Thirty, Flirty, and Tiring

This weekend I did one of those things that has previously always seemed distant and out of reach -- like having a baby or reading the Twilight series without retching.

I turned 30.

I'd been dreading this day for a while (as had RP), but turning 30 turned out to be pretty innocuous, aside from caloric overload and surprise-induced high blood pressure.

RP planned my very own “day of fun” in San Diego on Saturday to commemorate my second 29^th birthday.  It started with a 10:45 am movie, which made it seem like I was turning 69. On the bright side, I had no idea how cheap movies are when you see them before noon.

After the movie, we headed off to Rubicon in Mission Beach for my favorite calorie-overloaded salad and a chance to see what beach-dwelling 20-somethings look like in bikinis.

Which almost ruined the salad for me.

Then we headed over to Old Town, mostly because I wanted to tour the Whaley House, but also because it was so appropriately named.

The most haunted house in America was spooky, but I enjoyed every minute, mostly because the Victorian garb and lack of plumbing made me feel super young and hip.

Since RP is such a good boy, he took off for Priesthood session, but not before he took me for froyo and diet coke, wherein we had this conversation:

RP: “Let’s get you some froyo.”

KP: “And a diet coke!”

RP: “Didn’t you have two at the movies?”

KP: “IT’S MY BIRTHDAY.”

RP: “I just thought –“

KP: “IT’S MY BIRTHDAY AND I CAN HAVE AS MANY DIET COKES AS I WANT!”

RP: “What’s your excuse the other 364 days of the year?”

After killing a couple hours shopping for needless home goods with Julia, RP and I were scheduled for a special sushi dinner downtown. But we never made it; it seems RP had a few little tricks up his little sleeve.

Julia called to tell me she’d forgotten to give me my present. She was surprised at how quickly I agreed to come back to her house, but that was because she underestimated how much I like presents.

Lo and behold, RP had organized a little surprise for me. And it happened to include my favorite people:

A little birthday barbecue and soiree followed, which made me realize that, old or not, I have the best friends in the world.

In fact, the party was so lovely that we barely made it home in time to open presents and eat our homemade sugar-free, low carb chocolate birthday cake on my actual birthday. RP did a fantastic job, showering me with pretty things including a Missoni scarf, which also helped him to learn WHAT Missoni is.

Maybe 29 Part II won’t be so bad.

It should also be noted that my coworkers didn't neglect my birthday either. Yes, that is a decorated file cabinet in our department as well as some "homemade" birthday gifts: a stuffed bald eagle (what girl DOESN'T need on in her closet?) and a VOIP handset (with a bow). 

The Highest Prices

I don't want to brag here, but this weekend, RP and I were way, way, above you. In fact, we were the highest "thing" in the continental United States -- for all of about five minutes -- on Sunday.

Yes, we got high -- high on life like they encourage in middle school (Thanks, DARE.).

However, this little jaunt to Mt. Whitney wasn't all fun and games. In fact, there were a few low points for us Prices. One of those was my dead toenail and two were our attitudes by Sunday afternoon.

This whole climbing mountains thing was RP's idea, truth be told, but since it remains my idea to spend the holidays in the frozen Himalayas, I figured I owed it to RP to give up my usual weekend full of the gym, grocery stores, primary, and my couch.

We both regretted that decision.

Ok, it wasn't so bad. In fact, during the 15 minutes we spent at the 14,50- foot summit, the views were so spectacular (and the air was so thin and I was so dizzy) that we almost overlooked the fact that we had to somehow get off the mountain.

A few other points of the trip made it worth it, like watching RP cook ME dinner for a change -- and eating my first potato in about a decade (not that you could really call that garlic-spiced powder "potatoes"). RP even washed the dishes (mostly because I refused to leave the tent).

I got fully reacquainted with my trusted sleeping bag once the sun went down and the 12,000-foot mountain air attacked.

In the pre-dawn hours near the summit, looking down on the head-lamped hikers at camp was like seeingWhoville from the top of Mt. Crumpit. This was highly appropriate since I'm pretty sure my quads grew three sizes that day.

I have to say we were pretty impressed with our own performance -- we made it up to summit in 7.5 hours, and back down in 5, which is pretty good time considering that some people actually, like, train for this.

Plus, Mt. Whitney is the ultimate bonding experience. In fact, a mile from the summit, we had this conversation:

RP: "Honey, I think we're going to make it."

KP: "We're getting close."

RP: "If I collapse here, I want you to go on to the summit without me."

KP: "Oh honey."

RP: "... yeah?"

KP: "I absolutely will."

and this one:

RP: "I'm sick of these switchbacks."

KP: "I'm sick of the cliffs getting steeper and higher. I hate heights."

RP: "We should have tied our bodies together."

KP: "Why in the world would we do that?"

RP: "Because if I'm going to die I'd prefer that you die too."

Luckily, we both made it -- and brought back some video evidence:

Now, aside from a lost toenail, backpack-indented bruises along my shoulders and hips, and a dozen or so blisters, we're no worse for the wear.

I think RP summed it up best when we finally reached the end of the trail:

RP: "We did it honey!"

KP: "We did!"

RP: "Let's never, ever do that again."

As you wish, RP.