Fish Tales

Yesterday, we went to Torrey Pines State Reserve with some friends for a morning hike. If you wish to enter the park in a vehicle, there is an $8.00 parking fee which we had researched and were prepared to pay. As Eric was handing the cash over to the cashier, the man noticed the Maryland tags on the front of the car. He asked which part of Maryland we were from. It turns out that he grow up in Ellicott City. We had a brief conversation about the Baltimore accent. Then he let us into the park for free. Yay Marylanders! Banning together and watchin’ out for their homies!

We encountered a lot of people from the Maryland/DC area on our way across the country. We encountered even more people who had visited Baltimore at some point in their lives and throughly enjoyed the experience. There was the desk clerk in Lake Placid who is from Reisterstown. The old lady in Nebraska who lived in the Northern Virginia area most of her life. The volunteer in the Napa Valley Visitors Center who insisted that Baltimore was one of the most beautiful cities she has ever seen. And now our Torrey Pines cashier.

It makes you kinda wonder just how small this world really is.

I couldn’t sleep so I snuck out of bed to find company in the television and the internet. On TV, two grown men are camping in the wilderness of Ontario, Canada in search of Big Foot himself. Or herself. Or itself. They have some blood and hair samples and some night-vision footage of the two guys standing inside a wooden structure shaking in their boots because something is throwing rocks at their cabin. Big Foot? If I stay awake long enough, I’ll let you know the outcome.

Ugh! I am in that stage of PMS where I long to step out of my own skin. Everything above my knees and below my neck is bloated. I feel like a whale. In fact, I begged Eric to drag me down to the beach and let the surf carry me into the ocean. I am trying not to be too whiny but sometimes it is hard to be anything but whiny.

Tomorrow begins our last week in the vacation home. Thank god! When we set out on this journey I was looking forward to the extended vacation. I thought I would enjoy being jobless and homeless and otherwise free to do what I want with my day. But now that we are no longer traveling… now that we are standing still… the stillness is much like silence: too much is deafening. I am ready to give this new life a shot. I cannot do that, however, until I have a permanent mailing address and easy access to my possessions. Business suits, computer files, pots and pans. It’s all packed in boxes locked in a storage unit miles from our beach house.

We grow bored easily. And while there is a lot to be done to complete our move… we cannot do much of it until we are in our new home. So we do what we can and then we spend hours in front of the computers or television to occupy the remaining hours. I want my books. A library card. A yoga class. Hell, even a job. But we must wait. Five more days. Only five more.

To keep my spirits up, I have been trying to take long walks or runs along the beach or bay during the day. Earlier this week, I ran to the end of Mission Beach and then along the bicycle trails lining the shores of Mission Bay. That run reminded me why we moved to San Diego. The beauty of the landscape accompanied by the gorgeous weather was enough to calm the most restless soul. Maybe I am overdue for another scenic jog.

Standing outside of our vacation house, I was minding my own business perusing the local paper and soaking up the early morning sun. A woman of about sixty dressed in sweat pants and sporting a large parrot on her shoulder ambled down our street.

“Good morning,” The woman said politely as she passed by our patio.

“Good morning,” I replied.

“I’m still in my jammies!” The woman exclaimed, “And I need to take a shower!”

Myself still clad in sweat attire, I could only think to respond, “That makes two of us!” and offered a forced smile.

Thankfully, the woman merely wanted to make her statement and move on. The parrot had no comment.

Last night we ate at SipZ Fusion Cafe. Our dinner was quite good. I had the Spicy Basil dish and Aub’ had the Drunken Noodles. However, it was the dessert that really impressed us. Dessert was served inside a freshly macheteed coconut. Inside said coconut was an addictive mixture of sweet rice, yellow beans, and coconut cream. I swear I thought we were going to bite each other’s fingers off trying to get at the contents of that poor, unsuspecting coconut.

Today, I ventured into the Specific Ocean (Pacific Ocean for those not in the know) to do a little boogie boarding. The Pacific Ocean is not exactly a heated indoor swimming pool. A wet suit is an absolute necessity this time of year. Fortunately, I own a wet suit. Unfortunately, I purchased said wet suit about six years ago.

There is nothing quite like the experience of forcing one’s mass into a neoprene suit that is at least one size too small. External bits became internal . Blood circulation decreased by about fifty percent globally. Once zipped up, there was a wonderful euphoric sensation as the neckline choked off air intake. Light headed and unable to put my arms to my side, I headed to the beach looking (and feeling) more or less like this:

I imagine that I looked quite funny marching down to the beach in my one-size-too-small wet suit but once I hit the water I couldn’t have cared less. There is something about the Specific Ocean that makes all else seem insignificant and unimportant. The feeling is hard to explain but, for me, it is akin to tranquility.

*Sigh*

I don’t really know where I was going with this post … I’m just gonna call it done and go back to the beach.

After an extensive two day search, we found a place to live. A very nice condominium in downtown San Diego. The new and upcoming East Village neighborhood. Much to my relief… Eric was as excited about the place as I. For a while, I was sweating it. He seemed willing to settle for less than satisfactory as long as we had an Ocean Beach address. Ocean Beach is a nice neighborhood… if you don’t look too closely.

We learned a great deal about San Diego housing over the last two days. I also learned a lot about myself… strengthening characteristics such as self-control and restraint in the process. For instance, when one leasing agent told me that the 900 square foot “living space” she brought us to view was $3,100.00 a month, I managed to nod and appear bored rather than grabbing at the jacket of her business suit and shouting inches from her face, “Are you fucking shitting me!” which is what I wanted to do. I also managed to keep from vomiting in some of the 700 square foot beach cottages in OB that reeked of dog urine and unkempt neighbors.

Oh yes. It was a spectacle not for the faint of heart.

Anyway, to spare the innocent and unknowing future San Diegans the hassle of learning how to read between the lines when it comes to the “For Rent” ads in this place, I would like to translate for you the common terms used in these ads so that you know what you are getting yourself into prior to the “tour.”

Cozy = really fucking tiny
Charming = held together with duct tape
Spacious = if you lay on the floor your feet and hands will NOT touch opposite walls
Urban = directly next to large gas turbine engine attached to an even larger aircraft
Storage = has a medicine chest/cabinet
Steps to Beach = assumes you own a vehicle
Quiet Area = except for the jet airplanes taking off and landing directly above homestead
Easy Freeway Access = your living room is the on ramp
Move In Special = no one in their right mind will pay the prices we are asking
Updated = we replaced the duct tape recently
Beach Front = hahahahahahahahaha! Go back to Baltimore!

Happy hunting.