Mostly, I was just a one-woman Britney Spears cover band

Our stop in Los Angeles was brief. Basically, we took a couple of pictures in front of the Hollywood sign. I was okay with that though. While fame and fortune may be big motivators for a lot of western travelers, I don’t really care about that stuff. Would it have been pretty cool to see a celebrity? Sure. Was it something I deemed necessary to search for that day? Absolutely not.

No matter how brief our stop was, you can’t help but think about celebrities when you’re at their watering hole. 

When I was little (and we’re talking like five here), I wanted to be a famous singer. I was so sure that I was going to be a star that I once packed up my bags and sat on the porch, trying to figure out which way I needed to go to get to Chicago so I could get on a plane for Hollywood. I had a microphone that would clap and cheer, just for me (and anyone else who pushed that particular button). While I hate to say it, those were just the dreams of a child who, in reality, couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.

My not wanting to stay long in Los Angeles wasn’t because I am bitter that my dream never came true. I’m happy that I don’t have to get mobbed by the paparazzi whenever I go to the grocery store and that my face isn’t on a bunch of magazines. I like my life as an English major in Illinois. But, it is nice to fantasize about what it would be like. I’ll just save my concerts for the three other people in the car. I’m sure they appreciate it.

Seriously, Their Calves Have To Be As Big As Tree Trunks

Montana, Wyoming, and the other western states are like a large border before we could get to the real reason people go to the west coast. There would be so much variety in California!

 I didn’t expect it to be as empty as it was at all. In my imagination, it was the place to be on the west coast. The emptiness of the other western states would be put to rights once we arrived in the Golden State. Once we got there, I realized just how wrong I was.

When we left Oregon, the roads were treacherous. I wasn’t completely thrown off; California could have mountains. It wouldn’t be called the “Hollywood Hills” unless there was some variation in altitude. We crossed the border, where we were questioned over the potential possession of illegals: fruits and/or vegetables, weapons, and (I’m assuming) immigrants from Canada.

The journey to San Francisco was long. Spending this much time in a car isn’t the norm for any of us, and it can certainly get frustrating. We managed to make it thorough, with just enough time to try to see the sun rise at the bay.

It was FREEZING. I thought California was supposed to be warm and sunny. What happened?

Even though we were facing the wrong direction and couldn’t feel our faces, it was a memory in the making and I was excited to be doing it.

When we finally toured through San Francisco after a day of rest, we realized how much different it was to be in a city of this size compared to Seattle or Portland. It was like a mixture of a bustling metropolis and the open landscapes of the country. I believe it was Nick who said San Francisco was like the “Joliet of California.” It wasn’t nearly as overpopulated as I had dreamed it to be. Certainly, the line for the streetcars was long, and there were quite a few people walking around Fishermen’s Wharf. However, there weren’t nearly as many people meandering through side streets in the middle of the day in Chicago.

Not having many people around us put us at ease. It was almost like we were at home, walking around by the mall. Obviously, it wasn’t exactly the same. I can see how people would be able to live in Joliet and walk along the sidewalks to get to the grocery store. I can’t, on the other hand, imagine living in San Francisco.

The mountains that we had driven through the night before were almost nothing in comparison to the hurt that we put on our legs walking up and down those streets. We would walk down a very steep hill only to have to walk up the next one at an incline that I was sure would finally end me. How everyone who lives in that city doesn’t have the calf muscles of a male body builder is astonishing. People were riding bikes! BIKES! I could barely manage to lean against a tree for support while half way up one of those so-called streets.

Other than the strenuous exercise, San Francisco was a beautiful place. Hanging on to the handle bar of the trolley while going down the street at top speed is something I’ll never forget—and it’s not something I will ever want to. As for the shaking, aching legs at the end of the day? That’s a whole other story.

Hipsters, Raccoon Tails, and Leather. Oh My!

The last few days have been exceptionally hectic. We explored Seattle, Portland, and we drove through the night to reach San Francisco. We were all very tired, so I chose to sleep rather than update immediately.

Yesterday was the Fourth of July. Independence Day. In honor of this holiday, I decided to write about how diverse our country is.

In the last few days particularly, we have seen some very interesting individuals.

Seattle was absolutely filled to the brim with “hipsters.” If you’re not familiar with this type of person, you can typically spot a hipster by looking for one of the following:

·         Plaid shirts

·         Mustaches/Awkward Facial Hair

·         Colored glasses

·         Fedoras (with or without feathers)

·         Vests

·         Boat shoes

·         Bicycle riding

·         Contempt for humanity

·         Skinny jeans

Hipsters also generally hate being called hipsters. They refuse to be labeled. However, this only furthers their association with the group.

As I was saying, Seattle is absolutely full of them. While walking across from the city’s library towards Pike Place, we happened to see a young woman with a streak of green in her hair. She had many tattoos, a cigarette dangling from her lips, and a bad attitude.

Also, a raccoon tail was attached to the back of her skirt.

I judge strangers pretty easily. I suppose it comes from the fact that I am just so much better than other people that I can’t help but notice their many faults. It’s both a gift and a curse. (Just kiddin').

It was amazing for me to see that so many people in Seattle didn’t stop to gawk at the weird girl with the tail hanging behind her seat. They just didn’t seem to see her at all.

To me, she was SCREAMING for attention; but to the rest of the population of Seattle, she was a perfectly employable, normal young woman.

Our schedule called for us to drive through Portland on our way to California. We went to a sadly closed Voodoo Doughnuts and crossed paths with a “Keep Portland Weird!” sign painted on an alley wall.

We walked to one of the best book stores I have ever had the pleasure of entering. (I bought a “choose your own adventure” Jane Austen novel!). On our way there, we saw an older gentleman wearing some tight leggings underneath a leather jacket and a multitude of leather belts and chains. His hair was long and he looked very determined. No one gave him a second glance—except for us. Were we judging him? Maybe a little bit. But I’d like to think it was just because we were a little jealous.

I would say that my friends and I are “weird.” We like to play board games instead of attending wild parties and we generally talk about books. Don’t get me wrong—we gossip like old women and watch enough T.V. to win a game show. But for some reason, we have always been out of the social spot light. Shouldn’t that make us less surprised by the differences in others?

We’ll work on keeping our minds open; but in the meantime we’re going to enjoy these fluffy hotel pillows and, eventually, the Golden Gate Bridge.