Flamingos are easy to dye, right?

Because PumperNickel and I are getting crotchety and intolerant in our old age, we've decided not to go out to a bar and brave the perfect storm of St. Patrick's Day/drunk 19 year old coeds here from Phoenix on Spring Break, and instead do something different. No, not sit at home and throw beer cans at neighborhood dogs. We're not THAT old and crotchety.

I'm trying to decide between SeaWorld and the San Diego Zoo.

The zoo is actually cheaper, and has more exhibits by far.



SeaWorld has beer. And a seafood restaurant, which cracks me up. "Can I have this one, sauteed in wine, or is it endangered?"



Online research doesn't reveal any plans on either of their parts to dye their animals green.

Choices, choices.

I'm a bit slow on the uptake.

We had a bit of heat wave lately. Not that heat is unusual here, or that it's even really that hot, but it was a bit hotter than it generally is in March. It's been about 95, 96 degrees the past couple days.

On Sunday, I figured it really was time for all the boxes to be unpacked. I mean, we've lived there two and a half months now. And I was only sick for one of those months, so really, I'm out of excuses. So I busted my (cute) little (well, maybe not little but certainly endearing and love able) tush and emptied out the last of the boxes. A large percentage I emptied straight into the trash or donation bins because, lets face it, I can't have missed it that much in the past two months or I would have dug it out.

I actually have a usable closet now, instead of a cat fort of boxes overflowing out into the bedroom. Wooo-hoooo! Woooo-hooooo for me! Not so much woooooo-hoooooooo for Mau, who misses the cardboard cat fort. I found a box of blankets that he had somehow burrowed into, like Saddam, or Bin Ladin.

Anyway, as I was doing all this, I got really hot and sweaty. I tried to figure out why. Had I accidentally turned the heat on? That happened once in my old Postage Stamp apartment, the heat was so rarely used that it had been painted over and I only discovered it in the middle of the night when I woke up in what felt like a sauna, because I had accidentally bumped it on earlier while using it to hang a Christmas decoration.
Was the oven on? Were all the appliances heating the place up? The heat lamp in the bathroom?

Nope.

I didn't get it until I walked outside.

"OooooooooOOOOooooh. It's hot inside because it's a HOT DAY."

Within a couple of blocks.

I have this theory that there is far more fascinating things within a few blocks of one's house than one realizes, until you walk around it on foot.

Driving doesn't count.

You're never going to find flowers growing through cracks in the sidewalk while you're driving.

You're not going to talk to the fat old dog who seems so anxious to prove that he's still tough and intimidating that you reassure him that you'd never come in his yard, mostly just to soothe his feelings.

You're not as likely to wander down a sidestreet, following a yard sale sign on a whim, and finding a pair of gold(ish) elf slippers, which fit perfectly, for a mere $0.50.

Or to notice that plastic duck statues in the neighbor's yard are the size of labradors.

Or make the aquintaince of a nonsensical little blue that sprawls over the side of a hill with no rhyme or reason, just like houses in your dreams.

Or that half of the oranges on a neighbor's tree are plastic. What exactly are they trying to do? Show off?

Or that Luca is always happy when he recognizes home, but seems entirely turned around and confused that you're approaching the house from a different direction that whence you left. "How did the house get over HERE?"


What's within a couple blocks of your house?

What's next? A moose? A polar bear?

Honestly, I would have been less surprised by a stampede of unicorns.

I can't help but suspect that My Nick is behind this somehow. I mean, he's a Whisker, and that's where these things are made, right? In Wisconsin?

This is califreakinfornia.

Ok, so yesterday I'm driving the, like, half, maybe a whole mile from my office to Nick's office. The quick little back way from one office park to another is through a back canyon, which has a driving range and a cemetary. And what do you think stumbles in front of my car?

An illegal immigrant returning to his camp in between gardening jobs?

A hippie liberal war protester with face paint and signs?

A six foot long rattlesnake?

No. All of those things I would have been prepared for. They've all jumped in front of my car before. (Except in the case of the rattlesnake, which didn't so much jump as just pick a really bad time and place to sun itself.)

A DEER.
I almost hit a DEER.

What the hell?
We don't have deer.
Well, ok, I've seen deer twice before in this state in my whole entire life. That includes my teenage years, riding my horse out on trails. So I suppose we technically have deer, but it's not like you SEE them. Certainly not while on paved roads.

At first, I thought it was a dog, and when I realized what had just narrowly missed my front bumper, I pulled over to take pictures, and also to chase it and hug it and squeeze it and beg it to come and live with me forever.

It (I think "it" was a "she" but I'm basing that only on the fact that it looked more like Bambi's mother than Bambi's father, because that's my only frame of reference when it comes to deer) stopped on the other side of the road, and calmly started grazing on the cemetary grass.

Since my camera batteries chose this moment to completely crap out on me, I shall have to recreate the surreal scene.

Luca and I learn us some culture.

Luca was fascinated by the didgeridoo, until he got too close. I think since he can hear tones we can't, that it was starting to hurt his ears. When we got too close he started to shake his head as if he was trying to shake something out.
So we moved on, walking through San-Diego-in-February's version of snow, cherry blossoms.
We sat on a bench and ate a fruit bowl. I liked the pineapple, Luca liked the honeydew melon. Then we went to look at the fish, and Luca was so excited I think he was about to jump in to play with them. I don't think he would hurt them, but I figured it would be generally frowned upon if he were to chase them. I caught him before he got more than one paw in. He's heavy.
We went over to the organ pavillion to wait for the concert to start. We split a banana and a roast beef sandwich. Luca played gargoyle.
He fell off the pedestal and I caught him. He's very heavy.

Luca loves children. And everybody loves Luca. Every book I read about Great Danes told us to expect a lot of attention when walking a Great Dane, but I had no idea how right it was. I spent most of the day explaining what breed he was, how old, what his color pattern is called, his wonderful temperament, how much he eats, a detailed history of the breed, and a quick lesson in genetics. My inner tour guide was on cloud nine.
During all that, Luca would bond with the little faces right at his level. Parents would marvel at how gentle and soft he is. No, literally soft. His ears are like velvet.
It was like walking a celebrity on a leash.
The concerts in the Balboa Park organ pavillion are one of my favorite things to do in San Diego. (You might remember this time that Nick and I went.)
Luca couldn't figure out quite where the music was coming from at first, since the pipe organ is SOOOOOO big and sounds like it's coming from everywhere at once.
He seemed to enjoy it.
But after awhile he started shaking his head again like his ears hurt, so we went to Old Town and greeted more people. And then we went home, fell on the couch and snuggled Rudolf.

What does it feel like to not be sick?

I've forgotten.

Also, today would have been a perfect day to play hooky. The forecast is 80 whole sunny degrees, not a lot of tourist traffic. I wish I were on the monorail at the Wild Animal Park. Or watching the baby seals down in La Jolla Cove. Or feeding the fish at Balboa Park.

"Never, Ever Hit Your Bunny."

Don't worry, the title has nothing to do with this post. It's just a line from the flier we got when we adopted Rudolf, and it just seems so ludicrous to even picture someone doing it, that while it isn't actually funny, it makes me laugh hysterically.

Anyway.

This post is really me whining about the weather.
Our wacky, record setting weather.
It's freakin' COLD. Like, there was FROST and it's jeopardizing the citrus crop. (If this hurts the avocado crop I'll be seriously pissed.)
It's COLD and I'm taking it PERSONALLY.

And this dryness. I'm really done with that.
Not that dry air is anything new, but cold dry air? This sucks. The heater dries out my poor skin more, and the lotion is so cold.

This is San Diego! It's not supposed to freeze! I'm not supposed to freeze! I shouldn't have to bundle up to sit on my couch! If I wanted this sort of weather, I'd go live someplace else! Someplace cheap! I want my money back from ........ well, somebody. I'll use it to go buy a coat.

Last night Nick and I ran an errand we'd been meaning to get around to since we moved, we picked up a heat bulb for the bathroom. After we put it in and turned it on, I turned to him and said, "As if we needed another reason to just live in the bathroom."

You Know How California Is Known ...

......... for bad traffic and crazy speeding drivers?

I think those two facts are related. You spend two hours a day in this ........



............... and just see if the open road doesn't make you giddy and lead-footed.

Overheard

"It's raining? What the hell? It rained last month!"