Desert-ing

Question: What do a couple Southern Californians do when the weather turns unbearably hot (i.e. 82 F)?

Answer: They pack up and head to Phoenix for the weekend, of course.

RP and I braved the desert sun and six lonely hours of godforsaken freeway and headed to Arizona on Friday evening after a full day at work. To be fair, the hours were lonely solely for RP, who trooped along in the driver’s seat with no one for company but a cadaver in office attire.

We rolled into Gilbert around 1 am, the air a crisp 96 degrees. After spending a morning with RP’s grandma and aunt (gracious enough to provide breakfast for overheated two California refugees), we headed out to see RP’s 94 year-old Granddad in Scottsdale.

That’s when I spent a few lovely hours with a few lovely Price men—three, to be exact.

That is also when, much to my dismay, I realized I had eaten three In-n-Out cheeseburgers in so many days.

Bummer. (But also delicious.)

Later, RP and I headed to the Hilton to do the only thing you can do in Scottsdale in August—take a dip at the hotel pool with loads of thirty-something alcoholics from exotic places like Chandler.

After a dinner double-date with RP’s cuz, we checked out Crazy Stupid Love, which, appropriately, RP thought was crazy and a little bit stupid. In return, I agreed to see Planet of the Apes next week. (Two hours with RP and James Franco? Joke’s on you, RP.)

After visiting with granddad once more on Sunday (and meeting his roommates, wherein I learned that old men are very good for my self-esteem), we fled for the coast. Since RP hadn’t downloaded his book on tape, I offered to sing to him for the duration of the trip. He declined. He did, however, allow me to fill a good hour dictating all the things I’d like to eat when I have my wisdom teeth out next weekend.

As a footnote, I’d like to report that after last Thursday’s finale of So You Think You Can Dance, I am, for the first time, the winner of an RP/KRP bet. Thanks, Melanie. Please note that this is merely an aside—not a full post—as I’d hate to add insult to the injury of RP’s crushing blow. Better luck next time, toots.