Hello from San Diego!
Just wanted to stop in and say hi before I hop on my redeye back home to NYC. I should be fresh as a daisy tomorrow - waltzing into work straight off the plane, wearing the same outfit I have on right now. I'm not sure why my boss puts up with me, but, hey, I don't ask questions. I'll just go with it until she realizes she meant to fire me a long time ago.
I flew into San Diego this weekend to spend a little time with my uncle since I couldn't make it for the funeral last week. As always tends to happen in touchy situations, I managed to put my foot in my mouth. But, before I get to that, I thought I'd share a couple of pictures with you.
The first is my friend Bobby and I on Saturday morning. Bobby and I go way back to when I was initailly launching the magazine. I decided to stay with him instead of my sister, whose offer of "I'll try not to wake you up at 4 a.m., but things do happen," wasn't exactly enticing. Anyway, I kept on threatening to go running when I woke up yesterday and Bobby laid it out for me: "I'm sick of hearing all this running shit. You're on vacation, let's go grab some bloody mary's and get pedicures." How could I argue with this logic? I couldn't:
Do note that these Chinese women spoke no trash whatsoever. I know, I know - It makes no sense. Well, it makes no sense until you find out that they are Vietnamese, not Chinese. As it turns out, Vietnamese women do not talk a lot of trash.
And, in less verbose news, this is where I stayed:
I need to get a picture of the inside. It's an absolutely decadent mansion in Rancho Santa Fe. Anyway, I'll post those one day with the Jesus-stamp envelopes and the many other things I've promised to post but haven't. As an aside, this place has 20 foot tall ceilings, wrap around windowed-walls covered by by silk, Austrian Curtains, life-sized gold Egyptian warrior statues, an indoor pool and jacuzzi, etc, etc, etc...
I don't know how I walk into these things, but, like I said, I don't ask questions. I just hope that nobody wakes up from my dream and kicks me out of it.
The whole putting my foot in my mouth situation: Yesterday, I met my uncle for lunch. When we went up to the counter to pay, the waitress pulled out one of those leather bank bags that businesses use to transport money to and from the bank. I made a comment that it was my new purse. My uncle laughed and remarked, "Yes, it's my new wallet." I nudged him and said, "Hey, in that case - are you single?"
Not exactly the right joke to make to a guy whose wife just passed away. He let me know as much, but I had already realized it - in fact, I was already in the process of swallowing my foot by that time. We both laughed though.
My lineage of foot-eaters is a long one, with my dad and my grandfather both having asked a non-pregnant woman when she was due - on completely seperate occassions.
Alright, that's it for now. More to come tomorrow if I don't accidentally pass out at my desk. The chances that I won't are pretty slim.