Rodeo Drive is full of Ferraris, Bentleys, and fake boobs. It’s truly ridiculous and I encourage everyone to experience it just once, but only once…because that’s plenty. Unless you are made of money (I mean literally, when you shake your leg, the benjamins just fall off), you won’t be able to buy anything. Not only that, but many stores require you to make reservations to shop there. Except Barney’s, anyone can go to Barney’s..even Posh, but that’s probably because she has an accent.

After Beverly Hills, we drove to Hollywood, and walked along Hollywood Blvd, which is a string of sex shops, costume (think cheerleaders and pasties) shops and bars. One giant red light district, it’s no wonder people get into trouble there. Traffic is a nightmare, it takes 30 minutes to get anywhere, and it gets cold after 5 p.m. The best part of Hollywood was the scenic drive through the hills on Mulholland drive. We stopped at the lookout and took some hazy pictures of smog city and enjoyed the sunset.

However, once you get passed the flamingo stench, the zoo is pretty much like any other zoo, with the exception of the fact that it has pandas. There was a mean bird pecking at some guy’s camera, a hippo that knew how to work the crowd, an elephant searching for peanuts in a bucket, and llamas. Who doesn’t love a llama?! I managed to take about 258 pictures of zoo fun that day, mostly of flowers because I took the time to become the plant paparazzi.

What I didn’t anticipate at the San Diego zoo was the abundance of British children. This prompted a lot of giggling between the two of us about the long, drawn out syllables of whining British children. “Mumm-eeeeeeeeey, I’m gonna punch him in the tum-meeeeeeeeeey”. Or when small fish were nipping at the butt of the hippo the girl screaming, “Dad-deeeeeey, is it nooooooormaaaaaaal?”. What is that all about anyways? It takes them like 45 seconds to ask a question! Regardless, I love the accents. I really would’ve loved to see that little girl punch her brother in the tum-meeeeey even more though.

Here’s San Diego, brining the trailer park to you…notice the mommy flamingo barfing into her baby’s mouth…I mean, feeding her young.

We strolled over to the Museum of Photographic Arts, it was just as cool as it sounds (no sarcasm intended). We enjoyed some Ansel Adams nature photos, an Arthur Lavine exhibit featuring photos of all sorts of random/social scenes and Harry Callahan exhibit which featured mainly pictures of his naked wife Eleanor. Enough photos for me to become uncomfortable with all the nudity, it was a little out of hand, even Aaron said so. Overall, I think we were both impressed with the photography museum and it sparked a need for me to have photographs of my own. So when we ventured into the Spanish Art Village, I purchased a photo of Venice and a picture of the arches near the House of Hospitality in Balboa Park. When inspired, I am more than willing to support local, starving artists, even if they aren’t local to me.

I was also inspired to become a plant paparazzi. I’m not kidding, we entered the botanical gardens and I began taking picture after picture of flowers. This became a trend that continued throughout the remainder of our vacation. I leave you with foliage photo.

Our day began with a trolley ride to the border. Each trolley stop closer to the border, the surrounding area looked more and more run down. Not to mention, there was progressively less grass and more and more gravel yards. When we stepped off the trolley in San Ysidro it already felt like I was in another world. Most of the signs were in both English and Spanish, I was one of the few people not of Latin American decent, and I’m pretty sure I was already surrounded by Chiclet dealers.

Just after we walked through the clunky, metal turnstiles we were greeted by a fleet of aggressive taxi drivers. All 37 of them asked us if they could give us a ride, and we politely declined about 4 times. After that we just stopped talking and put our heads down to avoid eye contact. Then we began walking passed the 973 booths selling the same products. An array of wrestling masks and capes (featuring the very scary Dora the Explorer and Hello Kitty), ceramic Disney Princesses and Dora’s, Dora beach balls (Dora is the official mascot of Mexico, by the way), cheap jewelry and purses. I’m not kidding, everyone is selling the same things. There are women with little babies who stand there for 12+ hours a day selling the same stuff as the person next to her.

There’s also no lack of Chiclets being peddled on the streets. I’m not sure how much it costs to buy a pack of Chiclets, but it can’t be that expensive because wads of chewed up gum are all over the streets. Singapore would just die. You have to constantly watch your step or you’ll be the person saying, “crap! I hate gum!!”.

My husband chose to wear a t-shirt he bought in Alaska a couple of years ago, so all day long people yelled at us, “HEY ALASKA! The final frontier!” or “HEY! ALASKAN HONEYMOONERS!!”. I couldn’t help but laugh, it’s utterly ridiculous. Besides, no one wears a t-shirt boasting their own state/town, we only wish to boast about the places we’ve been, duh. At one point someone actually yelled, “Hey! Alaskan honeymooners over here!” and I started laughing and he yells, “ok, I guess honeymoon is over!” The honeymoon ended when some guy offered me “silver bling” that looked as if it had been stolen off of a 50 Cent impersonator earlier in the day.

There were a few booths that sold what I think was yams, my husband believe it was some sort of meat. I believe that I am right because, A) I’m never wrong and B) yams and meat don’t exactly look alike, and he doesn’t know what a yam is so he can’t argue with me about it. Anyways, these meaty yams were covered with bees. It was so creepy, when I first saw it I actually stopped and turned into a 4 year old because I didn’t want to walk passed the bees. I am really afraid of being stung in the eye, just by the way.

After about 3 hours, we decided to leave Tijuana and return to our hotel and plan something else for the remainder of the day. At 1:26 we got in line to return to the United States. This line was about 2 miles from the border around AND under a bridge. Then there were people heckling you saying things like, “good luck finding the end!” or “I’m sure the end is back there somewhere!”. Thanks jerks, you’ve been very helpful. They stop peddling Chiclets to the people waiting in line and peddle more favorable goods such as Popsicles and bottled water. I guess they figured a pack of gum that loses flavor in 15 seconds isn’t a wise choice considering they barely have enough time to get out of my spitting distance before the gum loses flavor. At about 3:00, we were finally getting closer to the border and were close enough for Aaron to walk to a store and buy us some much needed beverages. At about 3:30 we could see the building where the border was, and we could also see border patrol getting very serious about people who cut in line. By the way, I don’t recommend it, they don’t take that offense lightly. It was about 4:15 before we were finally back in the country and we could only sit on the trolley and laugh about how we spent more time in line then we actually spent walking around.

Oh and by the way, if you’re ever in Latin America and you get the chance, I recommend trying Manzana Rojo. It’s an interesting red apple flavored soda (pop, coke, whatever you call it) made by Coca-Cola.

I like to believe that I have a good sense of direction. I can mentally visualize major landmarks and then I can keep track of where I am in relation to those things, thus allowing me to know north, south, east & west. My husband on the other hand, lost ball in high weeds. I’m really surprised he can find our house some days. I’ll also be living on the porch after he reads this paragraph.

Despite my fantastical directional skillz, I am a horrible navigator. It’s not because I will get you lost (trust me, even if you don’t know where you’re at, I do), but because I don’t follow directions well. If you hand me directions and I’m familiar with the area, I’ll change something. If you hand me a map as well, I start figuring out better ways to go. I believe it’s because I’m Generation X, I can’t follow directions because it’s like the man (or map) is just keeping me down.

So, there we were, had just picked up our rental car and we were preparing to make the drive from Los Angeles to San Diego. My husband commented about the interstate taking us down the coast, but I begged to differ, of course, because I noticed that while on the Google map it appeared the I-5 ran down the coast, what we really wanted to be driving along was Pacific Coast Highway. So there I am with a crude map via Google and a gen-X bright idea…it was time to rage against the machine (map). It started with me picking a random highway exit, which was followed by me deciding to turn right, because I knew that the ocean was to the right. But at that point was I lost, and after a brief trip north we turned around and were headed in the right direction. I think going the wrong way is just part of being a stray pea…

This particular flight experience spared me the annoyance of old women asking if I was reading a good book AND bonus, there were episodes of, “How I Met Your Mother”, on one of the flights (I fully endorse that show). However, I was 9 rows away from my husband at some point, crammed next to some weird Asian girl who kept elbowing me. I may have given a little elbow of my own, shhh don’t tell. She also curled up and fell asleep, and for a brief second (and I do mean BRIEF) she put her feet in my lap. NOT COOL. I had a little seizure and her feet fell off. What is wrong with parents that they can’t tell their children to act appropriately?

If I had the time, I’d be a road tripper..but then I’d be robbed of the book fodder pleasure, such a catch 22. Enjoy this picture of us in the airport, ridiculous.

About five months ago I approached my husband with the idea of taking a nice vacation this summer. King Frugal was actually willing to open his wallet and let the moths out to have a little fun, YAY! Immediately my vacation wheels started turning about all the places I wanted to go. Initially, I really wanted to go to Colorado, because I love the mountains. Then we discussed Wyoming, Yellowstone National Park, Cape Cod, Niagara Falls and somehow we settled on a trip to California. There have been several evenings spent planning and organizing, and honestly, I didn’t put this much effort into my wedding. Hey, I’ve got priorities.

So now it is vacation eve and I predict no less than 3 fights today with my husband. Actually, the first one is already brewing. When a wife says to her husband, “you barely have enough undershirts to last from now until next Saturday,�? that does not mean, “Husband, please go home and promptly change your undershirt so now you won’t have enough to last.�? He’s lucky I’m so sweet; otherwise I’d make him go dirty and stinky. Actually, I just don’t want to be stuck on a plane next to him for 5 hours when he’s dirty and stinky. If he was sitting by other people, it’d be another story.

Fight number two will be close behind. I’ve asked my husband repeatedly to set out clothes that he wants to wear next week. I’ve been repeatedly answered by my husband whistling “ABC�? by the Jackson 5. Then at random he will squeal out, “Come on come on come on let me show you what it’s all about.�? OBNOXIOUS. The worst part, he’s only doing it to irritate me, yet he won’t stop until I yell at him (there’s the catch-22). Then he shuts up for 11.3 seconds (long enough to laugh at me), and starts over. I think this time I am going to let him go naked, I’m quite tired of staying up all night to pack.

Finally, our third fight is going to be over something I forgot to do, amongst the 30 bajillion other things I was busy doing while my husband sat and picked his nose and whistled the Jackson 5’s greatest hits. This third fight might also not happen until we get to California and he realizes that I didn’t pack him any socks. Then I’ll snip at him, “If you’d have set out clothes instead of ABC-ing all day this wouldn’t have happened!�?

This is going to be the best vacation ever!

What irritates me even more about these non-boarding passengers is that not only do they wander about so you can’t find the actual line; they get up near the entrance and then just stop. It’s like those people who walk into the entrance of a building and just stop right in the middle of your way. THEN, in an annoying turn of ironic events, they get mad at you when you run into them because they are completely stupid. Look granny, if you’d have stayed in your seat until zone 5 was called, none of this would’ve ever happened so TAKE A SEAT! Your seat is only 4 and a half feet away from the plane, I promise, they won’t leave you behind (much to my dismay).

Then after we all hurry up to wait, we have to stand in line while waiting for those boobs who are desperately trying to shove their gigantic Louis Vitton “carry on�? bags in the overhead compartment. Anyone within a stones throw can see that these bags don’t have an ice cubes chance of fitting in that compartment. However, every time I get on a plane there’s a plethora of sorority girls (donned in the official college hoodie and UGGS, as if to appear more like the rest of us common folk), business men (who seriously have traveled enough to KNOW that bag isn’t going to fit), and old people (who previously stood in my way and are really starting to irk me) trying to shove half of their household belongings into the overhead bins. Then, the person behind me will sigh loudly, not only blowing one of my ear drums, but moistening my neck with their nasty, hot, coffee breath. CHECK YOUR BAG! Seriously, it takes all of 5 minutes to get your bag, and you’re not going anywhere in those 5 minutes anyways because you’ll probably be spending it in the bathroom. Honestly, traveling is enough to make me want to kick old people or punch children.

Pre-Sept. 11 days, when you were allowed to go back to the gates and wait for people, my family was waiting for my brother and his wife to fly in from Denver. Unbeknownst to any of us, there were issues in Denver and they weren’t even ON the flight from Denver to Cincinnati, but that’s an irrelevant part of my story. We had been sitting in the airport for almost 3 hours, dad was sound asleep and snoring loudly in an airport chair. I swear, that man can sleep anywhere (Hmm, I wonder where I get it?) and mom and I were doing our usual, pointing and laughing at people. That whole “if you can’t say nothing nice” line..not used in my home.

So there was this guy, he was an obvious business man. He comes strutting off his plane looking incredibly pretentious with his rolly suitcase and his nose in the air. Then he walks into the bathroom, the LADIES bathroom. So mom and I are, of course, dying laughing. Then, he comes out about 15 seconds later with a 10 foot toilet paper tail hanging off his suitcase. Mom and I were in tears.

And THAT is why I love airports. There’s too many people in too small of space, someone is bound to do something retarded. I think my turn is coming, stay tuned.

Now, just for fun (or not fun), some airport awards:

Airport with the most ridiculously tight security & Worst airport to vomit in:
Des Moines International – Des Moines, Iowa
Seriously, I wouldn’t lie about that stuff. They frisked my 82 year old grandma there. And, I’d rather not talk about the vomit thing….

Lamest Airport Decor:
Detroit Metropolitan Wayne County Airport – Detroit, Michigan
It has these weird color tunnels you have to walk through. It’s like a bad version of Fremont Street.

Worst Flight EVER!! -
Cincinnati, Ohio – Richmond, Virginia.
I’m sure you remember that one Kristen. For everyone who WASN’T frantically scribbling their will and looking for lawyers, notaries, and ministers on this flight, it was more like riding a school bus over 1,000 speed bumps. HORRIBLE!!!!!

Airport with the most ridiculously LENIENT security -
TIE: Greater Cincinnati/Northern Kentucky International – Erlanger, Kentucky & Philadelphia International Airport – Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.
Both of these airports allowed me to fly without a state issued I.D…over Thanksgiving. Aaron hasn’t let me handle my own license in an airport since this trip…