Anyhow, visiting Brian, my brother, in sunny Southern California always mellows me out. So, I was ready for the trip and welcomed it with open arms. The first couple of days, sinking my toes into the sand and swimming out into the crashing waves I wondered what in the hell made me even think to leave California.
Midnight swims, sipping cocktails overlooking the sunset and driving everywhere (oh wait, maybe I just remembered why I moved to NYC) all offered us good times. But, as many of you know, I am not much of a sun-bather or "modern settler" as I like to call them. You know what I'm talking about, those fantastic mellow people who can lounge all day outside without a-care-in-the-world and do...nothing. I occasionally accomplish this on my couch, but somehow it's different there (I blog, and somehow, sadly that makes me feel as if I've accomplished something).
So by day-three Jen, my travel mate from SF who also flew down for the weekend, and I were ready to try our hat at surfing. We had a tough time, but caught some waves and grew an amazing amount of respect for surfers before our arms got too sore. We also talked Michael (Brian's room-mate) and Brian into takeing us up the coast on their motorcycles. Although I wondered a few times if my brother was trying to kill me for something I had done to him in the past, we all made it home alive.
T'was a great trip, checking out his new diggs(a brand-new-god-only-knows-how-many-square-foot home that sits a mere mile from the beach), partaking in far to much debauchery, and getting to know everyone in his life a little bit better.
If only NYC and San Diego were closer.....
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