Well, today’s my last day in Laguna Beach. Tomorrow I’m headed back home to San Francisco to spend the rest of the summer working on my tan. I should have that thing faded back to a healthy shade of horchata in no time.
Fun as it is engaging in 100% of my human interaction via Netflix streaming and HBO GO, I think it’s possible that the isolation is starting to get to me. Today, while sitting around the house, I mistook the following for some sort of imminent threat: a leaf falling to the ground (psychotic killer approaching through the bushes), the cat meowing at another cat (wailing, vengeful ghost), the neighbor in his backyard explaining to his wife what “Free Pussy Riot” means (idiot townies who spawn the overprivileged grotesqueries that will eventually drag human evolution into reverse).
Also, at the grocery store today, two different people told me “I like your tattoo.” What the hell? Aside from the fact it was the first non–dog-related thing anyone’s said to me in two weeks, my innocuous, pink tattoo is hardly a conversation piece, especially now that it’s approximately the same shade as the rest of my sunburned skin. Why are people suddenly talking to me? Am I so lonely and attention-starved that I subconsciously walked into Whole Foods with my left boob out? Or were people talking to me because I’m so lonely and attention-starved that I consciously walked into Whole Foods with my right boob out? I guess I’ll never know.
Anyway, let’s wrap this trip up Harper’s-style, shall we? Except less about politics and culture and more about me me me.
Days in Laguna Beach: 24
Bottles of wine/jars of peanut butter/tacos consumed: 15/1.5/14
Pets that were alive and well when I arrived: 4
Pets that are alive and well now: 4
Plants that were alive and well when I arrived: 17
Plants that have since entered their “fall dormancy”: 6
What orchids? I don’t remember any orchids: 2
Sunset photo shoots witnessed (couples/families wearing faded jeans and matching white shirts/quinceañera/bikini): 10 (3/3/2/2)
“What kind of dogs are those?”/”Looks like you’ve got your hands full there!”/[incomprehensible baby talk]: 74/9/3
Probability that, during a car trip of any given length in Orange County, a song by either Sublime or No Doubt will come on the radio: 100%
Probability that, during a car trip of 10 minutes or more in Orange County, songs by both Sublime and No Doubt will come on the radio: 100%
Books started: 5
Books finished: 0
Episodes of Girls/Gossip Girl/Up with Chris Hayes watched: 10/42/0.85
Number of whiney, suicidal, complaint-rock stations added to my sister’s Pandora account that I now can’t figure out how to delete: 11
Bottles of wine consumed besides the 15 I mentioned earlier: 9
Ratio of times I’ve mentioned missing my husband to times I’ve mentioned missing Indian food: 2:3
Until next time, O.C.