San Diego

We took off to San Diego last weekend to talk to a chiropractor who turned out to be quite crazy.

You know, the difficult thing about chiropractors is that they all seem to take things a different direction.  I guess that could be good, though.  If you like how Mark treats you, you sure aren't going to find anyone else who treats you the same.  (Maybe his two brothers will be similar ... but even they feel different to me.)  So hopefully his clientele will be quite loyal.

Anyway. 

The job may have bombed, but our weekend did not.  Favorite memories include:

• Walking straight in to Tijuana, Mexico.  The two guards at the border weren't even looking at us.

•  Becoming a superb haggler.  Turns out my indecisiveness really worked in my favor.  If they only knew that I just couldn't say no ... but Mark did, thank goodness.  If it weren't for him I think I would've walked away with a lot more than a ring and this adorable dress:

• Donkeys painted like zebras.  Five bucks for a picture.  I tried to sneak one with my own camera, till Mark reprimanded me for robbing them of their livelihood.  Fine.
• Witnessing all the different tricks merchants use to get you into their stores.  My favorite: "Come inside, I promise I won't say one word to you.  I'll just let you look around and won't bother you!"
• Mariachi bands ... I think I saw at least fifteen walking the streets, trying to play people a tune.
• Stopping to feed sister, while Mac did an intense photo shoot.

•  Waiting about two hours to get back into the USA.
• Having a great conversation with Blake, the drifter.  He's lived everywhere, and currently resides in tent on the beach in Cabo, where he teaches surfing lessons.
• Learning Blake's friend's girlfriend just got kidnapped out of their hotel the night before.  The kidnappers want $150 in ransom money.  Her dad won't give in to terrorists.  (WHAT.)
• Meeting Elizabeth Taylor's biggest fan.  This man could not stop talking about her, except to give an honorable mention to some eighty year old actress named Shirley, who much to his disappointment, declined an offer to pose for Playboy.
• Getting a real stink-eye from the American guard when asked if this was my baby.  Yes, she may be dark haired, and her name may be Belen, but she is as Caucasian as they come and most definitely belongs to me.  Luckily he only glanced back at "the room" a few times and never made me go in there.  We made it across all in one piece.  Boy those Americans are grumpy.

• Staying in a hotel room with two queen beds:  one for Mark and Mac, and one for me and Belen.
• Mac puking in the middle of the night.  (Sorry Mark.)
• Sister sleeping through it all. 

• Walking through Balboa Park the next day ... wow we could've spent the entire day there.
• Pushing a stroller and holding two children.  My word.

• Almost going inside this gorgeous museum ... but deciding against it as we had two exhausted kids who wouldn't be quiet enough for us to pay money to check it out.

Very memorable.  We both fell in love with San Diego a little, and wished that the chiropractor had been a little less crazy.