I wish they all could be California girls...

I just got back today from Los Angeles. I freaking love that city. I love the noise, the people, the smell, the sights. I love that there is always something to do. I love that the beach is so close. I love the weather.

I wish I was moving there.

Don't get me wrong--I'm so excited to move to Germany. But part of me feels like I'm reaching a point in my life where I should be doing something more. I want to start my career. I want to start the rest of my life. *sigh* I want to settle down.

At the same time, I know that moving to Germany (and having Boise State pay for it) is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. And I would regret not going. Who knows. Maybe I'll fall in love or get a job offer and move there forever. I just have to remember that things are happening the way they are meant to happen. Everything will fall into place if I'm just patient and don't fuck things up too badly along the way.

So let's quit being serious.

Basically, this trip was a chance for me to get the fuck out of Boise. After the whirlwind week I had, I was soooo fucking ready for a break. There was far too much crying and people leaving and so much drama. I try to avoid the drama, but apparently little bitches have issues with growing the fuck up, so I do what any normal person does and I just leave. Last time I went to L.A., there was a lot I had to cram into a few days. This time, I was there for three days, and two of those three days I was going to use to lay on the beach. And that is precisely what I did. I usually turn my phone off when I go on vacation, because the whole point of a vacation is to relax. This is now something I need to work on. Apparently my connection to my phone is deeper than that of a mother to her child, and I could barely stand to be away from it for more than an hour. I need to go back to a foreign country where a) there is no cell phone service or b) if there is cell phone service, it's going to cost me my right leg to make a two-minute phone call. Fucking technology.

I got in Thursday afternoon and made a beeline for WeHo. I needed a salad and I figured what better place than West Hollywood to find a truly horrendously expensive salad. The thing I love about West Hollywood is all the gay men. It's the only place in the world, I'm betting, with so many shaved man legs and Pomeranians. You can't argue with that. If anything, people watching is fucking rad there. I ate at this cute little place called Tempered Greens (I think?) and went clothing shopping in some of the S&M shops. I then decided to head over to Redondo Beach. This place was amazing. I walked around the pier for a little while and then laid on the beach for the rest of the afternoon. So gorgeous.

Friday I went down to Venice Beach and laid out for a good four hours. Mind you, whitey-McWhiterson was wearing SPF 50 and I still managed to get sunburned. AWESOME.





There was some sort of freak windstorm in the middle of the afternoon, so I basically got sand in every possible crevice of my body. I'm still finding sand in my hair and ears. SICK.

I drove to Pasadena to check out apartments for my little sis since she will be moving there for school in September. I'm SO FUCKING JEALOUS that she gets to move there. I fell IN LOVE with that city. It's so cute. I'm definitely, definitely going to have to visit her when I get back to the states. I met my cousin and her fiance and friend from work at this fantastic place called Vertical Wine Bar. They had happy hour specials on Stella. So of course, I got myself all sorts of wasted. I'm so good at that. I also made friends with our waitress, Deborah, who happened to be a costume designer. She had some great life stories.

Oh, and should you ever visit Pasadena and figure that you don't need to pay the meter, FYI, it's a fucking $50 ticket. FUCK YOU, PASADENA!

I have GPS on my cell phone so I can figure out where the fuck I'm going when I'm on vacation. So imagine my surprise when my GPS failed me on my way from Pasadena to Chatsworth at around 10 o'clock at night. I have no idea where the fuck Pasadena is in relation to Chatsworth, nor do I know how to read a real map, so I was pretty much fucked. Thank GOD for Nicole, who got me at least to Chatsworth. Turns out Stella has an effect on my ability to recall addresses, and I'm pretty sure I transposed Des' house numbers, so I ended up in some business district of Chatsworth. Nicole had to hang up the phone because I was stressing her shit. I seem to do that a lot to people. I promise it's not panic in my voice--it's the gin talking! I forget there are people in this world who, unlike me, plan shit in advance. I tend to fly by the seat of my pants and hope for the best. This is probably going to get me in some serious fucking trouble somewhere down the line, but for now, it works for me. Eventually I made it home and passed out until it was time to hot tub at 12:30. Life was rough.

Saturday was Des' friend Dena's graduation party, so we got to dress up and I got to do what I do best--get completely shit-faced.



In my shit-faced state, I decided that yes, yes I DID want to get my belly-button pierced, so we loaded up in the car (we totally had a driver for the night--SWEET) and went to Studio City Tattoo before we met the party in WeHo. This is apparently the place where bat-shit-crazy Britney Spears went to get her piercings. I have a slight claim to fame.





Des took about 400 pictures of this whole process, but in most of them I look like I'm getting ready to cry or shit myself.

Here is the finished product:



Please ignore my incredibly white stomach.



Being sufficiently inebriated and now PIERCED, we headed down to the Abbey to meet the rest of the graduation party. I LOVED the Abbey. SO MANY GAY PEOPLE! And a lot of straight people. It was sort of like the Balcony, but with way more people and better music. NOT TO MENTION, HOT MEN DANCING ON BARS! I made friends with this dude, and Alice managed to take some very inappropriate pictures.





He was actually straight. At least that is what he said before he told me that he got off work at 1:00 and we should hang. Awesome dude. I would LOVE to hook up with the straight guy dancing on the bar at the gay dance club in a fucking speedo.

Speaking of which, ALICE CAME with her awesome girlfriend. I love visiting Alice. She makes me laugh.



I don't quite remember leaving the bar or anything that happened after that. I do remember having to wake up this morning at fucking 5:00 a.m. to catch my 8:30 flight back to Boise.

Point-of-order: should you decide that it would be a good idea to high-five the Homeland Security guard at LAX while showing off your new piercing and bragging about your "awesome hangover," I would recommend against it. I got searched. And so did my bag. Apparently terrorists also come in the form of 26-year-old drunk girls from Idaho.

I'm hoping I can make it down to L.A. one more time before I go to Germany. But I have some other trips I want to take (not to mention I'm going to Portland 900 times this summer), so it may just have to wait.

Veganism: Day...oh Fuck it...

So I might as well just start the 60-day thing over again. I had a tri-tip sandwich while down in Humboldt County. Oh, and then I had coconut-crusted chicken strips at the Reef. And we had Mother's Day brunch at Berryhill, and there is no point in trying to resist Berryhill Bacon. Not to mention all the pizza I've been eating lately.

I want to know if there are any vegan pot smokers out there. Because quite frankly, I'm trying to imagine a world where you smoke weed and DON'T eat meat or cheese or any dairy for that matter. I mean, who the fuck craves carrots when they're high? Cucumbers? Apples? You're full of shit. If it's mind over matter, I'm guessing I'm just a weak individual. So I'll try the whole vegan thing again soon. I've become quite fond of vegan burgers and vegan hot dogs. And I love the Whole Soy yogurt. It is amazing.

On a completely unrelated note, I just returned from Humboldt County where I ran the Avenue of the Giants half marathon, much against the advice of my orthopedic surgeon. I actually had a fairly decent time, all things considered (in addition to the knee-thing, I caught "the hippie spore" which is what I refer to any sort of illness caught whilst in Humboldt County), and only had a minute time added to my Salt Lake half. Here are a few pictures from beautiful Northern California. Occasionally I miss it, obviously:







And occasionally, I do not miss it or its inhabitants:



Marianne ran her half in record time (2:10), which I attribute to the fact that she is low to the ground and thus able to move faster than me. :) But I'm so lucky to have such an amazing friend who enjoys embarking on these half marathon adventures with me. Here is our before picture:



And here is our after picture:



I know it LOOKS like I have camel toe, but I swear-to-God, that's just the way the pants are cut. I was wearing spandex underneath for shit's sake; there is NO WAY I could have had camel toe.

I also go to see my amazing little sister perform with her band, Straightjacket Stiptease. I'm completely in awe over her awesomeness:



And although I think we look nothing alike, apparently others think we do:



So continuing on my rant, today was officially the WORST DAY EVER. Chances are good I failed my Accounting 308 final, which means I have to take the class again. I swear I'm not an idiot; this shit is just so incredibly fucking BORING. Accounting for governmental and not-for-profit agencies? I should have just told the professor that a) due to certain extracurricular activities, there's no way the government would hire me; and b) who the fuck wants to work for a not-for-profit? I may be slightly altruistic when it comes to donating designer handbags to the Idaho Youth Ranch, but there is no FUCKING way I am working for a not-for-profit.

You may be thinking, "so, you failed a class, there are worse things, yeah"? YEAH, bitch, there are. Like blowing out your knee AGAIN while playing a tennis match that you are clearly dominating, and then having to forfeit because every time you try to run, your knee pops out of place.

FML.

I've cried a lot tonight, which is so stupid because I never cry, but I'd like to thank Vickie for talking to me on the phone while I had a complete and total breakdown, and Nicole for bringing me Blue Cow and listening to what I'm sure was an entirely incomprehensible conversation due to the pain pill I took with my vodka tonic(s). I love you both dearly (even though I just met Nicole, she is fucking awesome).

I'll keep you all posted on the "vegan" thing. BALLS. I'm such a fucking asshole.

Mo' Cal in SoCal

So for the first time ever, I visited the great city of Los Angeles. I use the term "great" to describe L.A., not just because I thought it was a fantastic place full of so many different types of people with so many different things to do, but great in the sense that, holy shit, it was huge.

My flight arrived at 9:50 p.m. on Friday, and as we flew over the vast expanse of lights and freeways and oceans, I couldn't help but compare the thousands upon thousands of people driving along the multiple freeways to platelets in veins. The red brake lights and white headlights looked like thousands of tiny platelets traveling through the vast networks of roadways and freeways and highways. It was all very fascinating. Had the fat dude on the plane not have been all up in my shit, I would have tried to get a picture, but his ginormous, varicose-veined calve was on top of my carry-on. You'll just have to use your imagination.

Promptly upon arriving in L.A., I met up with my friend Amanda and she took me to this wonderful place called Alibi for a vodka soda ($7) and some delicious prime-rib tacos (also $7). She told me about the new food trucks, started by the chef of this restaurant, that sold food out of these massive truck-kitchen things. Hmm...can we say taco truck?

Next, I met up with Alice in WeHo (West Hollywood: ). She said I would know it when I saw all the fags. I thought she said bags, until I rolled up in my rented Pontiac on Robinson and saw, well, a sea of gay men. As far as the eye could see. And not just any gay men. Well-chiseled, well-manicured, well-dressed, HOT gay men. We went to a bar called East-West, where I met a ton of Alice's friends and was treated to the tallest vodka-soda ever. Oh, did I mention there is no smoking in L.A.? FANTASTIC! I woke up the next morning in my hotel smelling of incense, and not cigarette smoke.

Saturday, my cousin Robin, her finance, and Alice and I hiked up this big-ass hill to Griffith Observatory. I consider myself pretty much in shape, but I guess not being exposed to warm weather kind of snuck up on my body, and by the time we reached the top, I looked like I had just run a marathon in Tijuana. Note to self: gray is not a good exercise color for the excessive sweater. We ate at this cute little cafe called Trails () and I had a goat cheese, tomato and basil something or other. Quite tasty. And just what I needed to off-set the smell of sweat.

Griffith Observatory was amazing and the views of Los Angeles were SPECTACULAR!




It was my first time visiting an observatory (at least that I can remember. I'm sure I went to some crappy one in elementary school on a field trip, but I don't remember). Mind you, for a hard-core science fiction geek, this was the coolest thing I had ever seen. How I had never been to one of these things, I do not know. Here are just a few killer pictures. Ah, I love it. We went to a planetarium show, though I can't remember what it was called, and for once, there was no motion sickness! I was too fascinated with everything that was going on around me. I felt like yelling, "make it so, number one!" Though I'm sure that would have officially outed me as the biggest, sweatiest nerd there.


























Oh, by the way, there is an awesome view of the Hollywood sign from the observatory. Oh wait, Los Angeles decided to sell "the peak" to private land owners? And those land owners want to develop the property? I smell protest!
Normally, that says Hollywood. But on the faithful weekend that I am in L.A., it says "Save the Peak." God I hate protesters. Not that you can tell from this picture anyway, but I was too pissed to get a good shot.


I stayed with my friend Desiree Saturday and Sunday night. Sunday, we decided to take her ocean kayaks to Malibu and ride around. Um, yeah, only been sea kayaking once, and was not entirely pleased with the high tide rolling around. We sucked it up though and made it out on the water. It's kind of unnerving thinking about the fact that while you're paddling around out there, there's about 200 feet of vast ocean beneath you. Probably something out of "The Abyss" or some shit like that. James Cameron, why must you make me afraid of the ocean??? That being said, though, it was a blast. I found a tennis ball, which I named Penn and promptly left on Desiree's front porch furniture. Lame. And I didn't fall out, that was until we were coming back in and this giant wave flipped my kayak, hitting me on multiple points on my body, causing me to lose the oar (oh, but not before it hit me in the head) and my sunglasses. Both were recovered.


On Monday, I did all the touristy stuff and went down to Hollywood. I'm just going to include pictures because I'm sure you don't need me to tell you step-by-step what I did. There were hundreds of people huddled around trying to get photos of their favorite celebrities stars or hand prints. It looked like Disney World over spring break, complete with lots of small children trying to get pictures with their favorite characters, a burned-out looking Marilyn Monroe (oh God, she looked like she'd been ridden hard and put away wet), and an Elvis and an Elmo who both accosted me because they liked my shirt. And let me just say this, Hugh Jackman, you should be embarrassed. I though Wolverine would have bigger feet. For shame.


After paying $15 for two-and-a-half hours in a parking garage (Sarah: -10), I decided to go walking around all the mansions in Beverly Hills.

Now here I go. I've seen large houses before. I've seen people with some sort of self-desire to flaunt their wealth in entirely ridiculous, austentatious ways. But you have got to be kidding me!


Because nothing says "I'm super awesome" like a giant stone arm holding up your mailbox.










Or having a home bigger than my parent's neighborhood (I didn't have enough frames to really show the expanse of this property). I'm still not entirely sure who lives here, but they must be famous because the Starline tour bus makes a regular stop here.


The kid who drove out of this house had a pimped out Escalade and proceeded to honk at me as I ran by. Sorry, dude. Your parent's have obviously been hit by the economic crisis in California because they bought you a piece-of-shit Escalade and not a $100,000 Beemer.


So that was my trip to Los Angeles. I can't wait to go back! Hopefully for longer than 3 days.