Wednesday ended up being a day for shopping and hanging out with my parents. Bobby, my mom, and I made a brief trip to Rebecca's house to say hello and meet her new baby. Later, we were visited by my family doctor (who is now my dad's pal, and watching the two of them interact is akin to watching a Mel Brooks movie), as well as my old friend John and his new girlfriend Victoria. John and Victoria implored us to join them for drinks later, as it was Matt Clark's last night in town. I initially agreed, until they told us it was at the Yard House. I'd never been to the Yard House, because I would frankly rather eat glass than go there. It's frequented by the Palm Springs equivalent of the Jersey Shore cast, all of whom attended my high school, and the scents of Axe Body Spray and Abercrombie & Fitch cologne jockey for position as they waft out of the building. No. Thank you. However, our guests refused to leave until we promised to go, and we had nothing better to do.
A few hours later, we loaded up and drove east toward Rancho Mirage. I wanted to spend as little time there as possible, so we decided to have dinner at In N Out first. Bobby's burger was burned, which cemented his preference for Five Guys Burgers & Fries. Whatever. While we were finishing our food, an older gentleman at the next table started chatting with us. He asked where we were from, and was excited to learn I was a PSHS graduate because he was a substitute teacher there. Uh oh. Fortunately he didn't start subbing there until long after I graduated. We entertained his questions for a bit before jetting off to The River, where the dreaded Yard House sits. Upon our arrival, I took a deep breath before walking through the door. We found our party in the cavernous restaurant, and I was shocked to spy Kizzy sitting at the table with my friends. She and I were acquaintances in high school and I haven't seen her since the last days of my senior year. It was nice to see her, though, and she asked if I still lived in the valley. "Christ no!" was my immediate reply, which meant I put my foot in my mouth because she does still live there. Oh well. I spent most of the evening chatting with her, and the service was so abysmally bad that I only had one cider before we all parted ways. I survived my first (and hopefully last) trip to the Yard House unscathed.
Thursday was yet another shopping day, which I can't complain about, until the early evening when Bobby and I went to visit Raime and Chris at their house. Raime and I, along with her sister Tianay, have been friends since we were six, and it's always a delight to see her. Ever the over-scheduled social butterfly, I had to dash away to meet Tracy for dinner at Las Casuelas. Alas this is not the greatest photo of either of us, so I've made it small.
After dinner, the three of us walked up Palm Canyon to check out the street fair, though we are much too sophisticated to loiter in front of the Starbucks anymore. We popped in at the nearest bar, which was sadly empty, and chatted a while longer before requesting a ride home from my parents. It was too cold to wander the streets. The three of us went to the neighbors' house to hang out, and I was greeted with a hug by the nine-year-old from across the street. "You're very pretty." She said. Forgetting that nine-year-olds can be quite literal, I said "You oughta tell my husband that." Before I could turn around, Bobby got a punch in the arm and a reprimand. Whoops. Sadly Tracy had to run, but the rest of us remained at the neighbors' for the rest of the evening.
The next day was New Year's Eve, and we were visited by the three neighborhood girls, who invited us to go feed horses at a nearby stable. After some arm-twisting, we agreed. Gilly bought us each a bag of carrots, and off we went. As it turns out, I am terrified of horses. Bobby and the girls were like old pros, but my horses kept dropping their carrots because I was too timid to get closer. You can't see the look of terror on my face here, and there are no shots of me jumping 10 feet backward after each horse took a carrot. I'd make a terrible farmer.
Later that evening, we met the neighbors (the grown-up ones, anyway), as well as Scott and his friend Stefan, for fancy dinner at Johnny Costa's. I had a dress that made me look like a Grecian goddess, and Gilly and my mom looked mighty fancy too.
Of course, I am making my obligatory "mommmmmmm stop taking my picture" face in this shot.
Here's a better one, but you can only see two of us:
Following dinner, Bobby and I stopped in at the neighbors' for some champagne and the New York countdown.
We were also ambushed by small children, who don't seem to be afraid of me anymore.
My parents were kind enough to drop us off at the Riviera, where I'd been told there would be a circuit-party-esque atmosphere put on my the same people who organize the White Party every year. Mom, don't look up what any of those things mean. I snapped this blurry photo of my escorts for the evening.
Drinks were outrageously expensive, so we only had one each. I recall being, er, propositioned by an Oklahoma couple who liked my dress and the fact that they overheard me say "y'all" to the bartender. I politely declined whatever it was they wanted, and we decided it was time to head back to Stefan and Lonnie's apartment for the rest of the evening. Once Lonnie, who does not drink, got home from work a little after midnight, he was greeted by four energetic revelers demanding to be taken to Del Taco. I bought everybody's food, which amounted to the price of a single drink at the Riviera, and we returned to the apartment to watch YouTube videos for a little while. Poor Scott crashed out on the couch around 1:45, and I was well on my way to joining him before Bobby tossed me into Lonnie's car to head home a little after 2:00. A fine time was had by all.
The next morning was our last in California, and we were taken to breakfast by my parents. Portland has spoiled me on Breakfast and I knew I was in for disappointment the minute I walked in the door. Here I am making the "I'm about to have a lousy breakfast, but it's ok because I'll be home soon" face.
Post-breakfast, we loaded up the car to make the drive back to Long Beach and fly home. Said goodbye to the neighbors, paused for a quick family photo, and hit the road exactly at our planned departure time. Nearing the airport, we decided to stop for dinner. As the faithful L.A. driver, I asked Bobby to find the nearest Chick-Fil-A. He ended up finding something even better:
We made it home just before 9:00 on Saturday night, hid in the house all day Sunday dismantling christmas and watching TV, and returned to our regularly scheduled lives this morning. Cheers and happy new year, everybody!
