Mi casa, su casa

I enjoy every waking second of it but I have to admit, hosting out-of-towners is a labor of love. For some reason, I immediately fall into tour guide mode when my friends arrive and it starts with a cold beer waiting for them at baggage claim.

For the last three weeks, we have had friends stay with us, which is my excuse for the very low blog frequency.

Had two old work friends from The Capital newspaper two weeks ago, my younger brother and his girlfriend last week and an old friend from Annapolis this week. All in all, everything has been going pretty swell. But a lack of sleep is starting to get the best of me.

For all you suckas that don't know, this guy (two thumbs pointed at me) is running his first marathon June 6 in San Diego so the training has picked up this past month. Not exactly the best time to be up all night slugging tequila shots with tomato juice chasers.

The nights go late and the mornings have to start early if I want to get a run in before that blistering sun sneaks its ugly face over the hills.

But having friends stay here is a pure delight. Just watching their reaction to where I live, where I work, where I drink and where I like to soak in the water is pretty satisfying.

The "I can't believe you live here" comment has been just as prevalent as the "Crazy White Boy" stare I've been getting from the locals. No one around here really runs through the city streets so when this tall, weird-looking Caucasian does it in the pouring rain, the gawking is obvious and I can read their lips.

This picture is of Brianna, myself, Stacey and Conor at one of the best bars in Red Hook, the Caribbean Saloon. Yes, Conor was immediately turned onto my favorite beer here, Presidente, and if you can't read my shirt, well...