Trouble Makers Have More Fun

You know you're entirely too close to someone when they're farts are familiar to you. That's the way it is with Heather. I have been smelling this girl's colon for my entire life. And even though I know she comes with squirty toots that you can taste if you're in an enclosed space, I still would have her visit every single day if I could.

[In a complete coincidence, Mack just farted as I wrote this and then broke out with, "I'm bringing Heather back..." to the tune of Sexy Back. He gets it.]

That girl makes me laugh til I drool every time. She is a trouble magnet, and potentially regrettable things happen when she's around... not bad things, just potentially oopsie ones. Like this:
The first night she got here, we went out with my friend Gio, who shares my birthday and my delight in taking innocent yet incriminating photos that would be completely inappropriate without the forgiveness of Pabst Blue Ribbon. He was so much fun he drunk texted my mom, tinged Heather and my Facebook statuses/stati with naughtiness, and got to hold our purses the 11 times we peed in the alley.
He also got to take the above reference innocent yet incriminating photos.
On Saturday we woke up, went to breakfast at my favorite diner, and then headed to Abalone Cove to see if the tide pools my neighbor told me about actually existed. When Jen visited last year, we hiked around looking for these stinking tide pools and could not find them anywhere. Jen was in a sundress and heeled flipflops and was either going to cry or kill me if I did not get her out of that failed outing immediately. Well, this time, with accurate tide charts in hand, we made it. And it was freaking awesome!
We saw orange starfish, maroon starfish, baby starfish, teenage starfish, adult starfish, sea vaginas, hermit crabs, bright purple sea urchins and tons of birds. Enjoy this slideshow music compilation courtesy of $3 and Animoto.com, which I also love.



We also discovered squirters. Some of you may know squirters as something else, but all we knew was that as we were walking around the tide pools trying not to step on sea urchins, some things would periodically squirt water at us. We channeled our inner scientists and named them after one of Mark Carrothers' old girlfriends. Would you be surprised that it was Heather's idea? Naaah.

Sunday was basically as perfectly lazy as it should have been. We walked up to Venice Beach, laid in the grass, read books, took photos of Sadie playing outside, took medicine for our aching calves, went to sushi for dinner, and vegged like the champion vacationers we are.

She left on Monday morning, and even with daylight savings time, it's been a little less sunny without Heather's spontaneity and easy laugh. She is good for the soul. And the devil inside.

Fine, I'll tell you all about my amazing weekend adventure

Getting the hell outta dodge is officially my preferred form of therapy. It costs almost as much as a session by the time you secure vegan hotdogs and the most amazing tofu veggie burgers ever made and two tanks of $4.29/gallon gas and what we'll refer to as "refreshments," but you'll get more sweet relief running away from your problems than you'll ever get sitting and stewing about them.

I'm proof.

California has long kept me in awe with its ridiculously varied topography -- deserts, rocky coastlines, docile beaches, Yosemite, Lake Tahoe, Joshua Tree -- and my escape to Montana de Oro this weekend just reinforced that this is the most beautiful state I've ever set foot in.

You expect most destinations in California to be breathtaking, so if they are breathtaking, it's fairly unremarkable. It's nice, but it doesn't leave you speechless. But the thing about California is that while breathtaking is ordinary there's always a little layer of "this can't be real" on top.

Here's what I mean. I expected Montana de Oro to be stunning blue ocean spilling over ridges of gray rock, and it was. I didn't expect that I'd spend 2 days hiking BAREFOOT over sand dunes that felt like baby powder. I couldn't have imagined that at one point I'd have to stop, look deep into my mind to look for words that describe how wonderfully beautiful everything around me was, and finally have it pointed out to me by a fellow writer that it's "like we're in the middle of a painting." And there was no way I would have ever suspected that I'd picnic at a tide pool I'd affectionately name Vagina Beach in honor of all the strange vagina-like sea anemones Mack discovered.

Just like on my barefoot hike, my head spinning from all the beauty enveloping me, I can't find the words to do it all justice. I want to go back, even if it means I don't shower for another three days or eat off clean dishes or get internet access ever again.

Yes, that is the ocean out there.

This is on a rock on the beach that has a beach on top of it.

The crest of the sand dune of powder soft.

Rocks that point to the sailboat I should probably be living on.

One of about a million little crabs we found.

About the time I realized how lucky I am to be alive.

Layers and layers of amazing.

Mack discovering sea vaginas.

Mr. & Mrs. T on the run.

So the aunt who used to "make her own cigarettes" came to visit...

My mom's littlest sister, my Aunt Tina, and her husband, a gas factory named Uncle Tony, headed West last week to commemorate their 25th anniversary. Since they hadn't been on a plane together since their honeymoon, the trip was long overdue.
I had to work during the days while they were here, but we spent the evenings drinking beer and overeating delicious food. Tina taught me how to make homemade pizza crust, and Tony showed me that Mack's gaseous output is actually "girlie." Then, sometime between 5:30 and 8, they curled up on the sofa like giant cats and slept to the rhythmic beauty of Tony's Large Man Snores.

On the weekend, though, I got to get in on the vacation fun. Tina & I headed to the Huntington Botanical Gardens while Tony hopped a bus to Sears to get new loafers. Prior to our garden outing, Tina had been impressed by the snapdragons in my yard, excited by the landscaping at the Venice Canals, and enamored with the foliage on the walk streets in my neighborhood. Once we went to the Huntington Gardens, however, Venice lost its botanical superiority and started to feel like old bread.

Orchids may be hard for most people to grow, but clearly most people aren't in charge at the HBG.

The rose gardens made me feel like a queen in her court, and the Dame Helen was the most delicious smelling one. Can you believe roses bloom in December?This is a bad picture of the Chinese garden. Imagine if it was a good picture. That is how awesome it is. There's also an Australian garden, a Japanese garden, a subtropical garden, a palm garden, a Shakespeare garden and a succulent garden.

In case it's not obvious, something about the succulents made this my favorite garden. They're so dangerous and so weak at the same time. Like puppies and newborn babies.See what I mean about the dangerous.
This is a century plant. No, it is not about to eat Tina alive. It's what happens when agaves go wild.

We also went to El Matador Beach this weekend. I first went there to remove a layer of guilt that came with an unusual hangover, but today I finally discovered what all the real buzz is about. I thought I saw the "caves" on my first visit, but today Tina, Mack and I scooted around rocky outcropping after rocky outcropping, crawled through uncertain holes and eventually found our way to an actual real live ocean cave. Then, my inner mother warned me that if the tide came in we'd be stranded forever and die alone, so we headed back to our "cave" and grubbed on a picnic lunch.

Mack introduced Tina to the famed Sea Vaginas.

Just call us Lewis & Clark.

Basically we are pirates.

Beach picnics in December. Thank you California.

We headed back to Venice so T&T could catch a sunset while they're here, and they got a doozy of one. Sailboats, crashing waves, soaring birds. It almost even made Mack feel romantic. Almost.