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I live in San Diego. Home of Ron Burgundy, the best baseball stadium housing the worst baseball team, teenagers who go to Tijuana to get drunk, and people who didn’t know what a bolo tie was until Philip Rivers wore one on TV. It also happens to be the city in which I went to college, so I am lucky to have most of my friends close to me. Even so, some of them moved away after college, and my hometown is within reasonable driving distance, so I have a few folks who like to come down from time to time and who are always welcome to stay with me.
Sure, certain people have certain feelings toward entertaining out-of-towners. However, I get the “Hey I want to come down soon” text pretty frequently too, and I have to say – it gets me stoked. Is it because I live alone and actually love being around people? Maybe. Is it because I could stand to make some plans of my own once in awhile? Probably. Is it because I’m desperate and perhaps even a little pathetic? Most likely.
Full disclosure, my accommodations are not ideal. I pay for my location which means I do not get much in the way of square footage. The only amenities my apartment complex boasts are on-site coin laundry and parking that doesn’t completely suck. My studio is too small for a couch. I can’t even fit a love seat. I hear my upstairs neighbors having sex almost every morning (good for them), and if you sit in the right spot in the kitchen you can hear the next door neighbor peeing. But I have an air mattress, clean towels, a functioning kitchen. Further, my local savvy and the money I save on rent allows me to be your personal concierge, which means you’re about to have the best weekend of your life.
Coming down on Friday? Great. Mailbox key is under the mat, key is in the mailbox. I’ll be home at 5:30. You want to go out to dinner? Get ready for the best California burrito you’ve ever tasted. You’d rather stay in for dinner? Good thing I make bangin’ surf n’ turf.
After dinner, you feel like getting ratchet in PB? Excellent choice. Want to sip martinis on a rooftop bar overlooking the city? Have I got the place for you. Trying to get into something weird and see a play or some shit? Well, guess what, nerd. We’re seeing a motherfucking play. Finish your Sculpin and I’ll get the Uber since, you know, it exists here.
You think my Saturday morning volleyball meetup will get in the way of our fun? Nah. Sure, I have to move mountains by dragging my probably-still-drunk ass out there at 8AM. But you get to sleep in, go nuts with my Keurig, and discover I have Seinfeld cued up on my iPad for you. Passcode 9090. When you’re ready, grab that Nalgene of margarita out of the freezer and walk down to meet me at the beach. Oh man, now you’re nursing your hangover on a beach, sitting in a Tommy Bahama backpack chair, sipping on a discreet marg, watching me and some hardbodies hit a ball around for a couple hours. Is that a bummer or what.
Onto our next thrilling adventure. Dust the sand off and hit some beachfront bars? Ride the wave. Head to Balboa park for some museum action? I know exactly which ones will still take my student ID for 15% off admission. You’re down for the zoo? Hell yeah, one of the lemurs there I swear recognizes me now. Did somebody say Sea World? I feel like I’m already in the splash zone.
Saturday night rolls around and you really want to wear those fancy/slutty clothes you packed? I won’t brag about it, but I’ll toss a line to that downtown club promoter who gave me his number on my 21st birthday. Maybe you’d rather just pedicab to Gaslamp until we find the bar that is playing “One Dance” the loudest. Or maybe you have your own thing planned with another buddy in town. Sounds good to me, I’ll let the squad know I’m free tonight. We’ll stick to our key system for whoever gets home first. Actually, we both know it will be me, so you don’t have to worry about it. But will you make it here before or after the Domino’s guy? Now there’s a race you cannot lose.
Oh shit, it’s Sunday morning. Brunch? Obviously. 90-minute wait at the place you want to go? That sure would suck if there weren’t 30 other brunch places just as good within walking distance. Ocean view? No problem. Bottomless ‘mosas? Fucking duh. Hot waiters/waitresses? In case you haven’t been paying attention, ugly people don’t exist in this city.
After brunch, we’re both exhausted and the scaries start creeping in. Every good weekend has its depressing twilight, but fortunately, I know just the thing. After a nap, how about we make the move up to La Jolla where all the seals hang out. It’s hard to be sad when you’re watching 45 adorable ass seals do adorable ass seal things. You get your confidence back up in less than an hour and are ready to face the drive home and the week ahead.
Maybe it’s an ego thing, but I love showing off my city to people who want to see it. It gets me out of my shithole apartment and gives me the excuse to do all the touristy things I feel weird doing alone. So for any of my friends who need a vacation and a surprisingly comfortable air mattress to crash upon, my door is always open..
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