While Rand was once again showing off his public speaking skills (and meting out crazy doses of charm) I decided to roam around the city a bit. The only problem? Everything in L.A. is miles from everything else, nothing is within walking distance, and I didn’t feel like driving. Los Angeles is a terribly walking city, but we were fortunately rather close to Venice Beach, which made for a semi-interesting walk.

1. Surf/Swim sign

I wanted to walk up to it and scream, "Don't tell me what to do!" But I wasn't with anyone I could embarrass.

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Things never turn out quite how you imagine them.

I try to remember this whenever I find myself setting up expectations. Whether it’s a new trip, or an event, or meeting a new person, I’ve always created some sort of script in my head for how things will play out. Often, it’s a recipe for disappointment. The hotel is on a noisier street. The city smells much more urine-y than I had anticipated. The caterer will be late … or possibly drunk. And the people on whom you’ve placed so much pressure to be awesome, may be lovely in their own right, but they can’t match the person you’ve built up in your head.

I reminded myself of this as I went out to meet Deanna, the blogatrix behind Traveling Monkeys. She was popping into Seattle for a few days with her family, and we had arranged to meet. And she had a tall order to fill. Because the Deanna who I had constructed from her tweets and blog entries was fantastic. She was funny and sarcastic and sweet. And, hello? She has a NINJA BABY.

I had our entire afternoon planned out in my head: we’d become fast friends, swapping movie quotes from The Princess Bride and laughing at things that would take too much time to explain to third parties. Maybe she’d ride in on a pegasus (because unicorns are SO overused lately) and she’d have a present for me.

And in reality?

Well, we didn’t quote The Princess Bride.

We quoted Anchorman.

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Dude, it’s been a week.

I’m been running around and fighting off a cold simultaneously, and after a few days, I knew something was bound to give. So when I woke up this morning with a wicked sore throat and no earthly clue what day it was (no, really), I wasn’t really that shocked. Except when I found out it was Friday. I had figured that it was Wednesday or maybe Thursday. But Friday? Really? It’s Friday? I am shocked.

I was lucky enough to catch up with an old friend from middle school, and meet a few new ones (including the amazing Deanna of Traveling Monkeys and her family) – but you’ll have to wait until next week to hear about all that awesomeness. In the meantime, I’m feeling too crappy to do anything but browse the internet. Enjoy …

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I realize it isn’t anywhere close to Halloween, but it’s August, and in Seattle that means that fall is already on its way. Check out photographer Amy Stein’s series, Halloween in Harlem. It’s haunting and sweet, and reminds me of Sesame Street in the days of yore.

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I can think of soooo many applications for these.

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Some brilliant soul put summed up all of Chewbacca’s dialogue from Star Wars in comic form.

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I love cake.

More than anything in the world, really (with one glaring exception). I am obsessed with it, in a way that few people will understand. Occasionally, I will rifle through old pictures, and find photos of cakes I made long ago. I remember them fondly, like old lovers.

I long for them in the middle of the night. When I daydream, my thoughts fall to them. And I must make a conscious decision, every time I am at the grocery store, to buy groceries and not an entire sheet cake or three.

Recently, a friend of mine got married, and I started dancing around in anticipation of the cake, and other numerous goodies that were on the dessert table. And after standing an excruciating few minutes in line (DEAR GOD THE HUMANITY) I was finally able to get to the front, where I might have piled an obscene number of sweets onto my plate.

Later, I sat amongst my friends, frosting smudged across my lips, drool dripping from my mouth, and slowly slipped into a mild diabetic coma. It was glorious.

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Dear residents of Seattle;

First off, a brief apology. I am sure that I have flipped off the vast majority of you in traffic. On more passive aggressive occasions, I may have intentionally picked my nose in the vicinity of your children, thereby affirming the belief that it’s not only okay and acceptable, but it’s fun! Enjoy trying to break them of that habit.

However, all of that is in the past (and by “past”, I mean, “foreseeable future”), because I’m here to give you a bit of HOLY-CATS-THAT’S-AWESOME advice. And it is as follows: Visit the Willamette Valley wineries in Oregon. Immediately.

Oh, hush: I do not CARE if you have other obligations to tend to in our fair city. The kids can drop themselves off at daycare for once (plus, you don’t want those little nose-pickers in your car anyway). And stop whining that you’re going to miss Great Uncle Lou’s last days: it’s called hospice for a reason. It’s because it’s hospitable. He’s not going to notice you’re gone: he thinks it’s 1943, anyway.

Besides: OREGON WINE COUNTRY IS AWESOME. Here are just a few reasons why.

1. It’s must closer to Seattle. I’m not going to lie: I suck at geography, and I don’t really know where Napa is. But I know that Oregon is, like, a MILLION times closer (no hyperbole).

Hee hee. It's on Uranus.

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2. There’s no sales tax in Oregon. None. For people in Washington state, that’s like a 10 percent discount on everything.* The only downside is that most things purchased in Oregon are made of hemp. (*Of course, this is only true if you cheat on your taxes, failing to retroactively pay sales tax on all tax-free Oregon purchases come April. And I would never endorse defrauding the U.S. government in any way.)

This entire building was made from hemp. If you licked the paint on the walls, you got high (though according to my buzzkill hubby, it was just "lead poisoning.")

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3. Matt and Kim live in Oregon. I know, I know – you probably don’t know who Matt and Kim are. But they’re awesome, and if you drove down to Oregon, your chances of meeting them increase by, like, a thousand percent.

Matt kind of looks like a hobbit in this photo, but they're still awesome.

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4. Everything will be far less expensive than its California counterpart. Accommodations, restaurants, wine tastings, and even the wine itself is going to be way cheaper in Oregon than California. A few wineries even have picnic tables and recreational areas, so you can bring your own awesome selection of food. This either qualifies you as a connoisseur, or a hobo.

What? Hoboes can be foodies.

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5. There are fewer crowds. My husband gets upset when I use the phrase, “It’s so crowded – it’s like the Black Hole of Calcutta at happy hour.” He’s says it’s offensive. So I’m not going to use that term. I’m simply going to say that attending a wine tasting in Napa will leave you more squished than an elevator ride at a Dom DeLuise look-alike convention.

RIP, Sweet Prince.

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6. It’s gives you way more (yuppie) street-cred. Now that Napa has become mainstream for the upper-middle class, you’ll need to do more to impress your foie-eating friends. One the “hot” list for young urban professionals: scented oxygen appetizers, straddle buses, and Oregon wines.Yay!

Also on the list: playing frisbee golf while channeling Don Draper.

7. You can hang out in Portland. Again, I have no idea about geography, but I assume that Napa is in the middle of nowhere, and consequently a no-man’s land overrun by cannibals and mutants. Instead of isolating yourself in the California countryside with your friends (which, HELLO? – so the makings of a horror movie), you can chill in Portland (a city that lacks any major structural landmarks, making it immune to alien attacks). Yay!

This would never happen in Portland.

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8. The weather is awesome. No, seriously. The Willamette Valley is not, like the rest of the Pacific northwest, reminiscent of swamp that was accidentally left in the universe’s refrigerator (what? I suck at analogies, too). During the summer, the days are sun-drenched and warm, and because we’re further north, they’re longer, too.

This was taken at 10pm.

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There. That’s it. Eight perfectly good reasons to (temporarily) abandon all your responsibilities and drive down to Oregon. Just be sure to properly say good-bye to Uncle Lou. I don’t want that on my conscience.

Since yesterday consisted of an entire post dedicated to my mom’s insanity brilliance, I thought I’d take a minute to talk about my brother, Edward …

Rand and flew down to L.A. for about 24 hours last week. It was a quick trip – there and back, with one night in a hotel (which is likely the most frustrating thing I’ve ever had to pack for, because I take just as many toiletries for one night as I would on a week-long trip). Oh, and a quick opportunity to see my brother.

He drove us around a lot, which is uncharacteristically kind. We grew suspicious that he was going to charge us.

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There is a peculiar soundtrack that plays in my head every time we travel down to visit him. While not a fan of most of the Gavin Rossdale catalog, I often think of the song Everything Zen whenever I go see Edward. In particular, I think of this line:

“Should I fly to Los Angeles, find my asshole brother?”

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I’ve started this post about four times. I kept trying to find a way to tie the topic matter to travel, and frankly, I couldn’t. It has nothing to do with travel.

Instead, this post has everything to do with me. Or, more specifically, my mom.

See, she’s just discovered Facebook.

Since joining, she immediately friended one of my ex-boyfriends, posted half a dozen links about the existence of extra-terrestrial life, and called me every five minutes for days on end, asking me if I had seen her recent status updates and what I thought of her new profile picture.

The result is awkward, yet somehow endearing. To my mom, the internet is a new and strange place. She’s been an immigrant before, and now she’s a digital immigrant, to boot. She’s traveling in a strange new world, and only vaguely understands internet etiquette. She says things on Facebook that I wouldn’t in a million years consider posting.

And yet, there’s nothing wrong with that. Because when you explore new lands, there’s no right or wrong. It’s kind of like travel (HOLY CRAP, I AM MANAGING TO TIE THIS POST TO TRAVEL). You may not know all the customs. You may do things that other people find strange, or weird. But as long as you’re open-minded, willing to make friends, and your heart is in the right place?

Things will be just fine.

So, without further ado, some crazy/delightful ways my mom has used Facebook, and a few faux pas she’s committed.

1. Here are three posts from her in a row. Tell me if you see a pattern.

Did you find the pattern? That's right: each post starts with a consonant.

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Everything has been a little off this week.

I suspect the full-moon was partially to blame. Or maybe it’s that summer just doesn’t seem to be coming to Seattle this year, and we’re a little upset about it. Or perhaps it’s that every single person I know (myself included) just hasn’t been getting enough sleep and is a little cranky. This would certainly explain the behavior of my friend’s two year-old-daughter, who I babysat this week. She alternated between laughing, crying, and running around like a child possessed for four hours.

I knew exactly how she felt.

Why are things so off? Why are we so cranky? And how is it that my links for the round-up reflect this, even though I didn’t mean for them to? It’s clearly a mystery. Read on, while I go get a snack.

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Only the dead have seen the end of war. Hee hee. I am clearly warped for finding that as funny as I do. (via reddit.com)

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-I didn’t realize you could just walk into a drugstore and find them next to the panty shields.

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Taken at Rite-Aid, Portland, OR.

Rand and I were wandering around in L.A. last week (did I mention that nobody walks in L.A.? It’s because nothing is close by) looking for decent food near Venice Beach.

We did not find any. Instead, we ate at a restaurant so bad, that the vast majority of the food was left on the plates. The waiter asked if anything was wrong, and we just shrugged and said we weren’t hungry. This was woefully untrue. We were starving, but the food was crap. And it wasn’t crap as in “Good food prepared badly.” Instead, it was “bad food presented honestly.” There was little we could do, and telling the waiter it was awful would just risk him bringing us more food. Sometimes a chicken soft taco is simply a chicken soft taco. You can expect no more from it.

There’s a lesson there, somewhere.

As we walked back from our dismal and depressing meal (fear not our lack of sustenance – later, Alaska Airlines would serve us a mixed green salad topped with chicken, blue cheese, pecans, and dried cranberries. It made my heart sing) we saw the beginnings of what could only be an epic battle to the death.

Behold Contestant #1:

What can Lexus do for you?

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It’s a Lexus. Posing as a UPS truck. I’m not going to pretend I understand what’s going on here, but offhand, it looked like someone was trying to pass off a very expensive vehicle purchase on the company dime.

“That $60,000 charge on the corporate card? That was for shipping costs. Yeah.”

Either that, or the Lexus had just been cast as a UPS truck in an upcoming role. It was simply getting into character.

Rand joked that a real UPS truck was going to drive up and kick its ass. Moments later, we saw this roll by:

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Contestant #2:

It’s brown. And it’s pissed.

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