West Coast Best Coast?

Remember when I set a New Year's Resolution to write a post twice per month? Yeah, I guess we can all agree that was a big ol' load of bull-honky. Oh well, what would a new year's resolution be if it not broken? I'm simply keeping with tradition.

But, fear not, I'm back. And I want to tell you about this amazing place I discovered called CALIFORNIA. It's on this bizarro place called the "West Coast," where the people are beautiful and the live TV shows come on at earlier times.

What is this heaven in which we find ourselves?!

That's what I kept repeating last weekend as I took in the beauty that is Southern California -- Montecito and Santa Barbara, specifically.

I knew California was pretty and beachy and blonde, but no one told me how lovely it is this time of year -- and every time of year, I learned. There is a lack of humidity and the seemingly nonexistent presence of mosquitos. THOSE ARE GAME CHANGERS, my friends.

This is where I live now. In California. On a beach rock. 

Why don't I live there? Why don't we all live there? WHAT IS WRONG WITH US? I thought I was an East Coast girl down to the bone, but this past weekend got me questioning everything I knew to be true.

My friend from college, Jenn, was getting married at her family's home in Montecito. My desire to see this wonderfully funny and smart friend of mine marry another wonderful person, coupled with my interest in a mini-vacay to CA, led me to cash in some miles and book a flight.

Actually, it led me to say "Mom, here are my credit card number and frequent flyer number. Do what you do, please." She is a whiz at booking mileage flights. In fact, she and my dad just landed in Ireland after a perfectly-booked business class flight.

My friend Emily was flying from Charlotte so we quickly decided to be travel buddies, a decision we later learned would be a stellar one due to the fact that we both travel like old ladies punctual, risk-averse adventurers.

Rather than give you a play-by-play of the whole glorious weekend, here are the basics. Consider it your own personal guide to attending a wedding in Southern California. You're welcome.

Yeah, Mom, I Know...

This post is for my Mom. 

When I was home last weekend, she kindly reminded me on multiple occasions that I hadn't written a post in a while. "Yeah, mom, I know." That's often my response. What she doesn't know is that I usually follow, "Yeah, mom, I know" with a silent "Oh crap, she's right" in my head. Or maybe she does know. MOMS KNOW EVERYTHING.

But this post is for my Mom, not because she "politely reminded me," but because it is Mother's Day. So, if she wants a post, then it's going to be about her.

It's no secret that as you get older - or perhaps become a mother yourself (which I am not. Let's not start the rumor mill here, folks) - you come to better appreciate all that your mom did for you growing up, and continues to do today. 

I can't get over how much my Mom would cart me across town for school, practice, shopping, meeting friends, etc. etc. etc. And she'd even let me control the radio. Geez, if someone asks me to meet them in a different quadrant of DC which requires me to switch trains, I get bent of shape. My mom used to make the 30+ minute drive to my elementary school every time I forgot my lunch, didn't have a paper signed (before I learned to forge, obviously) or had a headache. 

Every time I get sick I really appreciate my Mom. When I had the stomach flu last year, she was able to talk me off of the bathroom floor, back into bed, and even forced me to drink my Gatorade...all via phone. How does she do that? Although, I do miss sick days from when I was little and she would go to the library to rent VHS copies of Ramona & Beezus and The Babysitters Club for me to watch in bed. (I would totally still watch those. Ann M. Martin stands the test of time and you know it's true.)

So, in honor of my Mom, I have a few things I'd like to say to her. I'm sure many of you can relate. (Well, maybe not with #5)

Laundry and Other Things I'm Not Doing

It's Friday night and I'm doing laundry. 

Well, I'm thinking of doing laundry. I've been thinking about doing laundry for the past four days. Now I'm mostly thinking about going to buy new underwear and jeans so I don't have to do the laundry. 

This is the packing shenanigans all over again. I put the "o crap" in procrastination (you have to rearrange the letters, but it works.)

I was supposed to do laundry on Wednesday but I had to go workout and then make tea and sit on the couch looking at the boxes I still have to unpack. 

Then I couldn't do it Thursday because I had to go see The Railers at Hill Country.  I had to. They needed me to sway in the audience and do that thing where I awkwardly silent clap while holding my beer and my phone. Plus, they're awesome and you don't pass up awesome for, well, laundry. (More on the Railers later.)

Honestly, I don't think I can do laundry tonight either because I just started an episode of Parenthood which means there is a 80% chance I'll be a weepy mess in about 38 minutes. No one wants to be the weepy girl doing laundry on a Friday night. That's how you get a reputation in the building (as opposed to the reputation of being the girl who never has clean clothes...)

Moving On Up (er, Down)

I'm supposed to be packing. I have less than a week to finish packing up my apartment and so I really should be packing. 

But, you know how that goes. 

Instead I'm making playlists on Spotify (you know, to motivate me) and watching a Friends rerun. I'm about as good at staying on task as I am at staying on topic. Speaking of which, can you believe it's been 20 years since season one of Friends?  TWENTY. There is a whole cohort of people walking around with the ability to vote and buy cigarettes who were not alive when Friends started. I had to look up the year to make sure because I refused to believe that was true. That also led to me watching hilarious bloopers videos. It's not like I have anything better to do. Oh wait, yes, yes, I do...

Packing.

Current state of packing. 

Here's the problem, I'm only moving within my building which means I'm highly unmotivated to get packed and organized. Thanks to the beauty that is "rent control," there is a less expensive unit available so I'm loading up the absurd amount of stuff I've been able to collect in my studio apartment and moving it five floors down to a new (to me) studio apartment. 

Although I didn't realize it at that time, packing to move states was a lot easier than packing to move floors. Then, I knew I had to wrap everything, put it in a box, label it, tape it up, and make it moving-truck-ready. Now, I look around and think, How many bowls can I successfully carry to-and-from the elevator without dropping them? I'm pretty awesome at balancing stuff. I probably don't need a box, right?

While I haven't been good at packing, per se;  I have been pretty good about throwing things out that I don't need. You may remember that I had to decide last time whether or not to pack important things like a CT scan of my own head. At the time, I kept that scan. But, surprisingly, in the last two years, no one has asked to see my sinus cavities. Go figure. So, I think that gem doesn't need to make the ride down the elevator with me. I'm also donating bags of clothes and getting rid of a stupid amount of Tupperware. Every night for the past couple weeks I've spent an hour or so looking through my stuff, throwing some of it out, and then collecting it on the floor to--you know--eventually pack. As you'll note from the photo above, I successfully packed the wine into a wine tote and moved a jar of q-tips from the bathroom to the coffee table to put into some sort of bathroom accessories box. That box is yet to be created.

I should probably get some boxes.