Second Annual Big Sur Camping

This last weekend was the second annual camping trip to Big Sur. Due to the huge fire last year we had to pick a new campground that wasn't burnt down and settled on the lovely Plaskett Creek. (I say this like I had anything to do with it, when in fact I had nothing to do with the planning.)

The group is about 20 people with the most thing in common being that we all like to eat good food and drink lots of booze. With every couple having a weekend assignment everybody ends up well fed and super hydrated.



We purchased a new tent this year, since I was sick of having to sleep on top of my bags as well as The Husband. Behold, the new castle:

We arrive in the early afternoon and begin to set up camp, while the first crew prepares dinner. What's great about this group is that cooking for 20 people always turns out great, in part because of every ones planning, but also because our neighbors take grilling very seriously and we always show up to the campsite with a full tow-behind pit. Yeah, professional. This is only one side of it:
Every time we go camping we end up with people walking by telling us they want to come with our group the next time. The Grill is impressive and shows people that we mean business, we've now got a good showing of very large tents, and always a plethora of games. The glow in the dark bocce ball didn't make it out this year, but we did have Cornhole and some ball throwing game that I was horrible at.
My favorite part of the weekend had to be our Booze Guy. After setting camp up we start drinking, and when The Booze Guy gets there he slams a large container of margaritas down. The next 24 hours was a bit of a fast-paced blur, but I did manage to take pictures and label them for every ones convenience:

Somehow a few of us started talking about gin, and when I mentioned the Bombay Sapphire was the best, The Booze Guy stood up from his camping chair, spiked his open beer into the fire and stormed away, only to return with a fabulous Costco bottle of liquid deliciousness.

We didn't tap into it the first night, but instead drank the rest of the margaritas, beer, and Crown. I woke up still under the influence at 6AM to start preparing for breakfast, and The Booze Man showed up at 7 and began making his magic Gin Fizzes. We finished the bottle well before noon, and after breakfast a nap was in order.

In the afternoon we walked to the beach- one of the nicest on the central coast in my opinion.

This was our sunset:

*Sigh* Gotta love California.

Who said Hockey is White Trash??

I almost forgot! The Hubby and I went to our first professional hockey game this last Thursday with our neighbors; Sharks v. Coyotes.

Not only did we have a free parking pass, but our sets were in row ten in the club level. We got there when the doors opened and went straight for the club bar (of course). I couldn't decide on what I wanted to drink until I had my first sip of beer and knew immediately I wanted a gin & tonic. I asked my new buddy Rich, who looked like he's been a bartender in the conspicuous bar that sits on the corner of every town and has no windows since about 1967. Complete with missing teeth and husky voice. Talk about a heavy hand. I've had bartenders before who would pour a bit beyond the shot being full, but good ol' Rich not only over-flowed that, but kept pouring into the teeny-tiny plastic cup...With a *dash* of tonic. Holy Sweet Jesus, there is a gin god.

(I should note here that I have learned, as has The Hubby, to not try and keep pace with the neighbor, who is about 250 and drinks like a fish. He has 2.5 Crown and 7's to my one G & T.)

Since the game was about to start I decided that it was a good idea to get a double so I could save myself a trip and focus on the game. By this time the bar was packed, with two thirty-something guys next to me, then two 60 somethings next to them curving around the bar. I ordered my double Sapphire & tonic. The young guys said that there was nothing quite like a little blond girl ordering a double. The older guys not only told me that I was amazing for having a taste for Sapphire, since that's what they were drinking, but that I was a "keeper" due to the fact that I ordered a double. I didn't mention that I was just lazy and wanted a nice gin buzz. Rich asked if I wanted a small or large cup, then proceeded to pour what was more like three and a half shots into my double. I walked to our seats as a happy small blond girl. Here's my only picture of the night:

Bless crazy Rich and his heavy hand. It makes me not as mad to pay $16 for a drink. I don't remember logistics of the game (I had one more single G&T), except that it was amazingly fun and exciting. I even jumped out of my seat a few times.

I'll never watch hockey on TV, but I'll be dammed if I ever turn down a ticket to actually go to the game.

You Dirty, Dirty Girl.

Another weekend gone by- and none of it spent cleaning my house. Really, the place is a mess. Of course since I'm a neat freak a crazy gross mess to me is easily overlooked by most. How I can work at Faire and come home with unwashed hair and dirty feet but still not be able to tolerate dirty clothes strewn about my bedroom and anything old in the fridge is beyond me. I wash my hands 80 times a day and dust like it's going out of style. In my house everything has a place, and there's really no reason for it to be elsewhere.

Our neighbors have commented many times about how clean our house always is, and I sometimes I get the feeling that that they may think I care if they invite us over and their house is unkempt. They even said we could stay at their house to watch their dogs on Thursday so they don't mess up anything of ours. Really, they only live right next door. It makes me think I come off more anal retentive than I really am.

Am I anal retentive?

I am over-organized, yes. I keep everything clean, and apologise if you show up and I think it's not, but I honestly don't mind a mess. I don't care if something is spilled on the carpet or if my crystal gets broken. What's the point of having it if I'm not going to use it? And it's not like I iron T-Shirts and sheets, or scrub anything with a toothbrush (cleaning grout doesn't count, of course. How else is it going to come clean?). You bet your ass I'll randomly spot clean everything with my trusty Simple Green though.

Now that I'm thinking of it, Boobs was laughing at me yesterday because I folded everything in my tent and organized it all before I left, just so I can come back Friday night and unpack it all again for the weekend. Why? *Sigh* Why not? At least I'm not bringing a little hand-held vacuum out there- that would be anal retentive.

Let's just first start off by saying that I don't care if you smoke pot. Really, I don't. It means nothing to me.

Except, of course, when you keep parking across from my house and my neighbors house hot-boxing your vehicle. Often. In broad daylight. Which is also in front of a park...That many children play at.

When the kids first started this some 7 months ago, we and our neighbors took a laid back approach to the young kids, and my 6'2'' 250lbs. Italian neighbor told them he didn't care that they did it, just don't do it in front of these few houses. (Yeah, how about some of the mountains or thousands of acres of farm land, assholes?). At first The Hubby just shrugged it off, and I was the mean one. We came out one morning to get ready to go to the lake, and they were out there- before 8AM. Really? You can't wake-n-bake in your own house? I hadn't even had my coffee yet. I was pissed off and just stood their on my front porch and stared at them. When two got up to walk in the corner house (they park just out of window sight from it), I walked up to them- which they seemed a bit startled about- and told them it was disrespectful that Italian Neighbor asked them not to and they did it again. When I asked that they not do it again they just nodded and said "yeah, that's cool". At this point I'm even angrier, and the grandpa from the house came out to talk to us, which is when I kindly told him how I felt and mentioned that since we were nice before and his grand kids didn't care, we would call the cops next time.

Low and behold, after we and Italian Neighbors return from a long weekend, we find them out there again. We all walk out onto our lawns and stare at them, while SouthAF (Italian Neighbor's new wifey) calls the cops. Italian Neighbors gets in to a confrontation with the 5'5'' 130lbs. 18year old. And the only reason I know he's 18 is that he told IN that he was 18 and was a man and didn't have to involve any adult in the house. As he's in his tippy toes, of course.
We haven't had much of a problem since then. Which bring me to why I thought of all this again since it was months ago. I drive home from work, happy that I only worked 8 hours and not 10 again, and when I pull up to get my mail there are two young boys in a car, windows up, packing a bowl. There are kids playing at the park. Should I mention that I live in a nice neighborhood? If I was going to take my kid(s) to the park, and I saw 2-5 guys getting fucked up, would I feel comfortable to always come to that park. Nope. And the fact that it's in front of my house?

I talked to our little police department and asked them to cruise by when they can, just to make their presence known.

I mean c'mon, doesn't one of them have a friend with a parent that doesn't care if you do it at their house, or even just do it with you?
I'm getting old.