In the Land of Dairy Queen

Co-Workers and I went to Dairy Queen for appetizers before dinner tonight. Not only was it the best DQ architecturally (it was a former Der Wienerschnitzel – rumored to be the first in San Diego), but it also had butterscotch dip cones. How amazing is that?!?! Not even the DQ by my parents’ house has butterscotch dip. I went for the standard chocolate dip cone, though, as a throwback to my youth.

While I did enjoy my DQ experience immensely, I was crushed to discover that Mr. Misty is now known as an “Arctic Crush.” What kind of shit is that? How can you fire Mr. Misty? (Come to think of it, I didn’t see Dilly Bars on the menu either, but I may just have missed that.)

After DQ, we headed to La Jolla, which I only learned on Sunday is not La Jolla that rhymes with Holla, but of course sounds like Hoya because it is Spanish. How I did not figure that out earlier is pathetic! On the other hand, the only reason I had heard of it at all is because I used to read trashy teen mags way back in the day, and the always had little ads for a fat camp in La Jolla. I also knew it was a place that evil Republican voters lived. We stopped by the beach and saw the sea lions hanging out. They were cute, but smelled awful.
Tomorrow we hit the road to Los Angeles, with a stopover in Escondido for the Lawrence Welk Museum, possessor of the World’s Largest Champagne Glass. Mr. Misty, I will raise a toast in your honor tomorrow!