California Roadtrip: Big Sur, Seals, and Six Flags

Day 2: Big Sur & Elephant Seals

Much to the disappointment and annoyance of my sweet little sister, we drove down to Big Sur for some serious hiking. And by serious hiking I mean a 4 mile moderately strenuous trail...which I didn't think would be too big of a deal after my 37 near death experiences in Maui.

Big Sur is just a piece down the road from Monterey and Carmel, both of which were chilly and overcast when we stopped. Big Sur was grey as well, which I adored. Overcast days, especially by the sea, are so romantic, don't you think?

The grey sky almost melded into the sea, and when looking out at the horizon, you couldn't tell which was which. It was all just this slatey abyss.

the daily selfie. do you like my mullet?

We hiked the Ewoldsen trail in Julia Pfeiffer Burns State Park.

you can tell i take this hiking business seriously because i'm wearing spandex.

the one caveat I would mention about hiking the Ewoldsen trail is that it doesn't have what i would consider "good" views until well into two very steep miles. I didn't mind too much, because I love a good leg-burning, heart-pumping hike, but if you don't enjoy hiking for hiking's sake, and if you aren't an especially patient person, I would not recommend this trail.

The problem is that the trail is mostly in wooded areas, and the first few miles are just an uphill climb through trees. I don't know, maybe I'm just not a tree person. If you are a tree person, you'll probably get a get a huge kick out of it.

But once you got up those two miles, you come around the mountain and end up high above the ocean.

And if your name is not bRob and you don't make a habit of taking horrible pictures, you might snap a few gorgeous shots.

She only agreed to pose after a lot of cajoling.

the one bit of wildlife we didn't manage to scare away...

walking in and out of the park you'll see this beautiful little grotto [?] and waterfall across the road. 

minimal hiking required.

After leaving Big Sur, we drove down a little shy of Santa Barbara. On the way, a friend suggested I stop and visit the elephant seals (or sea elephants, as i prefer to call them) between the lighthouse and Hearst Castle near San Simeon.

Easily one of the best pieces of advice I've ever received. Like, cross stitch that mess on a pillow, good advice. The elephant seals are hilarious. Living proof that God is part comedian.

"don't look at me." 

I suppose the "elephant" part comes from their snouts, which look like abridged trunks. And their bodies are essentially lumpy potato sacks. They wrinkle and wobble awkwardly and pooch in the funniest ways.

Let's get serious - my spirit animal is probably the elephant seal.

"hey guys i called middle spoon"

and these guys have NO sense of personal boundaries. My favorite thing was when one seal would go up and hardcore shove himself between two other sleeping seals. Then one of the sleeping seals would inevitably become aggravated, grunt, and wibblewobble out of the way.

this happened every few seconds.

Also they flipped sand on themselves a lot. In a very nonchalant fashion. 

guys why'd you start napping without me?

I could have watched these guys all day. But I didn't. But I could have.

And in case you're wondering how our hours upon hours in the car went down, Marena and I got into a pretty heated discussion about Old Crow Medicine Show vs Darius Rucker Wagon Wheel. I don't know how it lasted so long because obviously OCMS has a lock on Wagon Wheel and Darius Rucker's version is a pathetic adulterated sham, but educating your little sister takes time, I guess.

The car now has a strict no-Darius-Rucker policy.

Darius, I think Hootie wants you back. Or at least country doesn't want you. - bRob

Day 3: Six Flags

Since my sister isn't such a big fan of hiking and wanted to do something a bit more "fun", we wanted to spend one day in one of California's plethora of amusement parks.

Our first instinct was to go to Disney, but at half the price and with a fraction of the little children running and screaming around, Six Flags seemed the more appealing option.

But what we didn't take into consideration is that while Six Flags isn't geared towards children, its more mature audience consists of lovesick teenagers who grope one another in the line for the Roaring Rapids. I'm not judging, but I did have a front row seat for an ungodly number of hours.

ew.

Regardless, i think marena enjoyed the rides and i got through two roller coasters before i realized how old and curmudgeony i am and swore off theme parks forever. Not altogether a bad day.

-bRob

California Road Trip: Monterey & Carmel

So I don't know if you're as obsessed with my comings and goings as I like to think you are, InterWebs, but my little sister and I are currently on a California road trip.

Let me tell you how WEIRD it is to go on a vacation as an adult. I spent the first three days of vacation agonizing about this report I'd done for work and whether or not people knew where to reach me in case of some catastrophic work emergency, like, does anyone know what bRob renamed that one stupid file? and then i anxiously bit my nails and waited for people to send emails back and forth going, ugh bRob is the worst how could she leave us in the middle of this project OR ugh bRob is the worst thank heavens she's gone. But apparently no one's sent that email yet or they've just forgotten to 'cc' me.

Paranoia aside, I figured I might chronicle some of our travelings across southern California (you'll note that I refrained from calling it SoCal, and for your sake, will continue to do so), so at the very least, Grandma won't be so worried about whether or not we've been kidnapped by hippies and whether or not we're staying hydrated (we aren't).

It should be noted I put WAY too much faith in my phone camera. I kind of gave up using my camera camera, because it doesn't always get colors right, but apparently once you expand a phone photo to larger than 2 pixels, it looks like someone drew it with a crayon. And what i mean by that is why is my phone camera so blurry...

Day 1: Monterey & Carmel-By-The Sea

I was a little disappointed in Monterey. While the aquarium was lovely, the town itself was a bit of a drip. I did find a great used bookstore, much to Marena's disappointment. And then, in addition to the eight books I brought with me, I bought two more used books. About dragons. Whatever, I go through weird phases when I'm on vacation. 

[Number of books purchased: 2. This will be an ongoing count throughout the roadtrip.]

Without further ado, I present: the Monterey Bay Aquarium.

It blew my mind a little bit that this is what sand dollars (a sand dollar colony?) actually look like when they're not dead and on your Christmas tree. 

This little buddy was a bit of a camera hog. Baby Turtle was dallying and dancing right in front of the glass and this was the best photo I could capture. Typical.

An angel seahorse. That's not what it's officially called, but that's what I would call it if someone bothered to ask me my opinion.

This picture, in case you can't make it out, is the picture of a dwarf seahorse. As if seahorses weren't cute enough. My sister's finger for scale.

These are jellyfish. Can you believe it. Also - you should probably be super grateful, I've spared you, no joke, 37 mediocre blurry jellyfish pictures right now.

An overly attentive aquarium worker trapped us for 15 minutes to tell us about all the birds surrounding the aquariums. the BIRDS. Not only am I an introvert who doesn't like to be trapped in conversation, but I especially don't super want to be trapped in a conversation about birds. So I asked him to take a picture so he'd stop talking and then tried to escape like 3 more times.

color me hilarious.

This next series of photographs is from Carmel-By-The-Sea. They sure don't do the place any justice, but I am in LOVE with Carmel. It reminds me a lot of the Hamptons. It's absolutely gorgeous, on the ocean, romantic, quiet, and a lot of delusional rich people live there. And the window displays are to die for.  

Obviously you can't see because 70% of this picture is road, but Carmel has amazing, beautiful houses. Glamorous, modern, etc. All on the edge of the ocean (that is too cold to swim in, might i add) with these giant trees shading them. 

I don't even know what these are but I like them.

This display was really gorgeous but you know me and my photography skills...

That dress is probably my soul mate.

Skinny [and delusionally rich] bRob would wear the HECK out of this outfit.

I mean how adorable...

And of course there is a store devoted to mermaid paraphernalia. 

Add one cup of hot chocolate and about 3 hours of driving and I think you've got a healthy idea of our first day in southern California.

love,

bRob

How Twenty-Something Years of Being My Father's Daughter Prepared Me for Doing Taxes

Oh man. My life. This week has been a series of events that make me roll my eyes at the cosmos and think, typical. Only in bRob's world.

 I just finished filing my taxes, which has put me in the foulest of moods. These taxes have been a laborious and drawn-out process. I only finished them after a ton of whining and pleading with my father, begging him to help me because obviously these things are not meant for me to figure out by myself.

Which sounds  a lot like how the past twenty-some years have gone.

this picture is not a good look for either of us.
but i will remind you that you do not read because i am glamorous.

When my dad helped me move in and out of the dorms [back in the day], we always had this really sweet tradition. He told me a week beforehand, "bRob. HAVE YOUR STUFF PACKED IN BOXES AND READY TO GO." [my dad lives his life in CAPS LOCK] 

And I stuffed about three things into one box and left the other stuff in "piles" [read: exactly where it had been] to be put into boxes. Dad arrived and immediately began CAPS LOCK-ing, "bRob, I TOLD YOU TO PUT THE THINGS IN THE BOXES. WHY DID YOU NOT PUT THE THINGS IN THE BOXES."

And I always responded, "but dad i don't have boxes how do i pack things in boxes when i don't have boxes" [not to go all The Sound and the Fury on you, but that's how a live my life - without punctuation or capitalization].

My dad, all piss and vinegar, stormed around helping me put stuff in the extra boxes he had laying around the house while mumbling, "I SHOULDN'T HAVE TO HELP YOU PACK ALL YOUR NONSENSE", and then we awkwardly carried about 1003 different hairbrushes and pencil jars down three flights of stairs. Then he made me take him to the dining hall for dinner.

Every. Single. Year.
bless his heart.

Doing my homework, from gradeschool to high school, was oddly similar. Pops always got stuck on homework-helper-duty. Each time he began the same way, "HAVE YOU READ YOUR TEXTBOOK?"

No. Who does that?

His inner mathematician would begin somewhere with Aristotle, do some elusive black magic derivations on his homemade chalkboard for about thirty minutes, and then turn to me expectantly.

To which I responded in a voice that might recall that of a banshee's, "iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii don't get itttttttttttttttttttt. this is stupid. i'm quitting. i don't need to know this. this is stupid. that's not how mrs. bradshaw did it. this is stupid. you're wrong."

I don't know how to type so that you'll understand I was whining-screeching, but imagine that in your head.

Dad huffed, "YOU HAVE TO UNDERSTAND WHERE THE EQUATIONS COME FROM BEFORE YOU CAN USE THEM. GOOD STUDENTS LEARN WHAT THE EQUATIONS MEAN." [10 years later and I'm still not sure].

After a lot of yelling [him], a lot of tears [me], a bit of flailing on the ground [me], and throwing textbooks [me], Dad would inevitably storm out of the room, red-faced and convinced his daughter would grow up to be the sort of girl who throws textbooks at walls and decides she should have been a photographer. It should be noted that he was right. It should also be noted that Mom was suspiciously silent during these episodes. Mom, I know you were in the next room. I could hear you breathing.

Probably thirty-seven minutes later, Dad would, temporarily calmed, come back into the room to find me sulking and glaring while post-sob hiccuping. He knelt down beside me [i had a thing about sitting on the floor], and slowly but surely explained how to factor polynomials and, later on, something about Euler.

I finally understood. He looked over, asked  me if I understood, and I, crinkling my face as sourly as possible, begrudgingly mumbled "kind of only a little."

And that, my friends, is how tutoring in bRob's house worked.

Now, a trillion days later, I called my Dad to help me with my taxes.

Every five minutes during the conversation, Dad states, "WE HAVE A GUY TO DO OUR TAXES. WHY DON'T YOU HAVE A GUY. YOU SHOULD JUST GET A GUY. I HAVE A GUY SO I DON'T HAVE TO DO TAXES."

bRob goes, "Daaaaaaaaad I can't do it and it's your fault because you told me to do this and ...." [fill in the ... with any number of ridiculous reasons]

Dad goes silent on the other line, and I know, by his huffy breathing, it's because he's trying hard not to mentally strangle me. "I GOT A GUY SO I DIDN'T HAVE TO DO THIS STUFF."

"i know Dad but i don't have a guy because i'm poor."

"YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE WAITED UNTIL THE LAST MINUTE."

"i started a week ago but you told me not to file yet"

"I HAVE TO GET UP AT 5:30AM TOMORROW MORNING."  [to be fair, it is 1am]

This time there is silence on my line, which I think my Dad figured out was because my lip was quivering and I was about to throw something at a wall. Probably a textbook.

Dad says he'll talk to his guy and call me back the next day.

He calls me back and tells me a bunch of complicated things that require I pull out a calculator, which I try not to do, seeing as I'm about to graduate and all.

"ugh Dad are you sure i have to do all this stuff because taxes are stupid and i am currently getting a federal refund of twelve dollars"

"YES. EVERYONE HAS TO DO TAXES. SUCKS TO BE AN ADULT, DOESN'T IT."

Eventually Dad and I get into a dispute as to whether or not I should enter a certain form. Cue the yelling and waterworks.

"I HAVE TO BE UP AT 5:30AM TOMORROW MORNING. MY BATTERY IS DYING."

"fine! i'll figure it out!" With the most illogical of resolve, I dramatically hang up and carry on with my taxes, which has really just devolved into pouting and scrunching my face at the laptop screen.

My brain chips in, " if the IRS wants to audit me, be my guest! Screw the PoPo, I ain't scared of no PoPo!"

I contemplate crying.

 Just like ten years ago, Dad called me back to once more, and gives me one more redemptive chance as he  patiently explains what I should do.

And just like that, my taxes are filed.

Same time next year, Pops?

-bRob

A Week in Mediocre Phone Pictures

At a dualing paino bar with some chicas.

It is so much fun - singing along with 80's and 90's hits...and Wagon Wheel.

Studying with my buddy.

The Day I Wore My ISE Shirt and Did Things

like examining my split ends

snappin' picks of Suzie on the way to the lake for canoeing

on the way to the lake

counseling with my adviser

went to the flea market yesterday. parking was terrible, as it turns out, because there was also a taxidermy convention.

Only here.

shopping for patriotic gear.

My parents came to visit.

This isn't a picture of that, though. This is a picture of me breaking in to my house after I locked us all out on the way to dinner.

To be fair, my dad did most of the heavy lifting, I just crawled in the window.

And we're in.

I'm pretty sure this answers all the questions you had about my week. Right?

Yes.

-bRob