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Getting the Hell Out of Here

I need to get out of here. I’ve been meaning to for ages. I can’t make it until June. I’m leaving town the weekend of the 14th and it’s not a moment too soon. One thing I learned through the process of finding a city, a flight, a place to stay. So-called “deals” aren’t really deals. Do your research. Thanks to tenacity, some luck, and partnership with my beloved Amex, I’m going to San Diego and staying at the W for less than $800. My flight is non-stop. It cost more and I knew it was, but I didn’t much care. I don’t feel like connecting flights, especially when I’ll need to work two 12-hour shifts in a row when I get back.

Unfortunately, Montreal didn’t happen since the cheapest flight I could find was $500. Also, it would be callous to show while knowing the person I was supposed to be visiting would be at work. I’m not that bitchy yet. But I will go there, maybe soon. Vancouver, too. It’s high time I checked out Canada.

Miami would have been cheaper and I could have stayed at a resort, but do I really want to be surrounded by posers and drunk Northeasterners? And the humidity! God, no. I plan on biking on the beach, reading the novel on the rooftop swim area, drinking cocktails, photographing the nearby Gaslamp Quarter and Balboa Park. San Diego is far more laid back than Los Angeles and I won’t be spending half my time in the car. I plan on worrying very little. It’s high time. A family member will be visiting, but the rest of that sad, incompetent bunch have been warned away.

The best part about this trip is it’s in less than 2 weeks.

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