Don't ever tell anybody anything. — Hey Susannah Dot Com

Some time at the end of summer, in late August, I had a nice Sunday. We'd been wanting to try Nighthawk Breakfast Bar in Venice forever, but the idea of dragging ourselves to Venice on a Sunday seemed so unappealing. Who spends 35 minutes in the car for brunch, you know? After literally months of this, we bit the bullet and finally headed there. Predictably, it was amazing and we enjoyed chicken and biscuits, a brunch burger, Bloody Marys. The weather was so nice and we hadn't been to Venice since Christmas Day 2013, so we walked on the boardwalk for a bit before segueing to the canals.

We walked to the Hotel Erwin to check out a bar we knew of from Eye On LA, High Rooftop Lounge. It was shortly after 1pm and the sun was beating down, but there were patio umbrellas, sea breezes, and a front row seat to the expanse of Pacific. This is the type of place with table time limits and potentially a crowd that is... how should I say this... not "us"... but at that moment it was practically empty (though it filled up by the time our 2-hour table limit was up). We settled in with a drink.

At some point I wistfully said "I miss Hawaii." It had been a couple of months since our anniversary trip to Hawaii, which will probably go down as one of the top 10 trips I ever take, now or in the future, and something about that space reminded me of the balcony restaurants we ate at in Hawaii, staring at the Pacific from the other side. Immediately after I said it, I realized how ridiculous it was to express that sentiment while sitting in a lounge chair in Venice, CA. How many people would love to be able to do that, or how many people are back wherever they live, missing LA.

That point was further driven home when a Norwegian family sat at the loungers across from us. They were taking some pictures and I offered to take one of all three of them, the young-looking parents probably in their late 40s, and their teenage son. This is a tactic I learned from my mom - always offer to tourists to take their pictures, so they have a good impression of Los Angelenos and/or Americans. I have witnessed my mom take a picture for a group of rowdy Australians at Wurstkuche; I've done the same at the Griffith Observatory. After I took this family's picture, we talked a bit about where they'd traveled in America in their rented RV. "You're lucky to be so close to all this," the woman said, gesturing to the ocean and sky. I didn't mention the 35-minute drive and agreed that yes, we were.

At the end of our table limit, we said goodbye and that we hoped they'd enjoyed visiting the States. We meandered back through the canals to our car and the drive home, which probably took longer than 35 minutes.

It seemed like a normal Sunday afternoon at the time, and it was, but I wish I hadn't spent it pining for another day. Because now? I miss *that* day.