I love The Hubs. So much.
After getting in his convertible and realizing it was top-down weather in January, I received a text at 9am Friday morning. "According to my calendar, there's not a single thing going on this weekend. True?" Nine hours later, we were on our way up to Santa Barbara for some off-season (and therefore CHEAP!) coastal romance.
We checked into the oceanfront
Santa Barbara Inn. Yes, oceanfront. Seriously y'all, a room on the beach in January is so cheap, it's like they're kidding.80 degree weekends and swarms of Angelenos aren't typically expected until at least March. Upon our concierges suggestion, we hit
Holdren's for some plate lickin' deliciousness. Bacon wrapped filet, taters, and
our absolute favorite Chianti made for a very happy LadyB. And while sitting at our candelit table, we realized we had actually eaten there once before. Our first ever weekend away together. The weekend we fell in love. And sat at that very table. Cue the "awwww"s or "barf"s now.
We meandered up State St. and wandered into Wildcat. At first glance, an empty little bar that 20 minutes later transformed into a kick-ass dance party. When our feet couldn't take anymore, we hailed a taxi, in which a sign read "If you puke in the cab $100 cleaning fee." That seemed fair.
Saturday morning we awoke to the kind of picturesque California day postcards are made of.
So we proceeded to have the most perfect weekend possible. Great food, exploring, much needed relaxing, and beaching, all capped off with French goodies at
Renaud's Patisserie, made for some content and romanced Beauchampions.
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| Bloody Mary the size of my face. Nom. |
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| Zoo! |
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| I guess if you gotta be stuck in a zoo, get an ocean view. |
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| Hit the vinyl jackpot in Just Play Music. Their $1 bin is a treasure chest. |
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| Some of my loot. I finally replaced the first record I ever owned! |
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| My Hubs. |
After getting in his convertible and realizing it was top-down weather in January, I received a text at 9am Friday morning. "According to my calendar, there's not a single thing going on this weekend. True?" Nine hours later, we were on our way up to Santa Barbara for some off-season (and therefore CHEAP!) coastal romance.
We meandered up State St. and wandered into Wildcat. At first glance, an empty little bar that 20 minutes later transformed into a kick-ass dance party. When our feet couldn't take anymore, we hailed a taxi, in which a sign read "If you puke in the cab $100 cleaning fee." That seemed fair.
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