Life in a hotel

I'm going on day 29 of living in a hotel. Our stay here is almost up, though. We just had to stay here until we could move into our apartment.

Things I like about living in a hotel:

1. They do your bed for you. (Except I still do it myself. I'm so weird.)


2. They clean for you. (Yes, I do it myself. Most of the time.)


3. They have a breakfast and dinner every weekday. (Okay, that I take advantage of!)

Where we are staying has a complimentary breakfast and dinner, which is great. I haven't cooked in like...um, well let's see... (I'm looking at my calendar). Let's just say, a really long time. Because before the hotel, right after our house sold, I lived with my aunt for a bit--didn't cook during that time. Before that, Mike had already gone to San Diego, so I was busy packing and eating Taco Bueno everyday. (Which, by the way, there are no Taco Buenos here. I'm not sure what I'm going to do. I might have to call the manager and see if they can ship me an order of 100 Party Burritos. I'm sure I could store them in the freezer.) So anyway, I'm hoping I haven't forgotten how to cook. I'll have to start with something small. Like maybe on the first night, I'll boil some water. If that goes well, the next night I'll fix some oatmeal or a grilled cheese sandwich.

Actually, I'm looking forward to cooking. Ha! Give me a week, I'll probably be saying, "I think I'll move back to Marriott."

Just call me Jeff Gordon!

I'm like a pro-driver now. I'm learning to be a really good defensive driver, too. But you kind of have to be. If you want to keep your car in one solid piece, that is.

I've driven all over San Diego. Covering so much ground probably has something to do with being lost twice, but still. I'm learning the area much better that way. Or at least I'm learning what not to do.

On the highways (or freeways or whatever they call them), I tried driving the speed limit. I tried going 65. But everyone passed me like I was behind my car pushing it rather than behind the wheel driving. The posted signs, I was convinced, were kind of a suggestion. Like, "You might want to drive somewhere around 65 miles per hour. But if not, that's fine too."

During those slow days of people flying by me, I never saw cops giving tickets. So I decided to drive like the San Diegans. Fast.

Then last weekend, I saw them--those ticket givers. So I've slowed down. In fact, I'm barely pushing the limit. I do NOT want a ticket.

I guess I'll just stay out of the fast lane and wave at everyone passing me.