Drunken Boo Boos

Party hard I did.  Too hard.

 

Fueled by a combination of mescal (who got the gusanito?), vodka of the gods screwdrivers, and skinny girl margarita, I managed to tarnish some friendships my final night in Santa Barbara.  Or so I think.  Once I managed to track down my backpack with my wallet and phone on Sunday morning it was clear I had made a big mistake.  My call log revealed an evening of making an avalanche of drunken goodbye calls.  Some people I called back multiple times.  I apparently told one of my friends something “inappropriate” but would not be made privy to what I exactly said.  So to those whom I harassed, I don’t know what I said, I’m sorry.  The devil inside made me do it.  I’m most certain whatever I said it’s not what I think.

 

Other than blacking out and making an ass of myself by calling a bunch of people drunk and stealing some stranger’s burrito (so I was told), I had an incredible weekend.  I got to spend precious time with some of my favorite people riding bikes, sailing, hiking, and doing some general joyous gallivanting.  I promise that I will be careful and not do what I did Saturday night wherever I end up!

Note the phone by my hand.

My final hour in Santa Barbara was whirlwind.  I made the spontaneous decision to head up to Monterey to visit my friend’s new house while I threw the final bits of crap into my other friend’s trunk to be taken down to Riverside.  The thought struck me:  I am an adult.  I can go where I want to!  No longer am I bound by responsibilities.  The only constraints are my finances and the fears I create in my head.  I could become homeless if that is what I want.  Anyways I slept for most of the way up to Monterey, woke up and commented on how posh KG’s new accommodations are, and passed out.  Since KG had to work for most of my day in town I took the opportunity to explore Monterey on my own.

The Birth of a Tourist: The introduction

 

There is something magical about Hollister Ranch.  Right now my eyes are getting fucked by ocean waters.  I’m on the train zipping through Hollister Ranch.

Although all connected in time and space, I felt that each of the next three posts had a different theme.  For this reason, I broke up an originally long post into three parts.  The first covers my last days in Santa Barbara.  The second covers my attempt at telling my father about my travel plans and the initial half of my day in Monterey.  The final post digs into my thoughts on tourism and my fears of being a tourist.