Coming Home

First, there's the rush of getting everything done. Not just packing, but dealing with a client, then another client, the errands across town. Don't forget to eat something. Stop by CVS, the mail box, inhale lunch, and fill your suitcase. Get gas. Get the car washed (I know, it's kind of silly, but it brings me luck), then put everything in the car and go.

Even with traffic, it's the quickest six hours I know. I went a new musical route this time and listened to an old playlist. I'm one hell of a DJ, I must say. It was two-and-a-half-hours long. I listened to it twice.

I ate dinner at 85. Miles-per-hour, that is. I drank 64 ounces of water in less than five hours, and only peed once. I made it all the way to Santa Nella for that. I sped through the gusty winds that blew as the 5 was about the meet the 580. I was surprised how cold it was in Dublin. No, not *that* Dublin.

I've learned to compact my luggage over these visits. Even though this is only for a weekend, it's still a tad cumbersome; I have part of a birthday gift to bring. It's rather oversized for something so temporary. I made it all in, gracefully, in one trip.

Immediately there was laughter. Even a snort. And hugs. The adorable alarm-clock was already asleep. The magic coffee maker poured me a beer, then told a joke. We stood in the kitchen laughing, excited for the weekend and all that it holds. And now it's off to bed. A big day tomorrow. A bigger day the day after that. On Sunday, I'll pack it all back up and make the drive again, only heading South instead. Right now, it just feels good to be home.

To Morro, Part II

Things I learned about myself during my weekend at Morro Bay:

1. It's better if I pack the night before rather than the day of.
2. If I'm not going to pack the night before, it's a good thing for me to forget to wash my makeup brushes so that I can use the residue on the eyeshadow brush in place of the shade I forgot to bring.
3. No matter how tired I am, there's always time for good conversation.
4. No matter how much coffee there is, that's no replacement for sleep.
5. I can drink a lot of wine and still not have a hangover (though that may be due to the phenomenal amount of bread I consumed over the course of the weekend).
6. I can actually function without internet access (but there's a hell of a lot of Twitter to read when I get home).
7. I can easily fall asleep without the TV on to lull me (that could also be due to the wine/bread/late-night-convo combination).
8. I can be around 7 kids at once and my head won't explode (again, the wine and bread may have assisted here as well, but the kids were pretty close to angelic).
9. I can almost not swear at all in front of said children, and can pretty much refrain from inappropriate comments or conversation topics...or at least I can keep a low voice when I do slip.
10. I don't care about the rock.
11. I don't carry the soccer mom gene.
12. Fudge gives me a headache (which causes me heartache).
13. I tend to forget to pack my motivation when I go on vacation.
14. I tend to forget to eat my vegetables on vacation (unless salsa counts as a vegetable).
15. No matter how utterly adorable a child might be, it's still not enough to rouse my maternal urges to consider actually having one myself.

This is my second time going to Morro Bay. The first time I went, I was really tired. I kind of slept through most of it. It's sort of a sleepy town anyway. I was there for two days before I noticed the rock. As we were walking toward the ocean, I stopped dead in my tracks and said, "Holy mother! Look at that rock!" The whole street stopped to look at the "special" girl pointing at the obvious. My friends just shook there heads. "You are just now noticing it?" one asked. I reminded her how tired I was.

This time, the rock was fogged in. Seen it once, seen it a thousand times anyway. And after a hellish heatwave, I was happy to don a sweater and shiver. After a hellish work week, I was happy to do nothing more than meander through the day with chit-chat and snacks. This is really what life is about. I felt kind of bad, like I was a terrible guest when they would ask me, "Do you want to walk down to the beach?" Nah. "Do you want to go out for breakfast?" Eh. Maybe tomorrow.

Then I realized, maybe this wasn't all about me. So I asked, "Do you want to go to the beach?" After a pause, the answer was, "Nah."

We did venture out to lunch and took a stroll around the village. More friends (and their offspring) came over for dinner. We learned that you should read the poundage and do the cooking math before you go to bed, in case it's supposed to cook for sixteen hours (but that you can adjust the heat and get it done in ten). We also learned that an excited young man in new, dark-rinse jeans will stain cream-colored walls when he bounces off of them. And that Clorox wipes will only take you so far before you actually rub through to the paint you painted over. And, sometimes a person just needs to go to sleep without saying good night. Which is okay. That's just how we roll.

Mornings do come dreadfully early, especially on the last day. But, let me just say that on neither morning did I wake to a baby crying. No. Not this perfect child. Not even when Aunt SAM emerged from her room with glasses on, blemishes blazing and rocking a faux ponytail. Though he and I seemed to perfect the art of the headbutt on day one, on day two, he confused it for a kiss. Or maybe he's all about love and not war. Either way, I only want spawn if I can have one as good as him. But, that's a tall order, and since my friends already have one that good, I'll just bogart him from time to time. I can't wait for him to start talking. I know it will be profound. Probably something along the lines of, "Lady, back off!"

I'm not good with goodbyes, so I just sort of pack up and go. I had to hit the road a bit early in the day so I could avoid Sunday traffic back in L.A. I thought about stopping for gas before getting on the freeway, but didn't. That would be smart, and we know how I like to make things difficult. On my way down to the 101, the hawks soared overhead. Had I even thought about this possibility, we would have been picnicking on the hills, watching them sail above us. Instead, I swerved on the road as I watched them circle and swoop. I took them as a good omen.

I paid $2.97 for gas in Carpinteria. The drive home was only three-and-a-half hours long...without speeding. The hawks were indeed a good sign. And, even after stopping for a burrito, I was home in time for True Blood. It couldn't have been a more perfect weekend. Well, if I would have remembered my eyeshadow, that would have been a bonus.

To Morro, Part I

Beginning a weekend getaway on only four hours of sleep is not a good plan. Thought I might go on record with that, just in case you were thinking of doing something similarly stupid. Don't. It can be a little dangerous. Also, don't get cocky and think you can manage without caffeine on that tiny amount of sleep. That's just asinine.

It's not often I get the chance to sneak out of town. Vacations this year? Deux (and both were weekend-sized...sigh). So, when friends call to say, Let's get away, I do my best to comply. Inevitably, my schedule leading up to the break is always a fustercluck. Last week was no exception. But I was so looking forward to my weekend away at Morro Bay, I could hardly wait for Friday to arrive. Of course, I was well into Friday before I got to bed. Blogs take up a lot of time.

My lack of sleep made Friday a harried morning. I barely had time to get dressed. There was no time to run by Starbucks for fuel on my way to Client #2. Surprisingly, I had energy. I was alert. I didn't even yawn. All without a hint of caffeine. No green tea, nor chocolate covered espresso beans. I almost called Guinness.

After work, there was the scurry to get errands done. Run to the store, get gas, check tires and oil, and...oh, yeah...pack. Packing in a rush can lead to disaster. Fortunately, it only made me late, and I only forgot my eyeshadow. At least I remembered my feminine supplies, because it's only really a vacation if Aunt Flo tags along. Jeebus. Of all the luck.

Because I was running late, I had to skip the much needed car wash. I also didn't have time to make a medicinal stop at the Bucks. I was high on Midol, so I didn't care. Besides, I was hoping to make it to Morro Bay before the crash set in. Because the crash was inevitable. And it would be a bitch. I could feel it in my bones.

In order to distract myself from the impending doom of exhaustion and the bummer of traffic, I chatted with a friend for over an hour. She got me to Ventura. NIN took me the rest of the way. Once the sun fully set, the yawn-fest hit. And I was only a third of the way there. I never realized how far away Morro Bay actually is. I wasn't sure I would make it, and even considered going back home to get some sleep and drive back out the next morning. But, only a total wuss would do that. An idiot would just keep on going.

I suppose I should have paid more attention to the Google Map, because the occasional glance in the dark was not sufficient. I am a competent driver, and even a competent directions reader. But the first time I drive a new route in the dark -- especially after inadequate sleep -- can spell disaster. Or something equally annoying. All I knew was that I would take the 405 to the 101 to the 1 and -- boom -- four-plus hours later, I'd be in Morro Bay. Of course, there's more that one 1 off the 101. And, of course, I took the first one that came along.

Fifteen minutes on the darkest, single-lane highway in America, I began to draft law requiring that the highway/route/freeway number and direction it's headed be posted every so many miles (five would be my suggestion), so that when someone as exhausted as myself gets the feeling the vertigo from the winding road and begins to question if she's actually going in the right direction could look at a road sign figure that out. Instead, seeing one too many signs for Lompoc and none or Morro Bay, and worried that I might actually be headed toward Malibu instead of the Central Coast, I turned around and went back to the 101. An hour later, there was a second sign for the 1, and this one lead to Morro Bay.

Do you pay attention to all the tiny street names of the sharp turns to you take off the off-ramp to get you onto the main drag? Me neither. So, why does Google Maps add those, only to confuse me later? I don't have time while I am driving in the dark with dry contacts to note how many inches I would be driving on those streets. I'm easily distracted by places with names such as "Taco de Mexico", which leads my brain to wonder if "Taco de Ireland" would actually be a choice. So when I see street names on internet directions, I actually think they matter. Once again, I pulled off the road and called my friends to give me guidance. Five hours after I left Venice, I pulled into their driveway and, thirty seconds later, had a glass of wine in my hands. Did I tell you they are good friends?

Tune in for To Morro, Part II tomorrow.