First of all, since y'all clearly had no idea that I share my home with an angelically adorable child, here's a shot of Gabey napping with his one-year-old cousin Camille:
Second of all, I'm going to Santa Barbara this weekend. I'm going with my mom and my sister. We're staying at the Villa Rosa Inn. I've never stayed there, but I've been inside, and it's beautiful. Since I'm the one who used to live there, I've declared myself in charge of all eating, which MUST include Pacific Crepes and Sojourner, and I shall strive to include Freebirds (for the nostalgia) and The Natural Cafe (for its natural deliciousness).
I've been driving myself crazy trying to remember everywhere that I used to love to go. It's been at least 3 years since my last venture, and even though I remember where most things are, restaurant names, street names, and the like are alluding and confounding me. I likely won't be going OUT like to BARS on this trip, so in the spirit of that, I'll tell you two good Santa Barbara bar stories:
1. I was living downtown with Paris and Maren my fourth year in Santa Barbara (I had graduated, they were both sane, and therefore enjoying their senior year at UCSB). Paris and I went out, and ended up at Q's. There are some details that escape me as to how this happened (I think I verbally instructed Paris to go home without me, and she obliged), but I ended up at the end of the night out by myself. Which would be fine, but that Paris accidentally took my money and my phone home with her. I didn't live THAT far from downtown, so I started to walk home. Then I realized that "not that far" was entirely too far if you're 21, over-intoxicated, and wearing 4" heels (this was also before I sprained both my ankles at my sister's wedding; another story, another time). So I stopped at the next pay phone, I believe with every intention of calling the house, or a friend and getting a ride home. But instead I called the only number that I could remember: 9-1-1.
"What's the problem ma'am?"
"I'm downtown and I'm drunk and alone and I don't have any money for a cab."
"Okay ma'am, I'll send someone right over, just stay put."
About 5 minutes later, a cop came, called a taxi, and MADE THE TAXI TAKE ME HOME FOR FREE. My friends all wish to know why I didn't get thrown in the drunk tank. I have no answers.
2. On my 22nd birthday I got really, OVERLY intoxicated (this is a theme for those five years in Santa Barbara, consider yourself warned) at Paris' apartment, as at this point we actually lived in different apartments! I can't recall if I was walking downtown, or walking to someone's car, or what, exactly the scenario was, but for some reason we were walking down State Street, very much downtown, on a very much typically crowded Friday night downtown. I had to pee. So I went behind a wrought iron fence to pee in the bushes. Wrought iron fences look like this. You can definitely SEE THE PERSON ON THE OTHER SIDE. So I was going pee, and then I fell over backwards into the bush I was peeing into. With my pants around my ankles. And got stuck. And no one would help me up because they were all laughing too hard on the other side of the fence. And my butt and thighs were covered with bramble scrapes.
Enjoy your Wednesday!