fall down hard

We had a babymoon (defined both as a last vacation before baby and a vacation with new baby - obviously we took the former) this weekend. Eryl and Mike were married in Santa Barbara and we spent the weekend.

It started out rough as Will was delayed at work and we didn't even pack until 3:00, the time I'd set to leave by. We left after 5:00 and I promptly screwed things up by taking surface streets out to who the hell knows where. We finally found the 101, though not before I had a near-nervous breakdown. By the time we got to Santa Barbara I was ready to eat the car, but settled for the hotel restaurant. Er, a meal at the restaurant. A waitress (not ours) came over and told me how beautiful I am and asked about our birth plans and I felt much better.

Saturday we walked around town a bit. Breakfast at Joe's Cafe, bought a moleskine at Borders, drooled over antiques, lunch at an Indian place, bought shoes for me (ouch! Size 8 and they still hurt my normally sized 7 feet) and a tie for Will (somehow we both forgot to pack one, but this was providence really as we found one at the costume shop that was exactly right).

The wedding was beautiful and I had a good time, but it turns out that in general a wedding is a wedding. There are too many planned things and the DJs all need a good punch in the mouth. On the other hand, the food was good and there was a photo booth. Maybe later I will hook up the scanner and you can all see how fat I am (the photo booth adds ten pounds to the second chin). On second thought, you can see that with photos from the camera, which doesn't require finding any stray cables. (It did, of course, require a trip down to the car, where we left the camera yesterday, but as you can see no time elapsed whatsoever.)

The view from our room:


The view, much improved by our presence:


And our presence, much improved by our wicked cool shades:


Can you believe the tits on me? Golly!

Sunday we were a bit decadent and had room service breakfast. Will had blueberry corncakes, which he chose the night before whilst totally blitzed. Seriously, the food arrived and he was like, "Um, what am I having, and did I embarrass myself?" Luckily he enjoyed them, and the ham that came with my eggs. (His cholesterol-lowering diet went out the window for two days by my edict.) Eventually we packed and checked out, driving back into town for lunch. It proved nearly impossible to find anything I wanted to eat (or, in many cases, could eat) and I can't help wondering why Will doesn't just divorce me so he can go out to eat without a major ordeal.

So we found a place to eat and everything was fine and then halfway through the meal the weight of the world came crashing down on me and I flipped out. We're talking crying in the bathroom, people. Not good. I was depressed for most of the drive home and a complete wreck as soon as I was able to be (i.e. when I was done driving).

Maybe a vacation wasn't so good an idea, after all. I can't quite handle life being normal again.