Friday, June 29, 2007

Up In the Atmosphere

Maybe it's just me, but every time I cross the threshold of an airplane en route to one of the many destinations that I've been in the past few years, (mostly sunny and fabulastic Columbus, Ohio) I absolutely FREAK OUT. This is completely irrational freaking out, because A. I've been flying all my life, and 2. my hus-friend and I are never not on an airplane, hence I should be over it by now. But it happens all the same, so here is how it works: sweaty/nasty palms, beaded up forehead, severe and instantaneous nausea, incessant reciting of every Catholic prayer I can remember from my early years at Mater Dei Academy. (Yes, I seriously went to the Mother of God Academy.)

Also included in my in-flight psychotic routine is the absolute realization that I, or Mr. G, am going to die and my friends and family are going to take it really, really hard. The height of this spectacle is always as we are approaching arrival, and I can see buildings close to the airport. I always take note of these buildings because I am absolutely certain we are going to hit one or several of them. And sometimes I wonder from this height, are those people at home now or at work? I hope they're at work so when we hit their apartment building it will be empty.

What is my deal? I know the routine so well, you'd think I take some sort of sick delight in it. Since we've been flying a lot in the most recent past few months, I've taken to new hobbies like dreaming about being in planes that are going down. I kid you not, this is the dream I had last week: I arrive at the airport, go through security, walk to my gate, board the plane through the usual gate, stow my baggage in the overhead bin, buckle in, we take off, and then all of the sudden the plane takes a violent nosedive all the way to the ground, upon which time I wake up FREAKING OUT, again. And do you know the kicker? Two days later I had to fly to Columbus.

I don't mind flying, I really don't. It's exciting, mostly. Mostly being thrown in there to account for the death dreams and flying nervous breakdowns. Plus, I love arriving some place as the visitor and everyone's happy to see you. I know there's going to be a time in my life when I remember these days and trips as so very thrilling, blah-yada etc, so I'm trying to go with the flow. But just in case, I want the dog to go to Leslie and Zach, the furniture to Vince and Heidi, the booze to my Dad (he needs it more than I do), and my autographed photo of Hulk Hogan to David Riley because he was terribly jealous of it in the 5th grade (even though he says he wasn't).

Thursday, June 28, 2007

Service Without the Smile

I was truly very excited this morning to find myself at the front of the McDonald's order line, mouth salivating at the thought of the impending deliciousness that is McDonald's breakfast, when a very interesting gentleman FLEW up to the counter right in front of me and SHOUTED that he had been waiting longer than me and wanted to order a McGriddle and a coffee!! Yes, it requires two exclamation points. He came out of nowhere, I swear. And scared the living shit out of me. And! It was like waking up Christmas morning to find that not only are there no presents with your name on them, but Santa is dead on your living room floor and all the little children are never going to get any presents either. I couldn't do anything but stand there and gawk at this screaming man who was hungry and starving for his McGriddle and coffee! I didn't even step back from the counter. I just stayed right there, rooted to the spot, within breaths of the lunatic. I wanted to slap his impatient little ass and send him home to his mama where he should ask for some lessons in MANNERS! But instead, I stood there like a turd with people tripping over my jaw that was lying on the floor several feet away from me, saying nothing. It's times like these that I wish I was a 300-pound, weight lifting, black belt wearing, facial hair growing, Comanche, kamikaze, Chuck Norris Trainee who could beat the living daylights out of that guy just by making eye contact with him. Where are you when I need you, Chuck? That would have been totally sweet.

*Note to self: enroll in The Norris School of Performing Combat.

Thursday, June 14, 2007

Things That Aren't Very Fun

#1. Waking up sick as a dog and realizing you've spent all your sick days for the year, and it's June.

#2. Wait, I'd like to talk more about #1. It's not really fair. I am sicker more often this year than I was last year, which may have something to do with moving from a city whose population is 1 million to a city of 12 million, but I digress. I want more sick days.

#3. Being on a diet when you're sick as a dog. Why does greasy, fried food make you less sick feeling?

#4. That's all. I can't type anymore, I'm that tired...

Friday, June 8, 2007

SnapKodakPhoto Entry

I always love looking at pictures. Do you to?

This is Becky and Eric's wedding on May 26th. Look how wonderful and happy they look! The day was beautiful and everything went as planned after I shot the mother of the bride for telling Becky, minutes before she walked down the isle, that the florist FORGOT THE NOSEGAYS ON THE PINK TABLES. Are you kidding me?

This is my future-sister-in-law, Heidi's bachelorette party. We had so much fun, even if the band at this bar was totally Debbie Downer. I'm sorry, did you say Depressing Mopey Ballad Night? I think we'll pass. I believe, in all honesty and modesty (can you do that? honesty and modesty?), we were by far the craziest people out that night in the whole entire state of Ohio, in all it's wonderful nightlife splendor.

And here we have the April Girl's Trip to NYC and apparently my sister decided this man wanted her to dance with him on the sidewalk in front of the karaoke bar at 2am. I let her have her fun because: A. she had five babies at one time, and B. she was extremely heartbroken to find out the karaoke bar was closed for renovations when we got there and she wouldn't be able to sing The Gambler to her heart's content. Luckily, we have wedding videos from relatives, friends, acquaintances, some strangers too, dating back years and years of her singing The Gambler for all of the guests as if she were paid entertainment and not That Girl who everybody talks about the next day. Congratulations New York, you have met That Girl.

She passed out about an hour later, nakey, in my bed while the rest of us were outside recanting our middle school and high school drama fests circa 1993-1999 (because yes, I still have the same friends I've had since KINDERGARTEN) until 5 o'clock in the freaking morning. Oh the good life.

Forgive My Careless Disregard for Blog Designing

Internet, I don't know how to post my posts in the order I want them to be read. Also, while we're talking about it, I don't want posts I'm working on for a long time to date back to the day I started them when I finally publish them three months later. Work on these improvements on your own, Internet, and when I log back in tomorrow make sure they're fixed. This is how I solve problems, highlight them and then wait for them to fix themselves. Amen.

In other news, my writing goes in blips and blurbs and then a massive 234-ton Daddy Long Legs Monster Truck arrives with the rest of my ideas. Enter Daddy Long Legs. DLL would first like to talk about Weight Watchers. I've been on it for oh about 3-4 weeks minus weekends. Because you can do that when you're planning your own diet, decide to subtract the three most unhealthy eating days of anyone's adult life out of every week to do with what you want. And I say to myself, Self, do you have any idea why this little diet of ours isn't working? And Self says, no! But isn't it frustrating?! Then Self and I go get a 12 pack and 14 boxes of Little Debbie snack cakes to tide us over before the pizzas arrive. But, just like my mom used to tell me at Christmas time, "It's better than nothin".

Miscellaneous news item 2: I was out till 4:30 am this morning. Good, scratch, Great times were experienced to their little hearts delight and I consider these times some of the best therapy money can buy. And! It wasn't even my money! I managed to go out in New York City without spending a dime, and by dime I mean I only spent about 40 bucks. And the night was complete with TONS of amazing Greek food, some alcohol, not-so-fantastic Diner food, some more alcohol, and some more alcohol. All for the insanely small price of quaranta dollari. Now that's cheap therapy.

Realization number 32 that I had last night: I have some of the most amazing friends in the world, I think. Friends who send you personalized Christmas cards EVERY YEAR with collages of pics of you and your friends on them. Friends who know you don't know a single soul in a new city and take you everywhere with them to help you feel at home. Friends who call you in January to schedule their vacation time around yours for the whole year. Friends who know without asking to get you VIP seats to Shakespeare in the Park, amazing not because they're VIP and free, well that is amazing, but not only because of that. Because they're just as dorky as you are and love nothing more than green grass and verbose, exaggerated drama (is there any other kind?). And even friends who tell you you're smoking crack when you tell them you're dieting. Those are some great people, people. So I count myself insanely blessed and lucky to have all of these people in my life. Yeah Friends*!

*Also they come in handy when you're broke.

Hi-Ho Silver

Alright, here's the skinny in a New York minute.
(Stanza 1):
Blogged some more.
Didn't tell anyone about the blog.
Husband reads the blog, says it's funny.
Still don't tell anyone about the blog.
Stop blogging. (Because if the husband's the only one reading it, I might as well talk to him on the phone.)

(Stanza 2):
That's right now! And I'm blogging, see?