It could be suggested (and not inaccurately) that I'm a fairly big proponent of one-upmanship. I blame this wholly aggravating trait on my Dad, for reasons that will becoming clear in a moment. I'd like to point out, of course, that people who consistently feel the need to hoist themselves upon the assertions of others in an attempt to climb the veritable mountain of one-upmanship are generally considered to be 1) annoying as hell, and 2) socially ousted immediately upon arrival. So this idea of being right all the time doesn't really bode well for my peers and certainly doesn't forecast a sunny and bright future social life for yours truly. Hence, I try to keep it under control. Try being the operative word here, and under control being a flimsy and debatable non-guarantee. But then there are those times when you think you've got it locked down: Superlatives are simply not enough to describe the ways in which you've utterly owned the competition. But lo, the dark horse rides again, and victory is thwarted in one fell swoop.
Such is the case with the weekend. Not to brag or anything (but ehhh...yes. Okay, yes, to brag. To brag overtly), but my weekend was pretty outstanding. It was a weekend that came hot on the heels of one hell of a week, the kind of week for which "emotional rollercoaster" doesn't even begin to describe the caterwauling my stomach did on multiple occasions. Making it to the end of last week seemed like a victory in and of itself, a fist-pump to the sky and a pat on the back for simply surviving. But you know very well that pride comes before the fall.
Last week I was talking with my Dad on the phone about the economy (a favorable subject for water coolers, cocktail parties, dinner table talk, and church sermons, natch), and he lamented right along with me, feeling my pain, commiserating my uncertainty - wait, what was that?
"Sometimes, Laurel, you have to make sacrifices, especially in times like this," His sage advice began. So true, dad, in fact, I've been thinking--
"In fact," He went on, "Just last week I was asked by a client to an all-expenses paid trip to the Super Bowl. Including all the pre-game parties."
I'm hanging up now, Dad.
So despite the fact that this weekend in the Central Coast was outstanding, I'm going to periodically interject the glorious retelling with the inglorious texts I received all weekend from the Dailey Sr.
This weekend, a bunch (a handful? A gaggle? A fleet?) of us L.A. kids traveled north to the Central Coast. I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but the Central Coast is the most magical place ever. In the world. More magical than Heaven, and I know this because God Himself said to me, "Yeah, you can quote me on that."
Our first stop was in Pismo to see all the monarch butterflies vacay in Eucalyptus Grove for the winter. You could just hear their little bourgeois butterfly chatter: "You know, Alistair, we usually like to summer in St. Barts, but my 401k is looking more like a 399.99k, if you know what I mean [bwah-hahaha], so we're going to to flutter on down to that cheap and godforsaken St. Thomas instead. Gawd, this single malt sugarwater is delightful."
"Perpetua, you old BAG! I haven't seen you in weeks! How are the kids? Still boarding in Switzerland?"
After a bit of exploration on the beach, we hightailed it up to Harmony (the lilliputian Tiny Town for the uninitiated) for some exploration and wine tasting. The population in Harmony is 18, so when the twelve of us came to town, we effectively doubled the population.
Ashley and Jess are the sole attendees of the Harmony Valentine's Day Singles Mixer and Cocktail Hour
It was around that time I started getting text messages from dear old Dad. "Check your email," said the first text. And so I did.
Oh, look, you think your weekend is fun? Well, look who's having a laugh with Miss America? What a scream! Not to be outdone, we immediately commenced frolicking in fields and generally projecting an air of winsome insouciance:
Take THAT, Miss America.
Following our clambake with the White Anglo-Saxon Protestant butterflies and our photogenic romp through Harmony, we drove up to San Simeon to see a peep show. The elephant seals were really giving it to us, complete with stripper poles and five-inch heels. YOWZA!
After an amazing dinner and s'mores over a firepit, I was fairly certain I'd gotten the lockdown on Who Was Having A More Amazing Weekend, but Mr. D certainly had a few more tricks up his sleeve.
"I'm sitting 4 seats from Vin Diesel."
But...we saw OSTRICHES! Huge, dinosaur-with-feathers ostriches. With EGGS!"
"I just saw Alec Baldwin. The Cards are losing."
And then we went to Solvang! What a funtastic time!
"I just saw Evander Holyfield..."
"...he's a boxer."
I know that.
"I'm at a tailgate party watching Journey perform live!"
Don't stop believin', Dad. You win this round.
P.S. Can you please tell Alec Baldwin that his work as Jack Donaghy on 30 Rock gives me more hope in the world than all of Obama's campaign managers put together? Thx.