A dear friend of mine has often been my travel buddy, and as such, I am sure we have shared much shame, but also some EPIC stories.
When she was in graduate school near San Francisco, we thought it a great idea to meet up and visit some other college buddies living down state.
With her being in Northern California, we both flew to LAX, she from San Fran and I from Newark. We then stayed with friends in LA and Santa Monica for a few days before taking the train from LA to San Diego.
We made sure we stayed very hydrated during the 3 hour trip, so hydrated in fact, we almost missed our stop. Oh, and we forgot to tell our host when we coming.
Our gracious and forgiving friend met us at the train station, and brought us back to her apartment. We then proceeded to clean ourselves up and head out.
Somehow, somewhere in the middle of our self created bar crawl, we had run into another friend from college who was going to some crazy house party. He invited all of us, but ultimately only I went with him to this other party, leaving my host and friend behind.
What a glorious turn of events, I was going to party in true San Diego style, at a real San Diego house.
Once I was done partying I said my goodbyes and I hailed a cab.
Once I sat in the cab I realized I faced a MAJOR problem. What was my hostesses address?
I had not thought to get it. How the hell had I thought NOT to ask where in the fuck she lived before I left?!?
Nevermind, I know the answer.
I knew she lived in the Pacific Beach area.
I might as well told the driver I need to find a guy named Mike with brown hair.
Anyways, he brought me to PB, to the last bar we were at, before we all split up. I got out of the cab and tried to retrace my steps.
I very quickly realized that I was up a creek and had not even the slightest goddamn sign of a paddle.
I wandered the neighborhood for hours. Nothing even looked close to familiar.
After multiple unanswered calls to my host and travel bud went unanswered, I freaked.
I was done. I couldn't find where my friend lived if her house farted on my face.
What I did find was that a lot of people in San Diego own RV's.
I also found a lot of those people don't lock them.
I was also tired and I was done being Columbus for the day.
Sweet dreams Cynthia.
Don't let the beddy bugs bite, or the owner of this RV come in, and murder me.
I used a pair of the owners shorts I found on the floor as a blanket.
I think I slept with my fingers crossed.
Wait till I tell my friends what had happened! If I lived that was. I was still a bit peeved no one seemed to care where I may or may not have been, but alas just let me make it to morning Dear Lord.
The next morning I awoke, ALIVE and unscathed, and continued my quest from the night before.
I will say it truly is amazing what daylight, and sobriety, can do.
I found my friends apartment, a mere one block over, and proceeded to enter, amazing story in hand.
Turns out the reason my travel bud never answered her phone was because she met a guy who took her to Mexico, and had to have herself rescued.
Guess not all epic tales are created equally.
Also my friend and I tend to be terrible house guests.
I will add however, we are two good time Charlies, and ALWAYS make for a good story.
Sorry S.
Also if you have ever hung out with me and don't have a story, I am sorry.
J.K. That's impossible.
Xoxo,
C.
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