Sir and I rolled into San Diego, wearily picked up our apartment keys, and crawled up the stairs to our new home on January 19, 2008. The first few days I suffered a violent case of "I hate this place" syndrome, determined not to revel in the glory that is sunshine and mild rain. It took several days before I realized that, for the first time in my life, I'd managed to escape from the clutches of an evil, spiteful winter.
This, above, is Coronado. Beaches and beaches of gorgeosity (that's Sir's word) that is unparalleled by anything I've ever experienced, with a little town so generously beautiful that I've become temporarily insane with the idea of somehow making enough money to recklessly throw cash at a charming, wee cottage (with the stunning price tag of $1.8 million). Adjectives aside, the town rocks. I walked into a beach store to ask about coffee shops I might poke into for my caffeine fix, and a gentleman was kind enough to not only point me to the nearest caffeine fix, but also to explain the finer points of each to allow me to make a more informed choice as to where I wanted to go. Sugar was high on my list of requirements, so I chose the coffee shop/gelatto stand. Heaven.
However, this most adequately describes where I actually live. The ghettos. Alas.