Some Danish dark chocolate, Tiffany's earrings, a used copy of Thomas More's Utopia, and a content couple of my boyfriend and myself are what remain of our happy 5th year anniversary.
I must give credit to my boyfriend for completely stepping up his game for our weekend together. Just a few days prior I was arguing with him along the beach that we didn't have enough money to go on a trip and how on our anniversary I'd rather eat ramon together honestly versus spend all our cash on something we can't afford. I shouldn't listen to me sometimes.
He was insistent that we would be traveling our anniversary weekend, so stop it, look gorgeous, and be ready to be picked up by 10am Saturday. Well shoot, I as absolutely giggly by the time 10 rolled around and packed everything from a little black dress to boots to swim suits.
After a little bit of a delay of lunch and taking showers, we headed off to...somewhere. All he would tell me with a sly smile was that it would be far and if I brought my sunglasses. I had only one suspicion: Palm Springs, the place he joked we should go if we weren't able to see our families for Christmas.
I played our Sublime, Cage the Elephant, Silverspoon Pickups as he drove and drove and drove to the I-101 where the sun was setting. We took bets on what time exactly it would go down and we snuck into a camping parking lot to watch it go down from the beach itself. The beaches near Santa Barbara are longer than San Diego, so there is more of an expansive feel to a sunset--with the shadows of oil tankers far in the ocean distance to remind you that you're still in Southern California.
We were back in the car when he got a mysterious phone call and he told the person that we would be arriving in about 45 minutes. I knew the speaker was female because my boyfriend was speaking more formerly and I knew it was a stranger by his politeness. Who could it be? Hotel receptionists don't call guests who haven't arrived yet.
I was even more baffled as we drove straight into the mountains with deathly turns and a beautiful view of the now-full moon. And then there was the sign for Solvang. Ah ha! There is a certain smirk that happens when you finally figure something out and when my boyfriend turned to me he knew instantly that I finally knew.
Solvang is a Danish-styled town about an hour out of Santa Barbara. It's quint and beautiful, and a bit of wine and chocolate stop for lovers. We ended up parked in front of Mirabelle, the top ranked bed and breakfast of the town.
Im-fucking-pressed.
The receptionist, the mystery caller, gave us our key and a quick welcome before she headed for home, and I was more than delighted to have real keys instead standard plastic ones.
Ho-ly crap. Our room. Fireplace, dark oak bed frame, balcony, a pillow menu if we wanted to chose a different down or feather pillow, and a jacuzzi bathtub in an off white-meets-rustic style. Wow. Again, impressed. Thank God I wore my skinny jeans, leather boots, and white Express jacket instead of tights and flip-flops. The boyfriend was looking smashing in his crisp dress shirt and we left for dinner.
Mirabelle's chef was on vacation so we ended up at Root 246, an acclaimed restaurant by chef Bradley Ogden. We ordered a cheese plate that came with local jam and honey. So good. Perhaps I should leave out the part when I was chanting "1%, 1%, 1%" with glee...
My boyfriend and I settling into our drinks and cheese and got to talking about the topic of the year: wealth and how to get it. It seems like side projects are our bread and butter options these days but how can we make passionate 2nd jobs into full-fledged careers? At once I can accuse him of being far too hard on me for not being successful enough while also acknowledging his statement that no one else in my life as as high of expectations for me. I don't like being prodded but I need it. Maybe I do need to take a shitty job that pays higher so I can demand higher wages for a second job when it's in its full fruition.
Furthermore, I'm beginning to open up. Maybe I should start my own magazine (alas online), or intern for a tv station, or freelance for local papers. I wish--(and he cuts me off saying don't focus on the past on worry about the future) I wish that I had tried harder during college to do my sampling then so I'd be more focused and motivated today instead of lost. There is a
panic post-college that you're not good enough because well, you're not, but if only I was more prepared for the onslaught of stress. That stress that even though we're at a fancy dinner we can barely pay our bills. That stress that I can't eat cold things on the left side of my mouth because I can't afford a dentist visit. That unwavering stress on the back of your neck that you're thisclose to drowning but you would rather swim than simply survive. But enough talk of reality!
He ordered “Ive’s Shake and Bake Petaluma chicken,” with whipped crème fraiche potatoes, Fuji apples, organic raisins, and I ordered the New York steak with sweet potato gratin and vegetables. I don't think that either were worth the price, but the experience of sweet flavors and looking all fancy was rather nice. We also debated if we were age-discriminated against because we were told that there's weren't seat inside so we stayed on the patios near the heaters. [we think so]
Back to our bed-and-breakfast inn. I had a bit of a funny moment preparing our spa bathtub for us when I started the 'on' button too early and water jetted everywhere in the bathroom, haha. In the end though it was all was very romantic and sexy and I dare say we had the whole place to ourselves. If not, sorry about the quai-loud sex and the joint the bf smoke on the balcony before bed. Actually, I'm not sorry. Fuck you, we've been together for 5 years.
The morning was nice and slow, with some more romance and a dip in the spa once last time.
It was all quite lovely.
We walked down to Paula's Pancake House for brunch, which is the quintessential country breakfast joint with a wood bruning stove, a machine that cranks oranges into orange juice, and jam that comes in glass cubes on the table. Danish pancakes are in between a crepe and a pancake in terms of thickness and sweetness aka perfection.
We walked around the town past the wine shops, chocolate shops, glass and antiques shops, strolled into a bookshop where I bought Utopia for $1.75 before the ride home. "This is where rich couples who just bought a house come to shop around for granite from Solvang," said my boyfriend. "1%!" I said. I loved it.
I wasn't really expecting much for our actually anniversary on Monday, other than maybe get dinner or make dinner once I got off of work. When I drove home in my grummy uniform with glasses and unshaved legs I was more than surprised to see my boyfriend hop out of the car looking sharp and smug.
Neither was I expecting for him to pull out a Tiffany's box. "This is what the tone for the night should be," he said to me with a smirk. Very delicately I unwrapped the white ribbon and read his card that said after 5 years together he's still in love with me and would do it all over again. I was completely happy--albeit a tad miffed at myself for not looking cute and with a messy room.
He told me to hurry so I threw on my nicest dress with some heels and a rash judgement of extra jeans and shoes in case there was any other surprises. He took us to RA Sushi which was still having happy hour (!), and we promptly ordered sake, rolls, chicken wings, and potstickers. We talked about our day and the roommates. I felt a little ovedressed and underprepared, but he told me that when I have Tiffany's on I should always carry with me the confidence of richness despite the circumstances of work or not feeling my best. I like the idea.
After
finally showering and cleaning my room we had a nice night in of sex and conversation.
We're at a really interesting spot right now. On one hand we're happy and getting more stable in our lives so this might be a forever thing of family and lifetime love. On the other hand I still want to move to Oregon this summer and he doesn't since his career and focus is in San Diego, so do I go without him? Will he always be my 'what if?', or will we end up together, old gray and happy?
But that's another conversation for another day. We ate some of our Danish chocolate, napped, and held each other under the covers as his dress shirt lay on the floor and my earrings sparkled...
3.) Make an upper music playlist
