How is it even the seventh day already? In celebration of god resting, I’m up early at 5am and ready to roll. Check my phone: sunrise at 7:02am. Perfect. Get dressed. Head downstairs by 6:15am. It’s adventure time!
But first, coffee.
There…is…no…coffee. I may die.
Run back upstairs and grab two of my stockpiled bottles of water. I’ve resorted to hiding them daily when I leave so housekeeping keeps bringing more so I have them just in case. Water will have to hold me over until I get to Starbucks. There is one here. I’m basically the human form of Little Bunny Follows His Nose. I can sniff out coffee anywhere. Continue reading
Tall local leaves around 9am. Apple Watch says I’ve already stood for 4 hours so I must have been out until at least 4am. Already doubled my move and exercise goals for the day. Need to go clubbing more often. Skinny goals. Back to sleep until noon. Gracias. Continue reading
Grabbed brunch and margaritas at El Dorado. Server told me the bathroom for me is the door on the left. Sign on the door says “LADIES.” Kid’s got jokes.
A few months back, my boss says to me: “So you have a bunch of vacation days to burn through before blackout kicks in for the holiday. Figure out when you want to take some PTO and let me know.” Since I’m not one to sit around and do nothing (sorry to any of you who live for a good staycation) I immediately started looking for flights to somewhere warm. As much as I love Chicago, I need the beach – a real beach on an ocean, not a lake – in my life.
So remember that time I went to Mexico for a week with seven of my friends and wound up losing my wallet in the first 48 hours? Well…when you have ten days to burn and find a round-trip flight for under $300 and a hotel for $31/night that’s two blocks from the beach, you book it and cross your fingers since you’re flying solo this time around.
With the exchange rate making a Corona about $1.20 at the time, I decided I should probably keep notes to document my trip since it would probably wind up being a blur. Behold. Continue reading
Growing up, I was taught that “home is where the heart is” – compliments of some hand-stitched needlepoint that my mom or grandma had done at some point and hung on the wall. There’s the part in The Wizard of Oz where Dorothy clicks her ruby red heels together and chants ‘There’s no place like home’ three times then magically reappears there. Sometimes it’d be nice to be able to do this. Trust me – there have been times that I’ve wished I could click my glittery size 12 pumps (just kidding, those days are over) together and end up in my mom’s house with a home-cooked meal in the land of a lack of reliable cell phone service where the closest guy on Grindr is 4 miles away. Continue reading
As we rolled into San Diego on a sunny Sunday afternoon, depression started to set in. In less than 24 hours I was supposed to be boarding my flight back to Chicago and trading 80-degree temps for 50’s and rain. Determined not to let the inevitable (me leaving) get us down, we headed for Balboa Park to stretch our legs and let Baker make some friends at the dog park before checking into our amazing last-minute AirBNB booking at the Granada House (make sure to check out their blog too!!) in San Diego’s North Park neighborhood. As our stomachs began to growl (yes, gays really do eat sometimes), we set off for the beach to grab dinner and catch the end of the sunset.
I mean seriously…how can you not fall in love with this view?
And just like that, my love affair with San Diego began. Continue reading