I'm going back to Cali -- I don't think so

So, I'm holed up in Cali for another 36 hours. I am so uncomfortable in the hotel where I am saying because it is SOOOO not me that I spend my "down time" walking the beach and people watching. I'd rather grab a burger from the questionably hygienic clam shack than sit in the way too dark hotel among the beautiful people wrestling with my solitude instead of enjoying it. I thought I'd have some Class A knitting and reading time, but the common areas are so dark -- surely the only thing the patrons would care to do is look fabulous -- that you can't even people watch them and write deep and piercing thoughts about their petty realities in a journal ("'Wow! The Hills?!', she squealed. Her smile would have conveyed hopeful idealism, cynicism having been botoxed and sandblasted into oblivion, were it not for the deadness in her eyes. The bloom was off the rose, she'd yet to marry a Baldwin, and Nebraska wouldn't take her back.")

One good thing -- I am impressing the fuck out of my CA compadres by showing up at 7:30 a.m., or earlier, each morning. They think I'm a psychotic worker bee. I hope they never learn that I'm still on East Coast time, and I regularly stroll into the CT office at the same bat time.

I haven't even left and it looks like I'll be back in a few weeks. It will be a much shorter trip (if I have any say in the matter) and I'm going to try to stay at a less happening hotel. Heck, there's a little motel called the Hotel California a few doors down. I don't know if it is the Hotel California, but they've got surf boards tacked to the front and it looks like it is probably run by a few dudes who have never grown up enough to leave the beach. The whole hospitality thing is just to fund the surfing habit and all.