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The day of Satur

Thank god there’s more to life than unscrupulous real estate agents.

Like clam chowder and lobster rolls, for example.

We saw some apartments on Saturday (and they all sucked except for the ones called “luxury” that cost $1600/month. Yeah right, like I’m going to pay that to live in New Haven, Connecticut? Anywhere else, ok, but NH? That’s some powerful New England crack, my friends.)

To reward ourselves for having survived being driven around in a nicotine-infused, garbage-strewn Crown Vic by a completely kooky woman named Kathy, we went east to Mystic. We even veered off of 95 and drove along a few allegedly scenic routes for a little variety.

Now don’t get me wrong. I like tree-lined roads as much as the next gal, but that to me is not “scenic” and certainly not “worth a detour.” Everything in Connecticut is tree-lined. My hopelessly dull suburb is tree-lined. Tree-lined doesn’t merit special color-coding on the map.

If by “scenic” you mean something along the lines of the Bixby Bridge in Big Sur, or some other natural wonder that makes you gasp like the drive from Nice to Eze along the grande corniche, then yes, I am very interested and thank you for pointing it out.

The little seaside towns around Mystic were very cute. We ate chowder and lobster rolls, and watched boats float by. We walked on little bridges and went into little stores overflowing with lobster-themed t-shirts and totebags.

On the way home, we broke down and stopped at Starbucks where I ordered a caramel macchiato. It was neither. A macchiato is an espresso “stained” with a stripe of foam; it has no milk in it. The Starbucks macchiato that I drank was closer to a mini latte than anything else. And the caramel flavor? I didn’t notice any. I still contend that Starbucks sucks. They’re a port in a storm, and nothing else.

Sunday we had our first ever guest! More on that later.

10:55 a.m. - 2004-05-25



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