o'clock in the evening.  We figured on a similar sort of experience--nice, but casual. Let's do the math: if  we paid $75 extra for the two meals and subtracted $35 for the lunch, there should be about $40 left for dinner. Maybe a little more, since it was the "special" and all. Nice, but casual. 

Will put on a t-shirt, some jeans, and some flip-flops. I put on a dress, but only because I always wear a dress, and we walked down to the place. Here we are on the way:

Will is wearing a black t-shirt, I am carrying an enormous handbag. And just like that we walked right into one of Santa Barbara's finest four-star restaurants. Who knew.

The meal was fabulous, with lots of delicious courses which, seriously, took three hours to get through.  There was a cheese course involved--a whole part of the meal set aside specifically to eat cheese (hello!)--and some seriously incredible desserts.  Our seventeen waiters were very nice and I think there was one person who had the single job of refolding napkins when people got up to use the restroom. Both times that I went off to pee (three hours of drinking wine and coffee!), my napkin was refolded all fancy-like before I got back to the table.

Our $50 estimate was dead-off, with the tip alone being practically that much. And, yet, nobody even blinked an eye at the flip-flops. While plenty of people were wearing suit jackets, one guy had on a hippie shirt and another was wearing a bright shirt with a fish pattern.  

People, if you want to drink $100 bottles of wine in your Tommy Bahama clothing, California is totally where it's at. 

Giraffe 101

If I had one of those 101 in 1001 lists on this blog--you know, where you think of 101 things that you are going to accomplish in 1001 days--I would definitely have put "feed a giraffe apple biscuits" right at the top of the list. 

And, also, I would make a note to wear my yellow-orange giraffe feeding dress. I mean, obviously.

Even though I haven't written down the 101 in 1001 list, I do have it right here in my head, and I am thrilled to report that I have crossed off another item. Feed a giraffe apple biscuits. Check. Done. Did it. 

Giraffe is looking for more biscuits and so not cooperating for the group photo shot. Good thing that I didn't have "take a group photo with a giraffe" on that list in my head because, boy, that would not have been good.

Also not on my list: brush a giraffe's hair, buy a giraffe a commemorative coin collection, make a giraffe-themed iTunes mix.

On my list? Well, I'll tell you. "Ride a tandem bike" is on there and I have a sneaking suspicion that if y'all check back soon, I might very well rent a bicycle built for two. 

My Davis

Real Simple has a fantastic My Hometown feature, where insiders share what's not to be missed about their cities.  The problem is: only 14 cities are listed, leaving the vast majority of America unrevealed. Last year, I told you about My Santa Barbara; today, I am telling you about My Davis. 

I'm hoping that you will also participate! Pretty please create a post on your blog telling us about your hometown--the place you currently live or the place you grew up, whichever you prefer--and send me the link. I'll post all of the links on a permanent page, that way, we will have great insider advice for the places we go. Need more inspiration? See RA's My Kennett Square and Janet's My DC!

My Davis: Janet Wallace 

Age: 28 

Occupation: Law Student 

I've lived here for: One Year 

I live here because: I am a student at UC Davis School of Law 

My neighborhood: South Davis 

My favorite restaurant: Cafe Bernardo 

If you go to this restaurant, be sure to order: The Amaretto French Toast 

My favorite museum: John Natsoulas Art Gallery 

My favorite tourist destination: UC Davis Arboretum 

Best insider spot: Wednesday evening at the Farmer's Market 

My favorite area: Downtown 

Best place to go shopping: Nestware and Pinkadot

When you visit, don’t forget to pack: Casual clothing 

But leave room in your suitcase for: Some Aggie gear

The one local cuisine you should try when you’re in town is: fresh fruit at the farmer's market

The best way to get around: Bicycle--in Davis, bicycles are more prolific than people!

If I had to describe this city in one word, it would be: Friendly! Davis was named one of the five friendliest cities in America. 

I tell my friends to stay at: Palm Court--or with me. 

The one thing most outsiders don’t know about this city is: Davis is the second most educated city in America. 

They say “Virginia is for lovers.” So fill in the blank: Davis is for bicycle-riding-tree-hugging families.

Double or Nothing

What Will packed for four days away: 

2 pair shorts 

1 pair jeans 

2 polos 

2 t-shirts 

1 jacket 

1 pair shoes 

1 pair flip flops 

= 

10 items plus socks and boxers 

What I packed for four days away: 

6 dresses 

3 shirts 

2 tank tops 

2 pair jeans 

1 skirt 

3 cardigans 

1 coat 

4 sets pajamas 

1 pair heels 

1 pair wedge shoes 

2 flat sandals 

= 

26 items plus panties 

What can I say, I like to have choices.

On Packing

I am a terrible packer.

Every time I am going somewhere, I have such good intentions. I resolve to pack only the essentials. I intend to lay out on my bed one outfit per day, all of which will match a single pair of black shoes or, at most, two pairs of black shoes--one dressy, one casual. I intend to bring only a single coat, probably black, which will match each perfectly selected outfit and which could be layered over a summer dress or paired with a sweater to meet whatever demands the weather may make.

I imagine it would look like one of those magazine layouts where five optimum pieces can be combined to make 78 outfits, ranging the spectrum from beach casual to elegant sophistication.

What I do instead is this: start piling things in my suitcase. Add more items until the suitcase is bursting at the seams. Squish in half a dozen pairs of shoes. Hide some sweaters among the items in Will's bag. Before we walk out the door, grab several hangers worth of jackets and sweaters. Forget underwear.

I think that I have travelled a respectable amount and, by now, you would think that I could pack one small carry-on bag for a long weekend away. Somehow, I'm not even close.

Are you a perfect packer or do you roll the one-weekend-four-bag way?

Sweet Suite

On Saturday night, after dinner at an Italian restaurant and a few glasses of wine, Lauren and I checked into our hotel room. Although the convention we were attending was right across the street from the Radisson, we elected to say at a lesser-quality (i.e. cheaper) hotel around the corner. We checked in a little after 10pm with plans to go get some margaritas at a restaurant across the parking lot. Lauren was finishing up a phone call and I opened the nightstand drawer to get out a notepad.

And do you know what I found in the nightstand drawer?

A bible, a book of Mormon, and a fat stack of paperwork belonging to a recently released convict. As in: A CONVICT WAS STAYING IN OUR HOTEL ROOM BEFORE US. And not just that, but he left behind his FBI number, social security number, personal letters, court paperwork, address, phone number, and photo.

Maybe we overreacted, but Lauren and I decided we wanted a new room. You know? Our convict could have realized that he left his paperwork behind and returned to collect it. And, I don't know, my feeling is that convicts don't always follow normal social protocol. And, therefore, our convict might not go to the front desk to get his paperwork like a law abiding citizen would, but he might very well come knocking at our door. Or he might bust through our window. That's how convicts roll.

We marched down to the front desk, Lauren and I, and requested a new room. But there were (allegedly) no available rooms. So, we got a little demanding.

Us: So, then we'd like to move out of this hotel. And we don't want to pay.

Lady at the front desk: I don't really see what the big deal is.

Us: Well, we could be KILLED.

Lady: We have his address. If something happens, we know where he lives.

Us: An address doesn't help us if we are DEAD.

(More discussion about KILLED and DEAD)

Lady: Fine! If you move out by midnight, we won't charge you.

We said that YES, WE WOULD MOVE OUT, THANK YOU. We packed up our crap, which is one hour was already scattered throughout the room, and lugged it out to our cars and, hallelujah, we were not going to be KILLED and DEAD.

There was only one problem. We didn't really have anywhere else to stay.

We drove over to the Radisson and repeated the story of our convict to everyone we saw. The Radisson didn't have any available rooms for the night. Neither did the nearby Holiday Inn. It was looking like we were going to be chillin' in the lobby until a room became available the following afternoon, but as Lauren pointed out, we wouldn't have slept had we stayed in the convict room, so we might as well not sleep in the lobby of the Radisson with some martinis.

But, then, lo! Somebody we knew had rented a suite for a party and now, at 1 o'clock in the morning, the paid-for suite (and its king-sized sleep number bed) sat empty. And we, being homeless, were invited to move on in. And so we did. And we were not killed or dead. And it was lovely.

That, my friends, is how our convict got us a sweet suite in the Radisson.

Burgernomics

A few weeks ago, Will and I were discussing our next vacation. We don't have a date set (and the way things look we won't be able to go anywhere until next summer) but we started to consider our options. One of the biggest concerns about our next vacation is that it will need to be cheap, what with me being a student and all. Will immediately suggested we use the Big Mac index to help us make a decision. The Economist's Big Mac index is a light-hearted guide to how far currencies are from fair value. There's a lot of fancy language about purchasing-power parity but you don't have to understand economics to see that a Big Mac in the United States is $3.41 while a Big Mac in Thailand costs only $1.80.

Norway is definitely out for us next summer, with a Big Mac costing a steep $6.88, although Egypt, with Big Macs coming in at $1.68, is certainly on the table for discussion.

Just for the record, should there be any confusion, I would never buy a Big Mac on vacation. Will and I abide by very strict, self-imposed rules which preclude us from eating anything that we can find right here in California. It may always be a safe bet, but I just can't imagine flying across the United States to eat an appetizer platter at T.G.I. Fridays.

'Tis Hard to Leave

On Friday at noon, when I was sitting in a bar drinking a glass of wine in celebration (or contempt, as it may be) of my first law school midterm, Will texted me asking if I would like to meet Anthony and Amanda for dinner in San Francisco.

We met them at a brewery, where a beer and a lemon drop were awaiting our arrival, and we chatted and laughed and I lamented about law school, the only thing I know how to talk about because it's the only thing I do. Ever.

(Seriously, I went to Target today, and I literally shopped from a list, steering the cart only in the direction of the items we needed. Glass cleaner? Check. Cat food? Check. Lotion? Check. Bleach tablets? Check. People, I did not even look to see what new clothes Isaac Mizrahi has out or whether there was a cheap pair of ballet flats that I couldn't pass up.)

San Francisco was as fabulous as always, and for the first time I didn't feel like I needed to rush around to see as much as possible in the limited time associated with a place that is too far away to visit with any regularity. Now, it is a mere hop, skip, and jump away, plus a $4 toll to cross the Bay Bridge.

After drinks, we ate at an Italian restaurant and then visited City Lights, a fantastic independent bookstore. At the end of the night, we were standing outside the bookstore, ready to go our separate ways. Although it was getting cold and we were tired, we couldn't seem to stop the conversation, and we continued to chat and laugh.

The story is so nice up until this point: the pasta, family, conversation, books, laughter. We probably would have stood out there all night--in fact, there's a possibility we could still be standing out there right now--but the party was broken up by a stream of pee that was flowing downhill, right in our direction, sprung from a bum that was using the wall of the bookstore as his personal urinal.

Walter Cronkite once said that "leaving San Francisco is like saying goodbye to an old sweetheart. You want to linger as long as possible." But just not long enough for the pee to get you.

Posing as a Post

Here's a fun task: try to pack a suitcase for a weekend trip by locating items which have been haphazardly packed into 40 moving boxes that are now precariously stacked in the spare bedroom. Fun and impossible!

While I attempt to locate two black high heeled shoes, one strapless bra, one camera charger, one wedding greeting card, and my sanity, please divert your attention to an album of butterfly photographs taken by Will and me this summer.

So pretty! Completely unlike the current situation in the spare room.

My Santa Barbara

I love the My Hometown feature at Real Simple and I immediately wanted to weigh in with my own hometown favorites. Unfortunately, my current town is not much of a destination stop. Instead, I decided to post about my former hometown, Santa Barbara, California. I lived in Santa Barbara during college and visit several times a year for my anniversary, with family, and for day shopping trips. Soon enough I'll be able to post about my new, absolutely fabulous hometown, but until then...

My Santa Barbara: Janet Wallace

Age: 27

Occupation: Teacher

I lived there for: Two years

I lived there because: I was a student at the University of California, Santa Barbara

My neighborhood: Isla Vista

My favorite restaurant: The Palace Grill. There's always a line, but it's worth it.

If you go to this restaurant, be sure to order: The Palace Swan

My favorite museum: Santa Barbara Museum of Art

My favorite tourist destination: The Courthouse

Best insider spot: State Street during Fiesta!

My favorite area: Downtown

Best place to go shopping: State Street and the Sunday Arts and Crafts Show

When you visit, don’t forget to pack: A bathing suit

But leave room in your suitcase for: Local wine

The one local cuisine you should try when you’re in town is: A Freebirds burrito and Sambos pancakes

The best way to get around: Your feet and a kayak

If I had to describe this city in one word, it would be: Paradise

I tell my friends to stay at: The Cheshire Cat, Fess Parker's Doubletree Resort, or Bacara

The one thing most outsiders don’t know about this city is: The first Motel 6 was opened in Santa Barbara in 1962.

They say “Virginia is for lovers.” So fill in the blank: Santa Barbara is for "the almost wed and the almost dead." But, really, it's for everyone else, too.

Tell us about your hometown and leave a link, please! If we get enough, I'll put together a permanent page with links to all of our local favorites. Unless there is some copyright issue or something. I better get lawyery and look into that.

Turned Off

Last night I took a look at the last few weeks on my calendar and, as it turns out, we have spent 20 of the last 40 days in a hotel room. I love staying in hotels especially considering that the last few weeks have been spent in fancy, modern high-rise hotels and luxurious, grand resort hotels. I would live in a hotel if I could--laundry service, daily clean towels, crisp white sheets. Who needs 2000 square feet when you've got warm chocolate chip cookies delivered to your door and a bar right downstairs?

One of the funny things about hotels for Will and I is that we never get much sleep in a hotel. No matter how comfortable the beds and the pillows may be, no matter how exhausted we are from a day of sightseeing or robotics, no matter how late it may be, we cannot just go to sleep in a hotel.

Because of the television. The television, it is a terrible, terrible thing.

As you probably already know, we do not have television at home. I haven't seen American Idol or Project Runway or Survivor. We occasionally rent a television show from Netflix, but that's about the extent of our television viewing habits.

Unless we are in a hotel.

When we enter the hotel, almost as quickly as he sets down the luggage, Will turns on ESPN. When he goes to take a shower, I flip to E: True Hollywood Story. I also like the home decorating shows. I recently saw Design on a Dime, a home decorating show where three designers re-do a room on a "dime" which is actually $1000 which is not exactly the same thing if you ask me. I'd like to see what they can pull off with a $200 gift card to Target. That would be impressive. Will watched an entire show about turtles on Discovery two nights ago. I traded a leg massage for control of the remote. I wonder obsessively whether The Hills is supposed to be reality TV or just has really, really bad acting.

We are home now, thank goodness, because it is TV Turn Off Week. With the exception of some hotels rooms and visits to my in-laws' house, we have been TV free for five years. I don't know how we could have accomplished half the crap we made it through--degrees, the LSAT, triathlons, robotics, laundry--if we would have had a television. People always ask how we can possibly live without a television. I will tell you, not only have we actually not fallen down dead, we may have become better for it. At least we got some more laundry done.

If we ever do live at a Doubletree resort, which I hope we do, I guess we'll have to request that the TV be turned off.

Overpriced Things I Have Purchased in the Last 2 Weeks

$3.99: Bowl of cereal (twice)
$3.49: Pre-made peanut butter and jelly sandwich
$4.99: Small deodorant from hotel gift shop
$9.00: Beer flavored ice cream from the White Dog Cafe (twice)
$24.00: Two wire frogs
$8.00: Ticket to a museum for the purpose of using the restroom (the pee, it cannot wait)
$5.00: Soft Pretzel
$7.00: PB Loco Cinny Nilla peanut butter sandwich

Seems like small, insignificant purchases, but that crap adds up to $78.46. Which is a Banana Republic skirt. Imagine how cute that skirt would fit if I wasn't eating so much peanut butter, pretzels, and ice cream!

Driving Miss Crazy

The weekend before we left for Philly, Will, Kiley, Benji and I took a quick trip to San Diego to attend a robotics tournament. We were going to scout out our competition for the upcoming trip to Atlanta. We never actually made it to the robotics competition.

First, we made a wrong turn and ended up in Palm Springs, which is marked with a pink star to the right of our route on the map below. We were chatting and laughing and paying absolutely no attention to the fact that we were on the completely wrong freeway until, hi, welcome to Palm Springs.

Then we went to Dick's Last Resort. With the intentionally rude waiters, the good beer, the inappropriate paper hats, and the even more inappropriate balloon animals, you can only go to Dick's if you have loose morals. Which we do.

Then there was this:

It came down to a choice between robots and margaritas. The margaritas won. All three days.

Roach Motel

Last week we made a last minute decision to visit some friends in San Luis Obispo and drove up Friday afternoon for a couple of nights. By the time we arrived on Friday, it was time for dinner; we were hungry and some of our friends had mentioned that they would wait for us so that we could all enjoy dinner together. Not wanting to keep anyone waiting we decided to get something to eat before we booked a hotel room for the night. By the time we finished the meal and caught up with Kayla, Andrew, Justin, and Scott, it was 11 at night and we set out to find a hotel.

We knew that a chain hotel off the freeway had availability when we arrived in town and headed over to get a room, only to find out that the rooms had all been booked while we had been chatting at the pizza parlor. We sat in the parking lot while I tried calling a few other hotels in the downtown area, all booked, and we decided to call a small motel that was across the street from where we were parked. The man offered us a room for $65 and then offered an additional $20 discount. I knew right away that it wasn't going to be a Hilton but, as Will pointed out, it was nearly midnight and we didn't have to stay there both nights. We could find something better in the morning for the following night.

We checked in at 11:45pm.

And checked out at 11:48pm.

Luckily we made it out before we contracted herpes.

Some of the highlights:

+ No shower curtain
+ An empty mini fridge right in the middle of the room, unplugged, opened
+ One towel with a handwritten note taped above it: "Do Not Stain the Towel"
+ Plastic sheets on the bed
+ Huge burn in the middle of the filthy, sticky carpet
+ Missing room number
+ Broken door lock
+ Holes in the walls
+ This hair dryer

I realized the motel must be charging $45 by the hour to prostitutes or people changing the oil in their motorcycles right in the middle of the room, which would be the only explanation for the black grease stains all over the carpet.

We left immediately. We were denied a refund. We were offered to be moved to room 205 and when I refused that offer, we were offered a room in a nearby motel owned by the same family.

I called American Express.

They opened an inquiry to get our money back.

But, also, I was kinda pissed.

And so we went back.

And talked the guy into an almost total refund.

Hopefully AMEX will get back the last few dollars.

We ended up finding an excellent hotel a few exits down the freeway. It wasn't downtown, but there were towels! and sheets! and apples and oranges and coffee and teas in the lobby! and a big breakfast spread in the morning! with waffles! We have stayed in luxury hotels far nicer than this one we ended up at, but considering where we had been, it might as well have been a five-star resort. We were totally impressed by the door on the bathroom and the television and what? A dresser! Tight!

The next day at lunch we were laughing about the horrible motel and Will described it this way: At our current hotel there is a continental breakfast if you get up before ten; at the other place there is continental breakfast, if you are quick enough to catch it.

Bezerkeley

Photos from our weekend trip to Berkeley are here.

How's My Driving?

We spent Labor Day weekend in Berkeley, California where we were visiting Benji and some other friends. We took a carload of people up with us for the 6 hour ride and were rotating the seating arrangement so that no one person had to spend the entire ride sitting in the middle of the backseat, a seat so small that it fit only one of my butt cheeks at a time. Being the only girl in the car, I think that I ended up spending the greatest amount of time in the middle. While in this horrible center seat, I stretched my legs across the center console, between the driver and front passenger, with my feet dangling disgustingly close to the front seat passengers' soda cups. Revenge.

I drove for several hours on the way to Berkeley and, although I don't particularly like to drive, I enjoyed the leg room and control of the air and radio for a short period. For the remainder of the trip I was the chief navigator, the only person capable of or willing to use a map. Whenever I asked for some direction while I was driving, everyone seemed to lose the ability to read words on a page.

On the ride home we stopped at Harris Ranch, the location of the only clean restroom on Interstate 5. I was ready for my chance to drive. We were all standing out at the car and Will was holding up the car keys.

Will: Who wants to drive?

Me: I will!

Will: Alan? No?

Me: I will!

Will: Rene, want to take the wheel?

Me: I will!

Will: How about you Tyler?

Tyler ended up driving and I sat back in the middle for most of the remaining hours, although I plotted revenge and spent the rest of the trip singing dramatically along with a mixed CD I made, a CD full of Elton John, Michael Jackson, Queen, and Carly Simon.

There was little talking going on due to my talented vocals. And by "talented" I mean "maybe a tiny bit better than dogs howling at a blaring car alarm." Also, I did not know some of the lyrics but went ahead and sang them anyway using whatever words I thought sounded okay. I used a cell phone as a microphone for a theatrical rendition of R. Kelly's World's Greatest.

They should have just let me drive.

Unscrupulous

I found an Apple computer station in the bookstore of this here place I am conferencing at, The University of San Diego, a Roman Catholic institution brimming with young students who are developing strong moral convictions.

I first checked my comments from the previous two posts, the comments which discuss alcohol and antibiotics and the effects of combining the two: YEAST INFECTION. Luckily, I am not taking any drugs that, with alcohol, will result in a yeast infection, thank goodness, and I am also done with the painkillers because oral surgery? Not so bad. Not worth swallowing a pill for.

So, next I visited a few blogs, although I did so with the fear of what might load on the page while a spiritually enlightened student of faith was looking over my shoulder. I was not let down. Amalah flipped us all off and Kathryn used the words Fuck and Asshole in her most recent post. Dooce was pretty inoffensive today, so I was able to enjoy the whole post without much minimizing.

Then I pretended to be shopping for an iPod Nano while the tech guy was restocking the shelf behind me.

And now I am typing this post as quickly as possible before I get kicked out for the vulgarity, the crude reference to vaginal infection, and the racy suggestion of alcohol, which whatever, Catholics drink wine.  Amen.

Working Hard

I am in San Diego, blogging from the Apple Store in some big outdoor mall called Fashion Valley, a place that is very, very bad when you are on a budget because everywhere you turn is Burberry! Sephora! J. Crew! Ann Taylor! Lilly Pulitzer! and every place has a big sign in the window announcing that there is a Sale! The Biggest Sale of the Year!

The good news is that I have per diem, which means that I can eat big, fabulous meals for free!!!!!!!! Freeeeeee!!!! Except I cannot order alcoholic drinks with my per diem because, despite the fact that my school district is willing to pay for a fancy hotel, buffet breakfasts, appetizer platters, thick steaks, P. F. Changs, milkshakes, huge chunks of Cheesecake Factory Cheesecake, room service at any hour, transportation, and Starbucks Coffee, they are not willing to pay for alcohol. THAT would be too lavish.

We did get free wine at the conference last night. All you could drink. Don't tell my district. They paid my registration and I'm sure that my bottle of wine was worked into that price.

All I Wanna Do

Last night, while surfing the Internet, Will found and printed a 6-page travel itinerary for a weekend in Los Angeles. The itinerary, all four days of it, centers around sports events including the Manhattan Beach Open, Dodgers vs. Giants baseball, and the JP Morgan Chase Open. ESPN proposed this weekend and I am sure men everywhere are bouncing around their apartments reading all 6 pages of the itinerary aloud to their wives and repeatedly asking, "doesn't that sound so fun?"

Uh-huh.

I tuned out at paragraph two. Blah, blah, blah, Dodger Stadium, U.S. Open, blah, blah, Lindsay Davenport, SportsCenter, blah.

But then? But then, I heard the words Beverly Hills Hotel come out of my darling husband's mouth. And, then, Pinks, the famous Hollywood Hot Dog Stand was mentioned. And I was pretty sure I heard Will mention the words famous pecan waffles.

I was definitely intrigued, but I played it cool.

After Will left for work, I took a closer look at the trip and found it chock full of great Los Angeles restaurants and even a stop at the Getty and a little bit of shopping in Beverly Hills (of course, they suggest you shop at Niketown where Kobe Bryant launched the Nike Air Zoom, whatever that is).

Suddenly I am feeling so generous and unselfish about this trip. Yes, I really think we ought to go. For my husband, of course. That's how sweet I really can be.

Finally

I know y'all have been on the edges of your seats and so I am here to tell you that we did go grocery shopping. Oh yes, we did. And now we have things in the pantry and things in the refrigerator and yet, despite filling up a cart full of items at Trader Joe’s yesterday, I still ate two tablespoons of hot fudge and a bag of mini carrots for dinner tonight. We could very well have left all our bags at the checkout counter because when I look into the fridge there is nothing that stands out except that damn jar of fudge that beckons to me with all its thick, rich, chocolatey scrumptiousness.

And, anyway, we technically ate dinner at an awards ceremony earlier this evening, if meatballs, little wieners, ruffles, and a variety of cheeses count as dinner. Which, in my world? Are you serious? That’s like a four-course banquet.

But, wait. Last night. Last night we made a roast chicken and mashed potatoes. By we, I mean I got all squeamish about touching the raw flesh of a dead bird which could have bird flu, you never know, and directed the preparation of the chicken from a safe distance on the other side of the sink. I did hold the mixer to mash up the potatoes, while Will added things like milk and butter and garlic salt and chives. Teamwork! We were quite impressive and I should have taken a photo of the finished chicken (which was nice and goldenish brown because I followed Martha's instructions and put a foil tent on it) but by the time the dinner was finally finished, I was so hungry that I was about to run to Del Taco for a quick snack. The recipe said the chicken would feed six people. Impossible. Six third graders, maybe.

And, finally:

Photos from Atlanta and some streaming video of me after two big bowls of mai tai from Trader Vic's. Rene took the movie and has more, including one of Will singing his unique rendition of La Bamba, coming soon.