San Diego, It’s Spanish For…

by Molly

The third day of our trip (see previous posts) we flew to San Diego for a friend’s wedding.  We landed around 11AM, and Terry had already had 2.5 cocktails on the plane.  Yes, we were judged by the person in the row with us.  What he didn’t know was that my boss gave us drink tickets that he wasn’t going to use by January 31,2012, so we felt obligated to make sure they weren’t wasted.   We were really doing a good deed by ordering those drinks.  When I ordered a mimosa, the flight attendant says “who do you think we are, Virgin Airlines?”  I gave her the blank stare that I gave the Trolley Tramp in San Francisco.  I didn’t think champagne was a rare luxury on airplanes, but apparently it is.  So we ended up with three vodka sodas that were so strong, I could barely choke mine down.  Thus, why Terry had 2.5 drinks and not 3.

The hotel where everyone was staying was mere minutes from the airport.  Once we pulled up, we were greeted by some friends who filled us in on the plans for lunch.  Terry was so excited to see everyone (and drunk) that he almost forgot to pay the cabbie, and it was all I could do to get us checked into the right hotel room.  I am pretty sure the girl at the front desk of the Marriott Courtyard, Liberty Station thinks we had some weird swinging action going on.  I was only joking when I asked for adjoining rooms.

Then said friends graciously took us with them in their blue Ford Mustang rental to lunch.  It’s no Bentley, but we still felt pretty cool driving around in it.  Lunch was a total blast.  There was only one other girl there, so we knew immediately to stick together.  It was us versus the boys, and it wasn’t going to be pretty.  After rounding out our bottomless mimosas (they brought the champagne bottles to the table, y’all) with a shot of root beer and jagermeister (vom), she and I decided it was best to head back to the hotel to get ready for the wedding.  Because we all know there is nothing worse than applying eyeliner drunk, only to see pictures of yourself later.

The boys promised they would be right behind us.

Of course that didn’t happen.

I’ve begun to mass text Terry and his friends to make sure they get back NOW.  The only replies I get our “it’s not our fault”.  WTF.  As, I’m blow drying my hair, (the last step of my getting ready process) Terry walks in the door.   He is absolutely obliterated.  Terry is always über hilarious when he is intoxicated, so I’m laughing at him, but using my shrill panicked ohmygosh how are we going to get to the wedding without him passing out laugh.

I proceed to iron my dress, all the while keeping a close eye on Terry.  For one minute, ONE MINUTE, I look away only to look back and see him air born, mid-piroutte, and then crash to the ground.  He shrieks with pain.  I tell him to suck it up and get in the shower right now.  Then I proceed to ask him just how much alcohol he has consumed, in case I have to tell the paramedics later that night.

When you visit San Diego, do you time warp to 2004?  Because I felt like I was in college again.  I was 25 pounds heavier in college and went to the bars every single night.  That is a part of my life that I loved, but also want to keep in 2004.

We get to the wedding and somehow manage not to embarrass ourselves.  In fact, we had a fantastic time and really enjoyed watching the bride and groom enjoy the night.  Terry and I love to cut a rug, so we spent most of the night on the dance floor (remember this part for later).  After a while, a whole table at the reception stopped us to ask  if we were married.  When we said yes, they all couldn’t believe it.  They said they were placing bets on us, but that everyone had concluded we were having too much fun to be married.

Some testament to marriage, huh?!

We smiled in appreciation of the strange compliment.  Then someone asked if we had kids.  We said no, and then they said “oh just wait!  Then you definitely won’t have fun like this anymore”.

Hardy. har. har.

I’m betting we do just fine.

After the reception, everyone heads back to the hotel.  The lobby was the designated wedding after party, so it was packed with familiar faces from the reception.  Terry is limping something awful after a night on his feet and says he needs to look at his ankle.  After the help of a few of his friends, they manage to get his boot off.  And holy Lord, his ankle is the size of a grapefruit.  I’m stunned.   The whole lobby is hovering over us, asking if he did that “dancing”.  I just say “guess so”.   Honestly, how can you explain his hotel room pre-wedding antics to a bunch of random strangers?

He danced on it ALL night.  On the dance floor he joked he had a high ankle sprain from the triple deke he pulled in the hotel room, but I really thought he was kidding.  Mighty Ducks references always fall under the “I’m kidding” category.   That poor guy.  Three days later we find out his ankle is broken, and that he probably can’t run in the half marathon this March.

High price to pay for a fun time.  But it did make for a really good story.

Needless to say, we went back to our hotel room shortly after exposing his ankle to the whole hotel lobby.  We rented Moneyball (paid $17!) and then fell asleep shortly after.  We are ridiculous.

The next morning I woke up early for a 5.7 mile run.  It was only supposed to be 5 miles, but I got lost.  I was so annoyed because I technically had to do run at some point over the weekend, if I was going to train seriously for this silly marathon.  Once I got going, I was really pleased I did it.  The view and weather were both gorgeous.  I now understand why they have the BUD/S program in San Diego.  You don’t feel as bad getting your butt kicked when it is pretty out.

View from my run

I was rewarded with a delicious brunch at Country Waffles.  Please interpret the term “brunch” loosely here.  It was pretty good for looking so shady.  I had french toast made from cinnamon rolls.  So good, but they posted the calories on the menu.  So not cool.   I’d be lying if I didn’t say that ruined it a bit.

Sadly, Country Waffles marked the end of our trip.  We killed a little time before our plane took off, and before we knew it were in Houston again.  It was a fabulous trip, and exactly the kind of memories we were looking to make before becoming parents.

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