Dear Elli,
As I begin this letter, I am at the airport in San Francisco with Michelle. On our way home from the most epic adventure of my life.
We planned this trip many months ago, and I knew it would be cool. But it greatly exceeded my expectations. It was way better than cool.
We drove the majority of the coast of California, beginning in San Diego and ending in San Francisco. Just Michelle and me. Best friends since third grade. What could be better than that?!?!
I'll tell you what's better than that.
Doing it all in a black Camaro convertible, that's what.
So I'll start at the beginning now:
Michelle and I have a relationship very similar to a marriage. I am typically most like the husband in our friendship marriage. You see, Michelle is kind of high maintenance. She likes to both accessorize and wear multiple layers of clothing at all times. This kind of fashion sense requires significant baggage.
Michelle has no less than thirteen bags with her at all times. She has a suitcase and a giant bottomless beach bag sort of thing. Inside each of those bags are more bags. One for jewelry. One for makeup. One for other toiletries, including perfume, tweezers, a glittery powder brush thing, a handkerchief, Tums, and probably a set of dishes and a sewing machine.
She is also a big fan of scarves. I've never been able to figure out a useful purpose for a scarf, other than the kind you wear in the winter to avoid your neck skin freezing in the cold.
Michelle doesn't wear that kind of scarf. She wears intricately decorated textiles that resemble tableclothes. And she looks utterly amazing in her tableclothes. I hate her. If I were to attempt Michelle's style, I would look like a raving lunatic with a tablecloth around my neck. She looks like a supermodel.
The whole point of my description of Michelle is to explain that I wait for her a lot. I wait patiently on the hotel bed while she opens and closes various bags, tries on multiple jewels, and layers her clothing with a cami, tank top, regular shirt, and of course a scarf. I generally wear a bra and one shirt. That's as creative as I get. That's why I'm the husband in our relationship.
So, once we were dressed and properly accessorized each morning, we set off on our numerous adventures. We hiked down a massive cliff overlooking the ocean in La Jolla. We rode bicycles along Pacific Beach. We had drinks like fancy people at the Hotel Del Coronado. We ate like pigs in Old Town. We toured the Mission at San Juan Capistrano.
When we arrived in Los Angeles just in time for rush hour traffic, we experienced the full effect of that foul city. It seems people in LA are either incredibly rich or incredibly poor. And every last one of them is mean. Even when they are trying to be nice, they're still mean. A guy actually let me turn in front of him during our third traffic jam. Instead of waving me out like a civilized man, he pointed his finger at me and demanded I turn in front of him.
We also witnessed a homeless guy screaming about the filthy people behind him on Hollywood Boulevard. The people behind him seemed like a nice family of four. They clearly weren't from LA, either, since they were nice.
Our highlight in Los Angeles was the Hollywood sign. We drove up these ridiculously steep hills through a neighborhood to find the best view. It took forever, and I almost ran into a man in his BMW during one of our 90 degree blind turns. He was mean, too.
We finally reached our viewing location, and we met a nice Indian family (not from LA). The family consisted of a very small husband and wife, and their teenage son. We immediately asked them to take our photo, because Michelle and I regularly approach strangers without hesitation. The husband agreed, and he was clearly very passionate about ensuring we had the perfect Hollywood sign photograph.
He started with normal photos, and then suggested we turn our heads toward the sun for a more artistic touch. Except Michelle wasn't wearing sunglasses, and it's quite painful to gaze directly into the California sun without squinting. He, very seriously, instructed her to open her eyes. She moaned in pain, and I totally lost control. He had my camera on the burst function, so a series of shots ensued that reflected Michelle squinting painfully into the sun, me cracking up, both of us cracking up, and then a few more of our feet because the Indian man was also cracking up by that point. We stood on the side of that hill for twenty minutes laughing until we were both doubled over with tears rolling down our cheeks. We seriously could not stop laughing and get our shit together. It was one of the greatest moments of my life.
We left LA the next morning, and headed north on the Pacific Coast Highway. In our convertible. Everyone should drive the California coast in a convertible during their lifetime. It's freaking amazing. It's beautiful. It makes you feel incredibly free and alive. And it is impossible to think about anything other than the present moment while driving that route. Mostly because it's a glorious sight, but also because you are likely to drive off the side of a cliff if you focus on anything other than the present moment.
We were fancying ourselves to be like Thelma and Louise all week. If you haven't seen that movie, you should stop what you're doing right now and watch it. It's totally bad ass. Anyway, we were hell bent on recreating a famous photo from the movie, with Thelma and Louise standing in their convertible with the mountains as the backdrop for the photo. And when I say "we" were hell bent on that photo, I really mean "I" was hell bent and Michelle was humoring me. We (I) got our (my) photo on the Pacific Coast highway.
San Francisco was our next stop. And San Francisco is the exact opposite of LA. San Francisco is awesome and fun and friendly. LA is mean and smelly and dirty.
After San Francisco, we headed to Napa. The BottleRock festival in Napa was actually the reason we planned our trip in the first place. I was excited, but it was really more of a Michelle thing. She's the carefree hippie in our relationship. I'm not generally the music festival type, mostly because I don't like people invading my personal space or porta potties. But let me tell you something. We saw Stevie Wonder. And Stevie Wonder is the most amazing performer I've ever seen in my life. A freaking living legend!
I completely forgot my personal space requirements and danced right alongside the sweaty people. And I peed in a porta potty two times because I drank too much beer. I am slightly ashamed to admit that we spent two days in Napa, and all I drank was Coors Light. I apologize. I've given it an honest try, but I truly, madly, and deeply dislike wine.
We spent our last full day walking around Napa gazing at women with amazing amounts of Botox and collagen lip injections. I bought a pair of pants at a boutique in town. I call them my Napa pants, and they make me feel very stylish. Almost as stylish as the plastic ladies in Napa. I'm joking. I'm sure they are very nice people, and they would certainly smile if they could.
So now we're finished with our trip. And I'm so glad we went. I miss Michelle a lot of the time, and it's so hard to stay connected in this crazy adult world of responsibilities and constant deadlines. But we threw all of that out the window for six days. We talked. We laughed. We sat in comfortable silence. And we were free from phone calls and voicemails and appointments and meetings. For six whole days, we lived almost totally in the present. Everyone should do that sometimes.
Remember that, kid. And do it. As often as you can without becoming an unemployed hippie who sleeps on the beach in San Diego next to his skateboard.
I love you.
Mom
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