Louisiana Chicken at a Chinese restaurant

Saturday we had to go downtown. For those of you back home (when I say back home, I'm referring to you Watford City peeps but I think my friends in other small towns can relate), going downtown in San Diego is not something you do unless you HAVE to, for many reasons. In Watford City, we say we are going uptown, which usually does not refer to a trip to Meyer's or Larsen Service Drug but more than likely it is a Friday night and we have plans to enjoy some adult beverages and conversation with good friends at one of the local establishments.

You never know what traffic is going to be like on any given day so I'm always mentally prepared for some type of detour, accident, plenty of swerving to avoid potholes and maybe a bit of swearing at the idiot drivers on the freeway. Lucky for us, we managed to get downtown without any problems or delays. Things were looking good.

Until we actually got downtown. We've only been there twice since I moved here and I immediately remembered why. It's kind of like giving birth. As soon as it's over, you forget the pain. Until you go into labor with baby #2, and it all comes rushing back. Okay, so going downtown is nothing like giving birth, but it's all I got.

Where the flip are we gonna park? The street we need to be on does not allow parking on the street. What? Are you kidding me? There isn't a street back home that I can't park on, unless I'm driving a semi-truck. Here, on Broadway, there is no street parking. So, we start doing the circling, driving around the block thing. Which involves one way streets, lots of pedestrians who do not know how to use a crosswalk and taxis shooting all over the place. We circle a three block radius, twice, having spotted a possibility the first time around and were hoping it would still be there when we tried again.

Yes! It was still there. Problem #1 is solved. Oh and let me point out, CeCe does most of the driving. She's a pro at it, having lived here for over 20 years. Me, I'm a newbie and although I travel the freeway everyday, I'd much rather sit back and let her do the driving. So, we find the spot and we have to parallel park. Piece of cake, right? I admit, I'm a pretty dang good parallel parker but I wasn't driving so I just sat there quietly in the passenger seat. CeCe can drive a ten-yard (some big damn truck she drives at work) with a trailer and loader attached but for some reason, she has a hard time backing up my car. Says it's too wide or high or long or something. And she's kind of a perfectionist, which only complicates matters. There was some swearing involved, lots of shifting from reverse to drive and back again, but finally, it was deemed "good enough".

Then we both realize that we are in a metered parking place. I know you know what a meter is. And so we're digging through our purses and my emergency coin fund in the cubby to see how much change we can scrape up. Sorted through the Canadian coins I still have, took out the pennies because they aren't worth anything in a parking meter and managed to come up with a couple bucks worth. Should give us plenty of time for what we needed to do.

The meters here are kind of stupid. You think they would be self explanatory, but they're really not. You get 2 minutes 3 seconds for a nickel, 4 minutes 28 seconds for a dime and 12 minutes for a quarter. I have absolutely no idea why they even bother with the seconds. It's not like the seconds even show up on the time anyway. So, I throw in a few quarters and yet my time doesn't go past 15 minutes. Well, crap. That's not enough time. I read the tiny little info again and see that the maximum time is 15 minutes. Not only did I waste a couple of quarters but now we had to hurry the flip up!

See, the reason we are even venturing downtown is because CeCe needs a new pair of shoes. Well, boots really. We have looked high and low, over and under and in between every type of store in San Diego looking for work boots that will fit and do the job. The last time we were crazy enough to go downtown, we saw the Shoe Shop, stopped in, inquired about her need for a size 5 boot, found out they had them but didn't wanna fork over the cash for them that day. Hence, our trip today.

Fortunately, we are only a half block from our destination. She to the boot place, me to Payless, hoping to score some cute sandals for spring and summer. Just so you know, you really could wear sandals or flip flops here every day of the year. I choose not to as some days it's a bit chilly in the morning. My two pair of decent sandals have seen better days and I have no problem buying shoes on the cheap, so Payless it is. To my dismay, I find nothing. Sure, friendly staff and a decent selection but just not any that call to me, beg for me to buy them and wear them on a beautiful sunny day here in America's finest city. I leave the store, a little downtrodden, but hopeful that CeCe found what she was looking for or this outing will be a total bust.

At the Shoe Shop, CeCe is just being handed a pair of boots to try on by the clerk. Now, I think clerk is being awfully generous because this boy, dressed in jeans and a baggy sweatshirt looks not a day over 14. I look around for an adult. Sure, there's an adult, but he's a customer, looking for his own new pair of shoes. CeCe tries on the boots, while the "clerk" keeps up a running sales pitch, telling her that the reason they are a little tight in that particular area is because of the laces. WHAT? He says they will stretch out if they are a bit tight, suggest the next half size up if she's not happy with the fit. I'll admit, the young guy has it goin' on when it comes to selling shoes. I'm pretty sure his dad is around here somewhere, maybe peeking out from behind a curtain, watching his young son, smiling when he hears CeCe say she'll take them.

We leave the store, boots in hand, a smile on both of our faces. Her, because she finally has a pair of boots that do not have holes in them, rocks in them that found their way into the holes. Me, because she finally has a pair of boots. Period. For me, this means no more listening to her complain about her lack of decent footwear, as she does have the type of job that requires sturdy shoes. The day is a complete success.

Back at the car, we have four whole minutes left to shop. Nah, that's enough of downtown for me until next year. I figure we are averaging one trip per year, although we did say we are going to Padres game this summer and that means another trip downtown. I'm hoping the pain of this past experience will be gone by then so I can enjoy a wonderful, skip work, go to a day game, kind of day.

As we are pulling away from the curb and heading towards the intersection, I look around, like I always do when we drive. I thoroughly enjoy sitting in a car, being the passenger, and checking out the world around me. Downtown is cars, people, tall buildings, trash, no parking, and cold. And restaurants. As we are driving away, I look to my right. A Chinese restaurant, with advertising in the window, all lit up in neon, says "Louisiana Chicken". Really? At a Chinese restaurant? I don't get it and I'm pretty sure I won't venture back downtown to find out what that's all about.