Weekend ABC's - S is for Spontaneous & San Diego

When Digs called me on Thursday saying she had a free airline ticket and asking if I wanted to use it to go to San Diego that weekend, it took me about 0.3 seconds to whisper loudly into the phone "OHMYHOLYSHITAREYOUFUCKINGKIDDINGME?YES!"   We were being VERY discreet as we whispered and worked out the details.  (Both of our employers are conservative finance-y type places, and we were trying to be respectful.)  

We giggled through planning my surprise visit (an early birthday present to Spleen), listing out the places we wanted to go (most of which included 24 hour taco shops that ended in some form of "-berto's") and how to pick me up from the airport without Spleen knowing (complicated lie that was essentially rigged together with duct tape).  I hung up the phone and sat back in my chair wondering in disbelief at how something so incredible had plopped in my lap.  If you had asked me earlier in the day what I had planned on doing this weekend, the response would have been "Um?  Making Wade some cupcakes?" (Wad-ay, I promise they're COMING!) My thoughts were interrupted by my cube farm neighbors yelling out "WTF, SSG?  You're going to San Diego?  Who are these friends of yours and can we come?"  Apparently my "whisper" is um, not so discreet.

Saturday morning I was WIDE awake, even at the ridiculous weekend hour of 6 a.m. as I hopped onto the shuttle at the Thrifty Car Rental Lot.  The shuttle drivers are these retired guys that have call signs like "Iceman."  They use phrases like "copy" and "roger" and are always johnny on the spot to help me with my luggage.  I find myself wanting to salute them and turn sharply on my heel before wheeling my bag into the terminal.  

I made it into sunny San Diego right on time, and other than the swingers sitting in front of me who were HAMMERED by 9 a.m. the flight was uneventful.  Digs pulled up to the curb, I threw my bag into the back of Spleen's truck and climbed in as we screamed and hugged and overall freaked out at what an AWESOME time we were going to have.  San Diego's harbor was clear, sailboats were already out on the water and a cool breeze blew through my hair as I put on my sunglasses.  It was good to be back in my hometown.

The look on Spleen's face when she saw me, was something that I will remember for a long time.  There was much screaming and crying and jumping up and down and hugging.  Serendipitous moment, indeed.  (Sometimes!) moment? Spleen's cute neighbor decided to ride his bike past us just as we were all sobbing, embraced in a group hug.  To say he rushed past us would be ... a staggering understatement.

Within 20 minutes we had picked up another friend and were sitting at a local taco shop.  People often ask me how I could leave a "paradise" like San Diego for a climate like Portland's.  Dudes, it's not the weather that I miss.  It's the Mexican food.   Digs had been there since Thursday night.  Our Saturday morning taco shop run was already her third.  I'm telling you.  The.  Best.  Mexican.  Food.  Ever.

The rest of Saturday was spent on quality catch up.  Only with these ladies can you hear about the time Spleen was dating an FBI agent and the night he came over, dumped his badge and gun on her dining room table, and started telling her about his day that involved following a suspect into a gym in Hillcrest (the decidedly gay neighborhood of San Diego) where he had to wear his partner's gym clothes to look like he fit in.  Spleen's FBI guy was 6'5.  His partner?  5'10.  The gym shorts?  Let's just say he was VERY popular. 

The three of us decided not to go to a party that night and instead shared a couple of bottles of wine and some incredible food in the patio of Jayne's Gastropub (see above for photo).  Anyone from San Diego reading this?  Get thee to Jayne's.  Guys (or ladies!) if you take a date there I can almost guarantee you get some action.  I was about ready to put out for Spleen & Digs, I was so wooed by the ambience.  (Though that also could have been the wine.)

Seven of us ladies had a chick flick movie marathon on Sunday that included food and wine pairings with each film.  After a 9 a.m. walk to Starbuck's, we were supposed to start with Breakfast at Tiffany's and mimosas, but decided instead on P.S. I Love You, breakfast burritos and pomegranate mimosas (What?  No chance in hell we were going to give those up).  P.S. I Love You was followed by Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants with gourmet grilled cheese, chips & guacamole and beers.  The Notebook was supposed to get paired with salad and wine, but instead was paired with only tears and kleenex.  We were a blubbering mess of such epic girl proportions, I can only hope Spleen's neighbor that had biked past us the day before didn't hang himself after listening to us cry and laugh hysterically for the SEVENTH straight hour.

By that time, we were exhausted (and quite full!) and decided to go catch the sunset down in Pt. Loma.  Four of us headed to Sunset Cliffs and spread out a blanket, uncorked a bottle of wine and toasted to a crazy, lazy (and yet somehow so satisfying) day.  We watched the surfers ride waves into the shore, clinked our plastic cups over and over again and laughed as we watched the sun go down.  

Coming home today was rough.  

It wasn't helped by the fact that the airline lost my bag.  By the time I jumped back on the shuttle, I was almost teary eyed at missing my ladies.  That was, until I noticed I was the only girl on a van full of about ten businessmen.  My spirits perked up rather quickly.  And when "Wildman" took a turn that made my sunglasses fly off my head and my purse slide onto the floor, the nice business guys all jumped to my rescue.  One even found a broom from behind the seats to reach my sunglasses and still crawled on the ground to get them for me.  

Guys of the world ... I couldn't live without you either.  Now is there something one of you could do about my lost luggage?