Plane Drinkin'

On the way to Austin I had one of the bumpiest flights in the history of mankind. They didn't let the flight attendants get up, at all. No getting up = no booze for me = nervous talking to the dude beside me. We may now be BFF. Especially since at one point I grabbed his hand. Yeah. I did. Total stranger, held his hand.

Here's why: it felt like we were falling. You know, one of those lose 5 thousand feet suddenly kind of bumps? I hate that kinds and we had them a lot. Hate. Especially when the pilot comes on afterward and says 'that was a big one, I think we're going to slow the plane down so we don't feel them as much.'It was at this point that I turned to the man next to me and said ' Slow down? Is that safe? I don't think planes can hover, so if we die, hug me.' He agreed. We in fact did not die, and instead landed to much applause. The flight attendant came on and said 'well, at least we landed' and I ran straight to the airport bar and did I shot.

I then continued to drink for the next 30 hours as that is the Austin way. When I was finished drinking in Austin I got back on the plane to drink again. On this flight there were no bumps but I was however seated next to the most talkative woman in the history of the world. Texas fell asleep about 10 minutes into the flight so I was held captive in the middle seat. The conversation went like this:

Her: How long have you been together? Where did you meet? How soon did you say the big I love you?

Me: Um...hi... what's your name?

Her: Kim. So, do you think you guys will get engaged?

Me: I'm going to order a few beers.

It continued like this for 3 hours and 15 minutes. Three hours. Fifteen minutes. Of asking me where I see my relationship going. And then her telling me about other internet success stories and how soon they all got married. And then she told me about trying to get pregnant. Apparently for her friend it took awhile. I now know a lot about this woman's friend's vagina. Fun times, huh?

On that flight I had 5 beers. I figure that averages together with my beer-less flight there into a respectable 2.5 per flight. That's called 'new math'.

Yee Haw, Y'all

Tonight I am flying to Austin. While there I will attend a reunion with Texas and drink many adult beverages. I will also more than likely embarrass Texas by insisting on wearing a cowboy hat everywhere I go, including the gym. You see, I've only ever been to the airports in Texas so in my head it's exactly like the show Dallas. Even the fashion. If it's not, I'm gonna be pissed.

For anyone keeping track, this is my 3rd trip in about 5 weeks. Have I mentioned that I hate to fly? Like a lot? Because I do. Hence, around oh, 4PM, if you see a very drunk girl slamming Xanax come on by and say hello. I'll take a picture of you in my cowboy hat. And then I'll make you look at the bump on my head from where a mirror attacked me, but more on that later. Oooh, suspense!

Giddy up!

An Open Letter

Dear NyQuil,

Hey buddy. Thanks for helping me sleep last night, I really needed that. I appreciate all you do, however, I have a comment. Sure, you help me breathe and sleep but do you really need to come with dreams that I can only say feel like an acid trip? Last time I took you in January I had a dream that I was Secretary of State and the main part of my job was consuming unlimited amounts of free Yoo Hoo. It was funny, sure, but it gave me a wicked craving for that sugary chocolate drink that I couldn't shake for a week. Last night however was just weird, NyQuil. You know what I'm talking about. Don't try to deny the dream wherein my mom was dating Hugh Downs and we all had to dress like it was 1994 to make him feel more comfortable. My mom does not look cute with her shirt tucked into high waisted jeans and I gave up the babydoll dress/combat boots look a long time ago for a good reason. Also, watching my mom french Hugh Downs in my dream world isn't something that attributes to a night of 'restful sleep'. So NyQuil, if you could keep that kind of stuff away from my medically induced sleep I'd be much appreciative. Thanks buddy, you're a champ.

Hugs and Kisses,
Me

Thanks Tuesday

You know what's a fun noise to wake up to? The slamming of mini blinds. It's fun because it sounds like someone is breaking in through your window which really gets the heart pumping. Then when you find out it's your stupid cat having a fist fight with said blinds it's fun because it causes of the rage. At 3AM. I wish my cat spoke english because then we would have a sit down talk about his nocturnal behavior. But, he doesn't, so I am instead going to contemplate making him wear stupid hats or shaving him. One of the two.

Happy Birthday Sweet 16

Today my baby brother turns 16. I literally can't believe he's that old. To me he'll always be the little kid running around in a Batman costume. Because he reads this blog (which I just found out) I won't tell embarrassing stories about him as a kid. You know, stories like how he used to run around naked, stop in the middle of the room and then sing 'Duh nuh nuh nuh nuh NAKED BOY'. Or how when he was in a bad mood it was because his brain hurt. Or how when he was 4 his career ambition was the be the coast guard of Arizona. Or how one time a friend dropped me off and as she was pulling away my brother jogged along the car and screamed 'hey, I like that car you have' and then tripped on his own feet, face planting on the sidewalk. No, I won't do that out of respect for him. Because I'm an awesome sister.

Ahem.

The visit home with Texas went well. We ate, we drank, we repeated that cycle until we were both sick. Then we played Skeeball, the greatest arcade game of all time. All in all the perfect weekend. Especially since there was cake.

Sweet 16

This weekend my brother turns 16 years old. To celebrate my mom is throwing a party just for the family. This is, I'm sure, exactly what any 16 year old boy wants. Especially since my family 'parties' generally involve sitting around and drinking (which he can't do, and let's face it, it's mostly me drinking), staring at each other awkwardly, and watching sports (which he and I both hate). Woo. Party.

To add to the awkwardness I am taking Texas home with me. I have advised him that it's really prudent to just be drunk the entire time. I am in no way exaggerating. I plan on getting him liquored up at the airport and any time he seems to be sober, I will forcibly pour scotch down his throat. Am I am awesome girlfriend or what?

Side note - I will write more about him after I get permission. He knows about this here little blog but I don't want to write anything without clearance. Just know he's awesome. And about to be drunker than he's ever been in his life. Wish me luck.

Good 'Ol Cancer Ear

Last year when I went to the dermatologist he found a tiny mole on the top of my ear. I promptly forgot all about it because I had better things to think about like Top Model and cheese. So imagine my surprise when about a month ago the boy (let's call him Texas for a name, cool?)Texas said 'hey, what's that?' and pointed to my ear. It seems the teeny tiny little mole was now a gigantic mole.

I then ran around in small circles screaming about my cancer ear and asking if he'd still love me if I only had an ear and a half. (He agreed, but said we'd have to discuss things if it got down to an ear and a quarter, I think this is fair). Then my friend passed away and I again forgot about it. Finally I remembered: hey idiot, you have an alien growth on your hearing appendage, go to the effing doctor.

So I did. And now I have a giant bandage where the top of my ear used to be. Essentially they did a biopsy as they aren't sure what it is, but what it's not is a normal growth. I went in thinking it would be no big deal and they would take a couple of cells, the end. If I had to go back in I would. So color me surprised when I took off the bandage and literally (turn away squeamish people) there is no skin on the top of my ear. None. Upon finding this out I ran around in small circles again, because that's how I deal with stuff.

Now, I don't know if anyone has ever removed all the skin off the top of your ear, but kids, it fucking hurts. Like a lot. Especially if you wear glasses. It's just not a fun pain and so in short: I hope vodka takes the edge off of this and also, put sunscreen on the top of your ears so you don't have to go through this. I think this may be something of a public service message and I should be rewarded. With cookies. And a pony.

The Entry All About Food

Y'all, I'm dating a foodie. Like a serious, serious foodie. Because of this I have now been to some of the top restaurants in the United States. It's awesome. And tasty. And my pants are remarkably tight.

Since Sunday the 8th I have eaten out 5 times for dinner. Let that sink in. 5 times at 5 truly amazing places wherein it would be rude to not order an appetizer (or 3), an entree and dessert (or 12). And so I do, because God forbid I'm rude (at least to people's faces). I am completely and utterly ruined for regular people food now. I go to restaurants on my own and when I am not brought an amuse-bouche to start I am literally confused. If they don't change my silverware for me after every course I scratch my head in wonder. It is often confusing for the people behind me in line at Soup Plantation as they can't figure out why I am asking the cashier where the sommelier is.

Stupid fancy food with it's crack like powers. I want more. And I also want it to have zero calories. I think if we are paying that much for chicken it should at least come with a side of meth or a personal trainer to help you burn it off. I'll pitch that idea next time I'm at Craft. I'm sure they'll go for it, right?

Fun With Timing

Yesterday Liz and I sat on her porch and drank vodka. (Editor's note: A lot of vodka). It tasted like lemonade and therefore was the perfect afternoon drink. We then convinced my boy to come and pick us up and drive us towards food. He obliged and we piled our drunk asses in his car and pointed it towards burgers. When pulling into the parking lot who was there? Why the drive by hickey boy of course. Standing in front of our spot. Staring at me with a look that can only be described as 'stricken'.

Try explaining to your boyfriend why that man in front of the car looks like he's about to pee his pants and is awkwardly waving. It's a fun conversation. Also fun is this:

- Hey, where's Liz? (we spot her in the distance) Why is she going into that other restaurant after the awkward waving guy? (realization sets in) Holy fuck.

Ten seconds later Liz appears, her face flush with happiness.

'Hey Liz, what happened?'
'Oh nothing I just hugged him.'
'And said?'
'Oh, nothing much. Just hi, remember me? I'm Liz.... then I told him I hope his dick falls off. Who wants an appetizer?'

And kids, that's why you should drink heavily on Sundays, just like Jesus intended.

Shoes Are A'Flyin'

I apologize for the lack of posting. All I can say is that things? Have been of the stressful. So much so that in a meeting the other day I literally took my shoe off to throw at someone. No exaggeration. Took the shoe off. Luckily, I did not actually throw it and thus am still gainfully employed. The temptation to do so hit me again today but I refrained, comforted by the knowledge that in oh, 2 hours, I get to drink wine. And bitch. Loudly. With curse words.

Man, my friends are lucky fucking people, huh?

On a positive note I am going golfing with Liz on Sunday. We will hit golf balls poorly and then drink vodka. Previously I have called what we do 'flogging' or 'gloffing' as what we do can't be called golf as it's a grave insult to the game. But I learned a new term for the sport used by my dear friend Adam. And that term for golf was 'Torture Ball'. Ergo, I will go flog some torture balls and then drink. I think, somewhere in heaven, he's all proud.

Well, That Sucks

As of late all electronics hate me. I am, essentially, Powder. (Man I love a good topical reference, what's up 1995?) But, all appliances? Have exploded. It's fairly rad. And by rad I mean excuse me whilst I go rock back and forth in a corner.

Yesterday started out ok. When suddenly the trusty space heater I keep in my office started smoking. SMOKING. Then as I ran around in small circles panicking about inevitability of me burning down the entire office, it stopped. Then it started blowing out ice cold air. So while it was good that it had not say, burst into flames, it was bad as my office did not need any more of the cold. You see, my particular office is located in some other dimension where it is permanently 20 degrees. People refuse to come in for meetings without a parka and this little space heater was the only thing keeping me from hypothermia. I contend this is just the universe's way of telling me to start drinking on the job. You know, for warmth purposes.

So that was minor appliance number one. Number two? The fridge. This morning I woke up and blindly shuffled into the kitchen in search of my gluten free frozen waffles (mmm... cardboard-y and tasteless, sign me up). I opened the freezer and it was fine. Then I opened the fridge and it was pitch black and around 80 degrees. Who doesn't love a raging case of salmonella? Huh? Just me? Then I would not recommend coming to my house and dining on the vast array of groceries I had just purchased as they are all now a smidgen warm. Tepid milk anyone? I don't know what is wrong with said fridge but I do know now it can not be repaired by cursing or arm flailing. I will however try that again later when I go home as it's just stupid to only try a method once. Then I will play taps on my bugle (read: drink vodka while humming) and buy a new fridge.

In short, do not invite me over as your appliances will explode and also, I do not like this week. Now excuse me, I need to go hide under my desk. It's my safe place.

Stupid Time

Dudes, I do not like Daylight Savings Time. At all. I didn't grow up with you, you see. So I have only been dealing with it for 10 years, and it's been 10 years of suck. I don't understand the purpose of being really tired on a random day in spring and then having to adjust schedules etc. I know my friends that have babies pretty much want to stab all living things on said day as they have to readjust the sleep schedule of a teeny little person who does not really respond well to adjustments or you know, words spoken out loud.

So what's the point? I get that it had a purpose back in the 40's when it was put in place. But, nowadays? Not so much. It just seems like a weird hold over. I mean we all gave up other holdovers from the era, like Victory Gardens and bigotry (certain states excluded, so why can't we give up this? Come on, get behind me on this America! I know some of you like the extra hour of sunlight but really, is it worth it when it makes me, anonymous blogger so cranky? I don't think so.

New York: It Snowed

There is nothing like two LA kids walking around NY in the snow. The conversations go like this:

Me: It's so pretty!
Him: It really is!
(long pause)
Me: It's fucking cold dude.
Him: I want to die.
Me: Hotel?
Him: Let's cab it, it's only 3 blocks but if we are outside 2 seconds longer than necessary I'll hurt someone.

We had this conversation every time we ventured outside. During the beginning of the first snow I waxed poetically about how pretty the snow was and how I thought I was ready to move back to NY. Then it started to become a blizzard and I hightailed it the hell out of dodge. I don't remember it being that cold when I lived there, but I guess I've blocked it out like a hostage blocks out captivity. Below are pictures of the snow. I realize that some of you readers out there live in places with weather, but, remember, I do not. It was like I took pictures of a unicorn. A very, very cold unicorn.

Snow!

So I don't know if you heard but there was something of a snow storm back east. It hit approximately 7 hours before my plane was due to take off. Ergo, my plane did not take off. Instead I left a day and a half later, finally arriving at home last night tired and cold.

All I can say about my trip was that it was full of tears, hugs, and a shocking amount of booze. Seriously, I didn't know it was humanly possible to consume that much wine/beer/liquor/champagne in 5 days but I think we set some kind of Guinness record. My liver hurts and my jeans are tight (did you know booze has calories? Color me shocked!) But, it was totally worth it. I got to say good bye to Adam and hug my New York girls a lot. And now I need to recover which I think means a liver transplant. Those are totally easy to get, right?