This is me feeding the little tyke. Babies make me nervous, but I warmed up to him pretty quick. I think he is currently my favorite baby. Sniff, sniffle.
This is my brother Chris getting ready for his beauty rest. This hotel was near Disneyland, and if the camera frame were just a teensy bit larger, you would be able to see the high quality painting of Mickey Mouse kicking a soccer ball hanging over the mantle. Truly, I'm sorry you had to miss out on it. Really, I am.
The beautiful Los Angeles Temple.
Nothing says vacation like miniature golf. Well, for me anyways. Brian even got a hole in one!
Brian took C.J.'s long board for a spin and picked it up lickety split. As it is with most things Brian tries to pick up....with the exception of Sequence, of course...
Look how cute he is. Love it. Love the cuteness.
We visited the Santa Barbara peer, which was windy and pretty. It did wreak havoc on my perfectly coifed do, however. And, apparently, my face.
We rented some bikes (trikes for the boys) and road around Santa Barbara for a while...
I tried to copy C.J. here and take a picture from my moving bicycle. This is the result.
Now, I will warn you, these next few pictures are...graphic. Let me explain. There are a couple of reasons why I hate public restrooms. Reason #537.92 Section A: For some reason, in every single public restroom I go into, the countertop surrounding the sink is completely wet. Apparently, some of us don't know how to wash our hands, or we do, we just don't know how to keep the water in the sink. From the looks of things though, something makes me think somebody's dog has been there drinking from the running water. For tallish gals like me, the wet counter is at crotch level, and when a tallish gal leans forward to wash her hands, she gets caught in a nasty little public restroom booby trap that I like to call "Oopsy! Didn't QUITE make it on time, did you?" Ladies and gentlemen, I give you exhibit A:
What, do I hear laughing? It doesn't look too good, does it? My favorite part of this picture is the two smaller wet marks. These are from when I looked down at my pants in horror, grabbed at them with my still wet fingers and said, "Drat! Foiled again!" What do I take from this experience? Next time, I'm just going to wet my pants myself and skip the whole bathroom thing altogether. For anyone who asks, I'll just tell them the sink was wet.
Now, as I soggily returned to my table (this all occurred at Rusty's Pizza Parlor in Santa Barbara, by the way) and faced the jeers and taunts of my fellow diners, I noticed something. There, on my table, where my food was about to be placed, was a shape that looked vaguely familiar. I couldn't quite make it out at first, so I tilted my head a little and...yes, that's what I thought it was...a butt. Yes. A butt. And it was on my table.
Brian didn't think it was funny, and carefully placed my drink over the top of it. Every once in a while, though, I would peek underneath my glass to make sure the butt was still there. And it was.
As we walked back to our car, we stopped at a little antique shop, where I found the turquoise ring of my dreams, only it was 18 sizes too large. Isn't it ironic, Alanis? People who work in antique shops are magical, I swear. Don't really know what it is, but there's just something about those folks that makes me wonder sometimes...like they're on sabbatical from Hogwarts or something. Anyway, as we were sauntering back to our car I saw a sign for an art gallery, which I seem to be a magnet to. Only, this was a very special art gallery...
Very special, indeed.
We did not stop.
Next it was off for a tour of Hope Ranch, where many famous and/or wealthy people house their remarkably tiny bodies in remarkably enormous homes. I didn't take any pictures of those (bodies or homes) as they made me slightly nauseous and strangely envious.
Then we mosied on over to the Santa Barbara Mission, which was absolutely gorgeous, and which also set my little botanical heart all aflutter. I was agog at all the plants they had there. Agog, people.
What is the plant below? Please, if anyone knows what it is, tell me. Because I want it, nay, NEED it in my life. It grows in a perfect sphere, and it is awesome.
I've got a thing for succulents and desert loving plants in general, and the agave family is at the top of my list. The Santa Barbara Mission has certainly got their fair share of those, yet another reason why I liked it. I had spied a grouping of huge agave when we got there, and as I made my way towards them my heart sunk as I realized that they had been...vandalized. The best one, "Jehnnette hearts God". Well isn't that sweet. Did you ever stop to think that God might love that agave, Jehnnette? Maybe you should think about THAT, little Missy! Somebody make me the agave patrol, please.
The more time I spent in California, the more I realized that Dr. Suess must have lived there. Just look at the plants.
We took a bad picture of ourselves to prove that we were there, and then we left.
The next day, C.J. and Jackie took us to swanky Malibu beach. Jackie and I stared at some bods, well, just one, really, and chased robber seagulls away from people's temporarily abandoned beach towels and lunches while Brian and C.J. went and stuck their toes in the water. I did not stick my toes nor any other part of my body in the water because A) I have an insanely irrational fear of sharks (Thanks, Discovery Channel!) and B) I saw this sign:
So, if you're ever down in So Cal, make sure to let somebody wet your pants for you, molest an agave plant while you're there, and stay away from the ickyness that could be in the water. Oh, and don't forget to stop in at Rusty's Pizza Parlor, the butt table will be expecting you.
Oh, and if you'd like to see some more pictures of our wild adventures with our friends, visit C.J. and Jackie's blog.