The things I’ve learned on the road (at this point, for three gut-wrenching days):
I am reverting to being a sophomore in college. Not nearly the drinking, mind you. But After 72 hours, my room looks like shit.
Two queen sized beds are WAY better than one king. Why? Because one bed is the “all my shit that’s not hanging in the closet or attached to my pc goes there” bed. The other, closer to the door bed, is the “Make this tidy and pretty every day because I slumber here” bed.
When your every meal and beverage at a restaurant or the office or cafeteria are paid for like you’re on an all exclusive vacation, you don’t feel bad at all for paying four bucks for a beer from the hotel lobby.
There’s apparently no way for two people to have dinner and a drink in Palo Alto for under a hundred bucks unless you order it out of a clown’s mouth. We’ve eaten at Trader Vic’s (our waiter’s eyebrows were fake) and
There’s never a good time to tell your boss “Man, I can’t wait to get some Jack sauce!” (Don’t be dirty. The only thing I really miss about living in California is not having a grilled sourdough burger from Jack In The Box).
Being on the road and running a project like this is like starting a new job, in that no one knows you so you can be whomever you want to be. I have told everyone at our PA office that I am a shepard and a fireman.
I should have looked harder for a job at a company with a fucking cafeteria in the lobby. Today’s breakfast was the two-two and two for $2.22, which was two eggs, two sausage links, two slices of toast (and 2 half orders of hashbrowns). That and a banana held me over until way later in the day.
Hardly any hooker worth her weight will get the car with two dudes in a Taurus rental.
Students at Stanford have too much fucking money. We saw student after student walk into the restaurant we had a $100+ dinner to order a seven dollar scone and a five dollar cup of gourmet coffee. I mean, what the fuck? I couldn’t afford hot fucking water in college, much less a seven dollar piece of bread.
I love that this entire town smells like cypress trees, which are EVERYWHERE.
One hundred and eighty one dollars is a fuckton of money for a room that doesn’t even have a magic fingers bed in it.
I brought four books with me: three paperbacks ranging from 350 to 500 pages and one hardback that’s about 450 pages. What the hell was I thinking? I take work into the shitter with me.
Thank God for overtime.
I really want daily pictures from home, even though I am a slack bastard for not doing more to send presents home.
I am greatly looking forward to this weekend, when we do the following:
Hit pier 39
Drive Lombard Street
Take the night tour of Alcatraz. By the way, the tour of Alcatraz will ALWAYS remind me of Phil Hartman (courtesy of his role in the movie “So I Married An Axe Murderer.”
Head south on 101 to the peninsula so I can see the entrance to Pebble Beach, then head back north and make a brief stop at the Garlic Festival in Gilroy.
I miss my young ‘uns and my wife.
Hasta manana kids.
What say you?