If I could just convince my boyfriend and everyone I love and need close by to come with me, I would move to Ocean Beach, California, in a fucking heartbeat.
Sliiightly hungover, but mostly just sleepy and thirsty, I rode shotgun out to OB the morning before my birthday. The drive was full of laughs, as per usual agenda. With Ree, it’s always a riot. We’re poking and prodding at each other’s funny bone, laughing until we risk wetting ourselves and this was continued throughout the weekend. My mama was in the backseat with her People magazines and Goldfish crackers, alternately shaking her head at us and chiming in to tell us how ridiculous we are. Which we’re aware of.
An aside: I am so, so lucky that my own flesh and blood mother is who she is. She is one of my very closest friends, and while she’ll still remind me on occasion that she is my mom first (“Stop telling me this story, I don’t wanna know!”) I never forget how lucky I am.
There’s something about the place — everyone we encounter is friendly and engaging, every bite of food is ridiculously delicious (save for the fried zucchini), the drinks are strong, the shops are unique and plentiful… I was in love the minute I set foot there, about a year and a half ago, and now I’m not so subtlety tugging Josh’s sleeves and asking him to pack up his things so we can move our happy asses down there. There, where I can find: the all-time best Irish pub, the yummiest pizza place with craft beers and amazing pesto bread, the coolest of little shops filled with everything I desire in abundance (handmade jewelry, candles & incense, etc), the BEST brunch on the planet complete with fresh strawberry juice mimosas by the PINT, an incredible hotel view, good looking locals, awesome Japanese food served by a sassy Japanese woman my mom may or may not have been flirting with…
The beach, just outside our hotel; stunning even in winter
View from our second story balcony
One of two lovely, cozy beds in our lovely, cozy room
Saturday night, sushi dinner complete with wine, beer and sake
Home away from home, comes with high recommendations from yours truly
Eggs benedict & tots, the greatest meal that ever was
I maintain that I can only take unflattering pictures.
In the ice chest my mom brought along, came a few classic red Solo cups, some Pinnacle whipped cream vodka (SO GREAT IT HAS ITS OWN FACEBOOK PAGE) and ginger ale. These, mixed over ice, make for my new favorite cocktail. I know most things are my favorite, especially in this post when I’m ecstatic about life with my favorite people in my favorite place, but take my word on this one, friends. It’s cream soda tasting and it will get you drunk. A&W, for shame. You should have thought of this first.
Twenty-six is off to an amazing start.
-CJ
Lucky for me, my best friend loves birthdays.
LOVES. BIRTHDAYS.
The last few years were only celebrated because Ree took the reigns and refused to back down until I was good and hungover, fond memories of blurred nights burned into my mind, even as I woke up with cotton mouth. If she never took charge of February 20th again, I will forever be thankful for the times she’s been responsible for.
Although, let’s be real, the girl doesn’t need a celebratory event to throw back some cocktails. She’s of an elite class of lushes and this is why she’s my best friend.
This year, as with all previous, we centered the celebration around alcohol. It’s just… what we’re good at. Ree put together a short list of locations walking distance from one another and items to collect throughout the night and there we had it: a pub crawl/scavenger hunt. Where I am lazy enough to find solace at the first place to serve me a cold drink and a basket of tater tots (!), Ree continued to round us up and march us out, always onward to the next destination after we’d had a few. The pub crawl would go on.
A few of many. As it turned out, every picture of Josh and I came out looking like I was eating a dozen Warheads.
After the first joint where I took in a few delicious Blue Moons and a “Jillian” (item #4 on the list: have a bartender create a shot in the birthday girl’s honor) (ps, though my name is not and never has been Jillian), when I breezily and unthinkingly walked through the exit with a half full pint glass of beer (“Yep, that’s a beer in your hand, Jill”) I knew I was on a roll.
Lushy McDrunkface
At the end of the night, my purse was bulging with stolen pint glasses that everyone had signed messages on in black marker, cardboard coasters of the same nature, and two photo booth strips featuring 2-3 faces smooshed cheek to cheek and smiling. Aside from one strange and out of place dramatic occurrence, it was all gravy. I was serenaded by strangers and fed shots of harsh booze that contorted my face into something terrible until closing time, when we cabbed it back to Ree’s and continued on in a drunken fashion, like the bunch of hooligans we are.
The next morning, three of us hit the freeway at eleven a.m.
Destination: my favorite city in the United States; Ocean Beach
To be continued.
-CJ
In place of any sort of birthday party, I planned a weekend in my favorite city with a few girls. Ree had a company trip that would have cut the weekend in half so we planned it a week later than my birthday and four girls hit the freeway last Friday afternoon. Destination: Ocean Beach.
With the first night came the discovery of the Russian Lineup. This became a theme. Late night Irish pub shenanigans and live reggae music and more laughter than should be physically possible preceded the pick up of a pizza that we munched in our tiny hotel beds before calling it a night at o’late thirty.
We stayed at the Ocean Beach Ho, apparently. She was warm and welcoming.
Leave it to me to want to celebrate at the beach in February. This is the hotel courtyard. I guess you could say the Ocean Beach Ho was pretty wet.
The cold, damp gray might not have worked for some. I absolutely loved it.
You could say the amazing pizza & brew place was celebrating 25 years in business though I’m not convinced it wasn’t for me. (omg, apricot Hef.)
For day two there was patio breakfast, hotel lounging, much speculating on the tsunami headed over from Chile, as we were ON the ocean (the third morning saw seaweed in the residential streets), a very loud and very early surf competition we could watch from our balcony, delicious taquitos, and plenty more Irish pub shenans at Gallagher’s, where every night should end.
My girl, Kristine
My ninja, Ree
My Ma, strangling her BFF
On day three, we packed up and walked to a small cafe for brunch where there was quite possibly the best bad food ever and fresh squeezed strawberry juice in champagne. If I don’t get my hands on another one of those huge ‘man-mosas’ (grrr) in the next month, I’ll have someone’s head.
My girls are fucking iiiiincredible, yo.
-CJ
Regarding my tweet about ordering a Russian line up ASAP:
(1) shot of vodka, preferably not well
(1) shot of Kahlua
(1) shot of milk
Line them up in front of you, down them quickly, one by one. By the end, you’re smiling the smile of someone who just had a huge glass of Nesquik.
Sinner.
-CJ
Friday night saw me bounding out of the office and into the passenger seat of my car. Ree drove us the hour and a half er so out to Ocean Beach to meet up with some out of town friends I see maybe 2-3 times annually. The plan was to see Doug Stanhope at a little club but the universe had other ideas in mind.
The camera is totally drunk.
The air was perfect for my peacoat reunion, as we stayed just off the ocean at a little hotel with a kickass courtyard between us and the sand.
Those vases in the distance, over the stairs? At one point I was among them, hanging out and wondering what in the hell possessed me to climb up there when the trip down looked so much scarier.
Our friends, Kevin & Megan, arrived later than intended due to Friday evening traffuck and accidents and the like. They were still in good spirits and this was reason to toast and laugh our asses off for a bit at a little Irish pub with live music. The Stanhope show had started while they were on the freeway and probably ended around our third pint glass.
Next door was a-fucking-mazing pizza, a live bagpipe/drum group, and a funny shirt:
After dinner and some late night courtyard shenanigans involving us performing as caged animals to startled onlookers (don’t ask) at the hotel, there was beach walking, revisiting the Irish pub and then a quiet dumpy dive nearby that kicked us out at closing time.
On Saturday morning Kevin brought a damn good latte up to our room and I inquired as to whether or not I could pull off a ‘fancy hat’ (or what some people know as a newsboy cap) that I saw Shannyn Sossamon wearing on TV. The panel declared that I probably could though I don’t think they cared much.
Off to a beach front café, under the shade of an umbrella, in the perfect weather with mimosas by the plastic bucket.
It was very happy.
Tell me the bucket idea isn’t cute. YOU CAN’T.
Lazy wandering led to easily scoring several Christmas presents for assorted frenz & fam AND? I got a fancy hat. Which I wore for two days straight and took one super corny picture in. I think I love having a plaid clad dome.
One rooftop cantina + margarita pitcher later and we had to say our goodbyes and get back to hometown for a quick nap, a long shower and a birthday gathering. Ree and I met with Kristine and Robert to celebrate Kristine’s first annual 29th birthday at an amazing deli/bar. There were sandwiches and frosty drinks. It was love.
Later at a huge karaoke bar, I got fed the fuck up with women and the men that love them. Lesson learned: without clothing that appears to be painted on, abundant cleavage, and a high pitched laugh, you don’t deserve service or manners in general. It was a damn shame I left my cat suit at home and remembered to wear a shirt.
And then I met two very cute, very sweet, very funny girls in the bathroom and the faith in much of my douche-tastic generation started to restore.
Overall the weekend did nothing for my lingering, nagging cold but it did wonders for my overwhelmed mind, as good times with friends tend to do.
-CJ
