Eden M. Kennedy

you've come to the right place

Eden M. Kennedy is the co-author (with Alice Bradley) of the book Let's Panic About Babies! (St. Martin's Press, 2011).

A former college-radio DJ, Mrs. Kennedy has driven cross-country six times in a 1973 Volkswagen Bug and enjoys standing on her head.

Currently she works at a public library and is finishing writing her first novel.

Pismo Beach and all the clams we can eat!

Much like Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck, my family and I decided we wanted to go to Pismo Beach. Unlike Bugs and Daffy, we did not end up in a cave fighting with a man in a turban.

Because this was a family getaway, first thing we did was drop our stuff at a hotel and, instead of taking off our clothes, getting into bed, and seeing what was on Pay-Per-View, we headed into downtown San Luis Obispo to look for Gum Alley.

Disgusting, isn't it?

Yes, to most people, it is. To the remaining few, it's the best excuse ever invented to quickly stuff five pieces of gum in your mouth and then mash them onto a public surface.

My purse is filled with hand sanitizer, in case you were wondering.

SO ANYWAY, San Luis is close to our hearts for other reasons. It's adorable, it's cute, it's precious, it's leafy, it has a BevMo, and it's got the only remaining Tom's Toys on the coast. We love Tom's. We used to have a Tom's in Santa Barbara, which was run by a nice older man who had a hook for a hand and who'd show it to the kids if they asked. Tom's always has tons of interesting toys, very few of which need to be plugged in or filled with batteries to work. Yay, Tom's.

I call this photo, "HALF-PRICE BAKUGAN OH MY GOD DAD GET ME UP THERE RIGHT NOW."

Me Hung Lo Chinese restaurant. Yes, I am twelve.

If you ever happen to successfully tunnel through to Pismo and you're not morally repulsed by the spectacle of dozens of people wearing giant bibs and shoveling our crustacean brethren into their gullets, may I recommend The Cracked Crab? It's unbelievably good. Jackson likes their chicken strips, of course, OF COURSE he wouldn't eat seafood in a seafood restaurant, my God, who would? I gave him and his crabby friends a pass because of their astrological significance in his life. (Cancers are sensitive.)

The next day we took a walk along some coastal pathway that led us to this, uh, long sandy place, I forget what it's called.

THIS thing, I swear. It followed me for like 200 feet. I'd turn my back and then I'd hear this SSHHH SSSHH SSSHHHH sound and then I'd whip back around and BAM! It would try to look innocent and be all, "Huh? What? Me?"

I got a mug shot, though. This is not the first time I've been menaced by foliage.

Then we got down to the, uh, place with all the sand and shells and stuff, and Jackson found a rock with all its wee crevices filled with wee sea urchins that would squirt when he poked them. Tired, angry, fucking pissed off little echinoderms who were probably all, GODDAMN IT, WHY ARE PEOPLE ALWAYS POKING US, IS IT THE SQUIRTING? WE SQUIRT WHEN YOU POKE US, WE CAN'T FUCKING HELP IT! LEAVE US ALONE, ARRRGHHHH!!"

That's what I image they're thinking, anyway. Poke, poke, poke.

Jack has a keen eye for sea glass, no matter how wily and/or elusive it tries to be.

On the way back home we were driving through Buellton and we were all, "Hey, the ostrich farm! We haven't been there in years! Let's ironically stop with all the other people who are stopping ironically and take a bunch of ironic pictures!" For the kids, of course.