patron saint of awesome

I will freely admit that I drank an inadvisable amount yesterday - turns out all those cocktails at the beach club were doubles, and Isidro (our new bestie/server) did a v. good job of keeping us drunk and happy. Add that to the wine we had at dinner, and it's no wonder this morning was rough. I slept outside until three a.m., then relocated inside just because I didn't want the daylight to wake me up. I thought I was fine this morning, and I had a lovely breakfast (hard to not be lovely when the food and coffee just shows up when you sit down), and Chandlord and I discussed whether the romans knew what potassium was (a jhoke that clearly won't translate here). Eventually, thought, it was time to stop being slothful and start rallying for activity, which is when I realized that my hangover was going from mild irritant to all-out apocalypse...

Still, I rallied sufficiently to go with the crew to Sayulita, a small town with fun shopping about half an hour from the house. Lauren (now known as Subizubz, as we continue our nickname innovation) lured me in with promises of housewares, and she wasn't mistaken in either my love of such things or the appeal of the shops in Sayulita for one with my addictions. Sayulita was super cute, and small enough that even when we did get separated, it was just a matter of traversing the same four blocks until our searches for each other bore fruit. I was v. restrained, though, and only got myself a new desk ornament; while the whole place felt vaguely like India, the prices were at least 5x higher, and the disconnect between the prices and the ambience kept me from splurging. We stopped for lunch at a restaurant overlooking the beach, and the food there was great - my carne asada was fantastico, as they say, and the guacamole there is enough to make an avocado atheist a true believer.

After Sayulita, we came home, changed into swimsuits, and drove the golf cart to the beach club. I immediately veered off and got a massage, since I was tired, cranky, almost-not-hungover, and sore...and it did wonders for my muscles and my mood, even if I did have one of my usual weird experiences where the masseuse did something I wasn't expecting (nothing major, but let's just say I felt like I had been mounted). Then I went back to the beach, where isidro encouraged me to have a piña colada doble, and the hair of that particular dog was enough to get me back in the game.

When we came home, we all showered, and then the chef fed us an amazing meal - one of the best salads I've had in agrs, a Veracruz style fish dish with rice and vegetables that was out of this world, and a sorbet/ice cream with an interesting spice profile. And we drank wine, and told jhokes, and talked about menfolk, and generally celebrated being alive and lucky. Terry and Lauren both peeled off to go to bed, but Katrina, Chandlord and I made snacks, and now I think I should get some sleep. Goodnight!