art 2: I Got It

Does it sound like Aaron and I are dating? We're not. I should probably clear that up now. We're close friends who have long passed that window of time when we both secretly wonder if our friendship is something more. Nope. Just friends (no matter what my parents suspect). It just so happens that part of our friendship is bickering like an old couple.

Aaron: Just let me know when you want me to drive.
Sarah: Jesus, don't you think I will? You don't have to tell me a thousand times.
Aaron: Christ, I'm sorry. I was just trying to be helpful.
Sarah: It was helpful like the first hundred times you offered.
Aaron: Sorry, I was just ...
Sarah: I know it's just ...
[silence]
Aaron: You're grumpy today.
Sarah: I am NOT grumpy!

Aaron and I have never been to Santa Fe together, but we know all the same places (we've suggested them to each other). So this time we hang around long enough to do the usual, and the usual is this:

We stay at my favorite bed & breakfast, a place in La Cienega called Del Mar, which I found the first time I traveled through Santa Fe. I was driving alone out to visit my best friend in San Francisco, because (though it sounds ridiculous now) it was the only way I could stomach turning 25. Those days I was pretty sad in general, and then a little sadder from the solitude of the journey, and by the time I got to Del Mar, I thought I had found Valhalla. It is not so much the house -- which is beautiful, by the way, the former residence of a New Mexico senator -- as a feeling. The place feels like home, a home that happens to have gorgeous tile work and an indoor pool and vaulted ceilings and gigantic windows that peer out on the snow-capped mountains. The place is run by two retired Jersey ladies, sweet and chatty and peculiar, and every time I leave, I swear I almost tear up. I just feel so grateful.

We eat the sopapillas at Tomasitas. Like so many things, the sopapillas were better in memory -- steaming and doughy and perfect -- but I should say that our memories of the sopapillas were a tad on the unattainable side. ("These sopapillas will cure cancer! These sopapillas will get you laid!") In the real world, the sopapillas are a smidge too crispy but still good. I drip so much honey on mine so that it's running off my hand and onto my plate. My God, I love honey. I am like a Pooh Bear with the honey.

The next day we set out for Arizona.

Aaron: Can I help you with your bags?
Sarah: [carrying too many things, and not smartly] I got it.
Aaron: Are you sure? Because you look terrifically ... overburdened.
Sarah: [dropping clothes behind her like a trail of Reese's Pieces] No, I'm fine. I got it. I told you. Stop asking.
Aaron: Okay, I was only trying to --
Sarah: Jesus Christ, I know. It's just --
Aaron: All right. You carry your own bags.
Sarah: Thank you.
Aaron: But you might wanna pick up that underwear.