Hurricane EB just boarded its flight back to O-H-I-O, after wrecking much less havoc than expected on Southern California. Thank Heavens. Don’t get me wrong, we had an absolute blast, but the absence of searing hangovers and regrets over bad decisions makes for a much more pleasurable experience (at least in my eyes).
For the sake of y’all reading at home, and my inability to concentrate for more than 25 minutes, I’m going to break down the visit into many posts. Because there is SO MUCH to tell you about.
EB landed Wednesday afternoon – just in time for a quick tour of the office, freshen up a bit, and hit Happy Hour at a mexican joint down the road. Once we were adequately stuffed full of margaritas, guacamole, chips&salsa, and gossip we headed home. EB got her first taste of CA traffic as I moronically took the highway home at 6:30. Stupid.
After the depositing of bags and a quick jaunt outside with the pups, we grabbed B and headed across the street to what is becoming “our place” – YardHouse. The fastest way to a man’s heart (and a midwestern gal’s) is hosting the world’s largest selection of draft beers. 200 hoppy, frothy, delicious choices? Be still my heart.
|Stolen from B’s facebook. Shh!|
As a side note, I was very impressed with EB’s success battling jet lag, especially since she’s an old lady with a 9:30 bedtime most nights.
A little history lesson : EB and I worked together in Ohio. She told me a few months after I started (and we slowly became friends) that she thought I was a giant stuck up bitch at first. I decided then and there that we’d be friends since she 1) saw through my fake smiles and polite conversations and 2) had no problem calling me out on it.
Anyways, she somehow canoodled upper management in OH to let her work from the CA office while she was out here, so Thursday that’s what we did. Work work work, blah blah blah.
We lunched at a fun place in Corona Del Mar that I’d never been to – the Crow Bar. I felt all fancy being valet parked, which I immediately cancelled out by practically licking my plates clean. They make these “fries” by cooking fresh green beans over an open flame with a little olive oil, salt, and pepper. If I could only eat one thing for the rest of my life, and it couldn’t be froyo or pineapple curry tofu, it would be those green bean fries. Die.
That night we headed out to Laguna Beach, which is deservant of its own post, so it’s going to have to wait. Can you believe there are actual “dive bars” in Laguna? And that touristing Australian young men like to frequent them? I didn’t either.
I’ve got a neglected fiance (and a big bowl of carbo-load pasta) that needs some loving,