If you haven't already, read Part I of this story here. All caught up? Okay. The next morning we had a winery tour scheduled because my dad is ambitious like that. But after our traumatizing experience the day prior, we all made a pact that if Robert showed up to drive our bus we were leaving immediately, refund or not. Instead we arrived to a friendly, hilarious bald man (named Phil)who wore a sweet hat and told relevant, interesting stories about our scenery, kind of like tour guides are supposed to. It probably didn't hurt that he encouraged us to get drunk along the way.
My mom was even prepared to wingman it up for me at one point, but I assured her that I was not in fact interested in the dude who decided to go on a wine tasting by himself (I'm all about the independence thing, but just no).The Franciscan on the pier, which was amaze-balls. I'm already having withdrawals from the overdose of delicious food my parents fed to me. In fact, I'm sure I have pictures of it all on my phone right now. Maybe I'll replace "Fitness Friday" with "Fat Friday" and show off the 10 pounds I gained this week (#worthit). Speaking of, I'm about to hit up Panda Express in a hot minute. There's only so much blogging I can do while sitting at Starbucks listening to middle-aged women explain how "Marriage isn't about being happy.." while getting extraordinarily hangry.
So sayanara for now, my sweet baby angels. And many apologies to my bloggie besties for my lack of lovin' lately. I swear I'm going to binge read those posts like my 17-year-old self and Smirnoff Ice.