Gray Pissed All Over Me. Metaphorically, If Anyone Asks.

So, yesterday.

First we drove north on PCH until we found a public beach that we wanted to check out. Right away we saw at least 6 fins swimming south along the shore which sparked a rather embarrassing debate over which water type animal said fins belong to, a conversation in which we both sound like Midwestern po-dunk morons because DUH of course they're dolphin fins since a) they're all traveling together in a pod or a mixed family or whatever it is you call groups on dolphins these days, and also because THEY CLEARLY WERE NOT SHARKS. The whole conversation was recorded as we tried, and failed wonderfully, to get clear footage of the sharks/and/or/dolphins. We actually ended up with a west coast version of the Blair Witch Project.

Then we walked down the nearly-deserted beach to Point Dume (from the Big Lebowski ashes scene) and climbed up a trail overlooking the beach, but only a little ways up for fear I would drop dead again like I did after our Sunday hike, and plus I was wearing wedge heels and carrying a purse because...well...see the paragraph above for proof of idiocy.

Anyway, this was the view from our perch:

This is us on Point Dume:

Don't we look happy? That's because we are happy, at least so far as our tiny, retarded brains can register happiness without confusing that particular warm fuzzy with the special feeling we get when we hump our pillows. That's because he asked, and I said yes.

I'm going to be Mrs. Gray! Or She-Nurd, whichever you prefer.