Remember my Gigantic Fuckup when I booked two rooms at the Days Inn for September 11 instead of September 18 because I'm an idiot who makes lots of organizing checklists, can scramble eggs with her toes while doing the dishes and simultaneously spreading joy throughout the land but can't seem to read a calendar?
Well, to my relief they waived that pesky 48 hour cancellation requirement and put the cash back in my account. Wheeeeewww. Close one.
Then came Part Two of the previously mentioned Gigantic Fuckup. It appeared as though the entire hamlet known as Santa Barbara was booked solid. Ass face! I'm pretty sure there isn't a holiday that weekend but then again, how the hell would I know since I can't read a calendar. Just as I was giving in to despair, I found not one, but TWO rooms available at the Sandyland Reef Inn in Carpinteria which sounds like a warehouse full of area rugs made by Middle Eastern orphans with bloody carpet weaving fingers but is really a town just 9 miles from Santa Barbara. Perfect! I book the rooms and decide to find some more photos of this slice of Eden because with a name like Sandyland ... it has to be good. I'm picturing sand and surf and daiquiris and coconut oil and Frankie Avalon making time with Annette Funicello
Instead, what I find is this:
Oooohhhh, and some of this:
Along with a stream of warnings like Don't Stay Here! What a Dump! Got Infected Here! Don't Forget Your Crack Pipe! So ... I promptly cancel yet another reservation, pull out two thirds of my hair, throw something solid across the room and declare this trip O-V-E-R.
That is until my girl Corrina emailed the words that made me pull my thumb out of my mouth and uncurl myself from the fetal position:
(Insert God-like light from above followed by Herald Angels singing)
Queen beds, swimming pool, onsite restaurant and wait for it ..... wait for it ..... an onsite bar.
Trip back on!