Surviving The Thirty-Third

Saturday (today for another 15 minutes) was the start of our 33rd year. San Geraldo and I went out for dinner last night to celebrate our 32nd anniversary. We went to one of our favorite local places on the paseo, Sandpiper. Great food. Relaxed atmosphere. Warm, friendly, and exceptional service.

When we arrived, we found our table waiting. It had been sprinkled with confetti in honor of the occasion. Jessica, our server, greeted us with kisses. She usually curtsies and kisses the ring of San Geraldo El Rey, but not last night. Last night, we were both treated like royalty (still, no one curtsied and kissed my ring).

We ordered our drinks and proceeded to have a great night... except that San Geraldo lived up to his other name, Gruñon (Grumpy) and was a pill when Jessica offered to take our picture to mark the occasion. He didn't want to take a picture. He didn't want to stand up. Once he stood, he didn't want to move from his position — leaving little room for me to squeeze in. The first shot didn't turn out, so he moaned about having to pose for another. Even worse. Then a third. He was hot; he didn't like everyone looking at us. Yada yada yada. Jessica managed to get one so-so photo of me and the unsaintly Gruñon with the glare of an ice cream cafe in the background. Twenty-four hours later, we're still together.

AS GOOD AS IT GETS?

I wanted to sleep in Saturday morning, but I couldn't pass up the sunrise. See below how the start of our 33rd year looked. (Click the photos to magnificence-ify.)

BEFORE 7:30 A.M.

BEFORE NOON.

AFTER 11 P.M.