Sunday, February 11, 2007
Welcome To Sunny San Diego
MY ASS!
I rolled out of the rack at the buttcrack of dawn to day to catch an early bird to San Diego for a round of golf before kicking off an investigator's conference this evening. My clubs, in their beautiful Margaritaville bag, still sit untouched in the corner of This Hotel Room, along with 32 hangers and a touchtone phone. I'm not even sure I'm in San Diego. I think my plane missed a turn and ended up in Seattle. It's like 56 degrees and misty rain out there, not what you expect from San Diego.
Oh, well. What's a Crime Dog to do, after humping a set of useless golf clubs through two airports?
Grab some friends and head to the Gaslamp, that's what.
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I rolled out of the rack at the buttcrack of dawn to day to catch an early bird to San Diego for a round of golf before kicking off an investigator's conference this evening. My clubs, in their beautiful Margaritaville bag, still sit untouched in the corner of This Hotel Room, along with 32 hangers and a touchtone phone. I'm not even sure I'm in San Diego. I think my plane missed a turn and ended up in Seattle. It's like 56 degrees and misty rain out there, not what you expect from San Diego.
Oh, well. What's a Crime Dog to do, after humping a set of useless golf clubs through two airports?
Grab some friends and head to the Gaslamp, that's what.
