My sister, the Magnate, D and I made a day trip over to Catalina Island last Saturday. It was such a great time- the weather was surreal, and obviously, the company was fabulous. I had never been to Catalina before, although I see it hovering on the horizon on most clear days. D and I have always wanted to go, but preferred to make it a group activity opposed to just us. Considering we both work from home, we do almost everything together. Which actually is a beautiful thing- it is a tad freakish how much we like to be around each other. “Night and Day” pretty much sums it up. Awwww. Ok, Ok, back to business. The Catalina Flyer leaves the harbor daily at 9:00 and returns around 5:30- with a 1-hour travel time each way that gives you just enough time to hit all the shops, eat tons of food, have a couple of cocktails and head home.
Over the past couple of months, I have heard varying opinions of Catalina. Most of the opinions don’t revolve around Catalina itself, but the actual trip over. “Get ready to hurl,” and “Good luck on the Catalina barfboat,” are some that immediately come to mind. Thinking back to Saturday morning, I can’t believe I wasn’t more nervous about getting on that boat. My sister and I both have experienced green-faced moments while deep-sea fishing in the past. Not so fun. Well, this is where I probably should inform you of our Friday night excursion. Turns out I wasn’t nervous about getting seasick because I was still a tad inebriated from the night before. The good ol’ alcohol-induced false confidence.
It’s safe to say I was over-served Friday night.
First and foremost, NO ONE should ever start his or her night out with the comment “We really shouldn’t get that drunk tonight”. Am I right? That statement IS the kiss of death. The four of us headed over to a friend’s house in Laguna Beach where I proceeded to drink half a bottle of vodka. Purely an estimation, folks. I couldn’t help it! My friend makes the world’s best dirty martinis ever! I only had two! Well, only two, but his martini glasses are ginormous. And therein lies the problem- one of his martinis is probably equal to 2-3 at a restaurant. The last thing I remember saying (to my boss of all people) was, “I can’t believe I just drank 2 huge martinis and don’t feel tipsy at ALL! Will somebody please make me a drink?”
Bits and pieces of the remaining evening:
1) Having an extremely unnecessary conversation about female genitalia.
2) Hitting my forehead on the dashboard of the car as my husband was parking. How I could have propelled myself into the dashboard while traveling less than 3 mph is the great mystery.
3) Getting mad that I hit my head on the dashboard. Yelling profanities at my husband, getting out of the car and kicking all of our Arrowhead empty water bottles around the garage to make it well known that I was pissed about hitting my head on the dashboard.
4) Voraciously eating peanut butter sandwiches while my sister stared at me with utter disgust.
5) Blaring and singing Radiohead at the top of my lungs to musically express my disdain of the throbbing forehead (which I now realize was the reason I entitled my Friday night entry “jumped into a river.” I must have been listening to Pyramid while typing.)
I could go on for days, but considering you now think I am a raging alcoholic, I will keep any shred of dignity I have left. But you want to know the worst part? While rehashing the previous night’s activities, all three of my partners-in-crime remarked that they were glad they didn’t get drunk. WHAAAAT? I am such a lightweight.
Catalina Dreamin’ Part Due coming up!