On this long weekend when ½ of LA's population officially kicks off the Summer Grilling Season by ordering a party pack from Baby Blues BBQ, ½ of LA's population shivers on the beach, and ½ of LA's population flees from the city to various three-day-cations around Southern California, I am at home, wondering, among other things, why I deny my Asian heritage given how good I am at fractions.
It's not unusual for me to be home, even on a long weekend, even on a holiday, because last time I checked, bloggers work weekends and holidays. However, if you follow along with me in my real life -- not The Delicious (blogging) Life, but in my real life, you know, the one I live in "real-time" via IM! -- you might be wondering why on this particular weekend, I am at home blogging.
Then you'd stop wondering because you know I can blog from anywhere!
You would wonder why I was at home because I was supposed to go on a road trip this weekend. I was supposed to meander up the California Coast, experience the Julia Child-endorsed glory that is La Super Rica Taqueria in Santa Barbara, possibly kill two Freebirds with one stomach, marvel at the live panoramas that are Big Sur, be charmed and alarmed by Monterey and Carmel, and of course, do a Tour de Friends in San Francisco.
For various and sundry reasons, my trip up the California Coast didn't happen.
The trip this weekend and its not happening are an odd coincidence. You see, though this road trip through Monterey did not happen this weekend, I did take a road trip up to Monterey back in September, a little more than eight months ago. Two trips to the same place within eight months of each other is hardly a coincidence, I know, but for God's sake! Let me try to find a unifying theme in a non-existent coincidence!
The two trips are wholly unrelated. Then again, in every life, no matter how unrelated things may seem, everything is so intricately and delicately and invisibly intertwined that you just don't know. You don't know what just happened, you don't know what is happening, and above all else, you don't know what will happen.
You just don't know.
Bell Biv Devoe. There. Now you know.
What I know is that not going to Monterey this weekend was not a swift kick, but a carelessly lubed, long-wind up, slow, painful, grind with a pair of dull-edged steak knives-for-cleats dipped in Tabasco into the non-fleshy part of my behind. It was a reminder that "Oh yeah..."
Oh yeah, I went to Monterey back in September of last year.
Oh yeah, I never blogged about it.
Oh yeah, I haven't blogged about a lot of schtuff since September.
Yes, September was a long time ago. Eight months, to be exact. A lot - and I mean alotlotalotalot - happens in eight months. September to May. Winter through Spring. Two seasons. I quit my job. I flew on a plane. My nephew was born. So many insignificant yet so utterly significant things that make up a life...happened.
That eight months? That. Just. Happened.
You and I -- we -- have a lot of catching up to do. While I look back through the last eight months of my life, gather my thoughts about everything that happened (and decide whether or not to share them out blog), I'm posting the stories about the raucous trip that tore sleepy little Monterey a new (hole-in-) one back in September.
Time to re-fuel; it's going to be a long, bumpy, winding, up and down, nausea-inducing drive.