Somebody is going to lose an eye tonight.
My brother convinced my father to buy a multitude of fireworks. Self-launch rockets, streakers, sputtering flashers. Pretty much anything that will ensure bodily harm in some form or fashion.
I don't believe that my really crappy health insurance has coverage out here.
Yay for legal fireworks!!
For the bevy of friends in Vermont getting drunk and skiing together, hopefully not the former previous to performing the latter, I hate you and I hope you're having an awesome time.
May everyone's 2005 be an amazing year.
Friday, December 31, 2004
Thursday, December 30, 2004
Quite the Conundrum and I'm Going to Hell
Okay, so here's the deal. I was talking to my step-mom upon the first few days of arrival and we were discussing politics and the differences in the US and German system and for some reason my step-mother began discussing how Germany has had a recent influx of laws affecting the handicapped. Essentially, how we have had a multitude of laws in the US such as necessary handicap access to buildings, blah blah blah. So essentially she started then complaining how all the spots on the street were now designated as handicap parking. And clearly how annoying that was. To allow handicaps closer access. Yeah. I found that somewhat funny. Also that she was mentioning, slash potentially complaining again, how previously people who were in wheelchairs or crutches wouldn't really leave the house and now they are just ALL over the streets. Hee. Then, the greatest story. She was talking about how all these newbie roadsters were just taking over the streets. Supposedly there is this older woman who rides her wheelchair all over the sidewalks and in the streets and she was complaining about how it was difficult not to hit her. And then there was this dude who was driving his wheelchair on the highway, and these truck drivers pulled over and stopped him. I was fucking laughing at the ridiculousness of the story. I mean, this guy driving along the freeway where there aren't any speed limits with his little automatic wheelchair. Fucking awesome.
Okay, so the greatest part was the fact that as I was at the Christmas Market, where seriously there were hundreds of people and the aisles were packed, and my arm was jostled many a time whilst drinking my Glühwein, I had indeed noticed that there was a person in a wheelchair. This struck me as odd, more so because it was a fancy pants wheelchair and I was wondering how they were getting around in the crowd and on the cobblestone streets.
Suddenly, it became one of those things where as soon as someone points something out to you, you keep on seeing it, or having it happen though you know it happened before. Now I kept on noticing the handicapped people. And they travel in packs here in Germany. When I was at the market a few days later I saw a multitude of people in wheelchairs. At one point I saw three across, forming a wall in one of the aisles. It was two people in wheelchairs, and a person on crutches. It was like the jackpot of handicaps. And another later on with a fancy automatic one.
Then, I think I ran into the woman my step-mother was talking about with my brother. It was dark, quelle fucking suprise it gets dark at 3:30, and I was crossing the cross walk with my brother and this woman just barrels right through the middle. I had to throw him to the side to be saved. She needed a license just to drive that bad boy!
Disclaimer: Yes. I'm going straight to hell. I know. And no offense was meant to anyone.
My conundrum is this. I've fallen in even deeper love with another cheesy techno song. I mean it's fucking awesome. I have no idea what the song is about as it's sung by this Romanian group, but I do know from the video that at least one of them is gay. The main singer's mannerisms do remind me of my friend the man slore from college so it's a little weird. It's awesome though. The group is called O-Zone and the song is "Dragostea Din Tei," and I mean seriously, what the fuck does that mean? It doesn't matter because I can sing along. I could be busting out about how awesome it is to be a gay man for as much as I can fucking tell. It's awesome.
I decided to be a thorough, well researched shopper today as the spree began slash continued, and as I couldn't find the full album for O-Zone, I did find a few compilation CDs with the hits of the past year, and I happened upon the Kylie album. Which just so happens to be a double CD with remixes of her past hits, of the two years since she's become big that is. And the new songs. And I checked Amazon as it was 17 Euros in the store. It's limited edition and import. Can't decide what to do there. I listened to the compilation cd which is 20 Euros with 40 songs, with of course my Romanian group, and my gay workout boy song, and some other fun songs. No Kylie though. I don't think I have enough to buy both with everything else that I am buying. Though an iPod is not in that buying. I heard a rumour fucking Charlie got the U2 iPod and the songs for Christmas. Fucking Charlie might now have to be his moniker. I deserve an iPod as that would begin a whole other rant and so good-night.
Again, I know I'm going to hell and a bad person. What should I do about the CDs though?
Okay, so the greatest part was the fact that as I was at the Christmas Market, where seriously there were hundreds of people and the aisles were packed, and my arm was jostled many a time whilst drinking my Glühwein, I had indeed noticed that there was a person in a wheelchair. This struck me as odd, more so because it was a fancy pants wheelchair and I was wondering how they were getting around in the crowd and on the cobblestone streets.
Suddenly, it became one of those things where as soon as someone points something out to you, you keep on seeing it, or having it happen though you know it happened before. Now I kept on noticing the handicapped people. And they travel in packs here in Germany. When I was at the market a few days later I saw a multitude of people in wheelchairs. At one point I saw three across, forming a wall in one of the aisles. It was two people in wheelchairs, and a person on crutches. It was like the jackpot of handicaps. And another later on with a fancy automatic one.
Then, I think I ran into the woman my step-mother was talking about with my brother. It was dark, quelle fucking suprise it gets dark at 3:30, and I was crossing the cross walk with my brother and this woman just barrels right through the middle. I had to throw him to the side to be saved. She needed a license just to drive that bad boy!
Disclaimer: Yes. I'm going straight to hell. I know. And no offense was meant to anyone.
My conundrum is this. I've fallen in even deeper love with another cheesy techno song. I mean it's fucking awesome. I have no idea what the song is about as it's sung by this Romanian group, but I do know from the video that at least one of them is gay. The main singer's mannerisms do remind me of my friend the man slore from college so it's a little weird. It's awesome though. The group is called O-Zone and the song is "Dragostea Din Tei," and I mean seriously, what the fuck does that mean? It doesn't matter because I can sing along. I could be busting out about how awesome it is to be a gay man for as much as I can fucking tell. It's awesome.
I decided to be a thorough, well researched shopper today as the spree began slash continued, and as I couldn't find the full album for O-Zone, I did find a few compilation CDs with the hits of the past year, and I happened upon the Kylie album. Which just so happens to be a double CD with remixes of her past hits, of the two years since she's become big that is. And the new songs. And I checked Amazon as it was 17 Euros in the store. It's limited edition and import. Can't decide what to do there. I listened to the compilation cd which is 20 Euros with 40 songs, with of course my Romanian group, and my gay workout boy song, and some other fun songs. No Kylie though. I don't think I have enough to buy both with everything else that I am buying. Though an iPod is not in that buying. I heard a rumour fucking Charlie got the U2 iPod and the songs for Christmas. Fucking Charlie might now have to be his moniker. I deserve an iPod as that would begin a whole other rant and so good-night.
Again, I know I'm going to hell and a bad person. What should I do about the CDs though?
Tuesday, December 28, 2004
Too Many Sweets, Attempt 2
Okay, I began writing a post about the Christmas season, and how essentially it was a season designed to test the family bonds, and really, to see how long it takes for family members not to kill each other. The previous blog definitely had better wording. The reason why I had to abort the post? Family members busting in, and you don't really want them reading about you complaining about family. And my sister, sharing a room with me, complaining about how loud I'm typing. I digress. The testing of these bonds is even more trying in Germany where every day is a fucking holiday and so shops and stores are closed, keeping you in the confines of your home. Everyone becomes a claustorphobic. It becomes even more trying when I'm positive that each of my family members, except for my step-mom, so essentially my blood line, suffer from narcissitic personality disorder. Except me, of course. Though, I think this blog is rather narcisstic, so. You decide. But I do believe my family members could be diagnosed. And perhaps treated. This is my beginning random rant. It's been too long. Why are the holidays so many? Why are the shops always closed? Today was the first day in freedom since noon on Friday. Which I guess wouldn't be that long for nice, normal, empathetic people.
On to my original post. There are way, way, too many different Christmas sweets that are just superfulous to the normal sweets available in Germany. I mean ther are special cakes, cookies, well in terms of dessert that is about it, but there are of course other types of food. The worst part is that these desserts are addictive.
The biggest offender, and most addictive are these Dresdner Domino Steiner. I mean they are these small pockets of heaven. They are these small squares with three layers. The bottom layer is the Christmas cookie of lebkuchen, the second layer is this fruit jelly which I have no fucking clue what it is, and the top layer is marzipan. And then it is covered in choclate. The total size is about a centimeter and a half cubed. I mean seriously, they are addictive. I look forward to them every holiday season. I mean I can't even describe how good they are.
The problem? You can eat an entire packet at once. There has never been an incidence of eating just one. The only time? If there is one left. My sister and I have been plowing through packets. Actually typing about it right now is making me a little ill.
The other reason I'm feeling a little sick? We stocked up on gummis today while shopping because we didn't have any over the weekend. So I think that we had about two, one-pound bags. I'm still ill thinking about it. Essentially between my sister, brother and I. Well my dad had some too, but I believe his eating was negligble.
I can fucking feel the sugar coursing through my veins. I don't know if it actually is blood anymore. I think it's all sucrose. I'm suprised I'm not going through insulin shock yet. It's as if I'm trying my own self-medication of schizophrenia or something.
And seriously? There's nothing else to do when the stores are closed than to eat your way through the apartment, dodging family members as often as you can. Because seriously? They talk over each other becuase they like to hear themselves speak. Someone is going to be drowning in their own reflection this holiday.
Update: I fucking love the cheesy workout song. "Call on Me," or something similar. It fucking rocks. Still watching music channels to try and find the new Kylie video. Someone in programming must have been listening because yesterday or the day before, because it all blurs together, there was an uninterrupted live Kylie concert on. I turned it on while she was singing "Can't Get You Outta My Head," and I was again like, I know! And then I remembered with the next song that "Slow" is a fucking hot song.
Dear Germany,
Please place a limit on the amount of sugar a person can buy at one time. It will benefit the sanity of many.
Thanks,
Karen
On to my original post. There are way, way, too many different Christmas sweets that are just superfulous to the normal sweets available in Germany. I mean ther are special cakes, cookies, well in terms of dessert that is about it, but there are of course other types of food. The worst part is that these desserts are addictive.
The biggest offender, and most addictive are these Dresdner Domino Steiner. I mean they are these small pockets of heaven. They are these small squares with three layers. The bottom layer is the Christmas cookie of lebkuchen, the second layer is this fruit jelly which I have no fucking clue what it is, and the top layer is marzipan. And then it is covered in choclate. The total size is about a centimeter and a half cubed. I mean seriously, they are addictive. I look forward to them every holiday season. I mean I can't even describe how good they are.
The problem? You can eat an entire packet at once. There has never been an incidence of eating just one. The only time? If there is one left. My sister and I have been plowing through packets. Actually typing about it right now is making me a little ill.
The other reason I'm feeling a little sick? We stocked up on gummis today while shopping because we didn't have any over the weekend. So I think that we had about two, one-pound bags. I'm still ill thinking about it. Essentially between my sister, brother and I. Well my dad had some too, but I believe his eating was negligble.
I can fucking feel the sugar coursing through my veins. I don't know if it actually is blood anymore. I think it's all sucrose. I'm suprised I'm not going through insulin shock yet. It's as if I'm trying my own self-medication of schizophrenia or something.
And seriously? There's nothing else to do when the stores are closed than to eat your way through the apartment, dodging family members as often as you can. Because seriously? They talk over each other becuase they like to hear themselves speak. Someone is going to be drowning in their own reflection this holiday.
Update: I fucking love the cheesy workout song. "Call on Me," or something similar. It fucking rocks. Still watching music channels to try and find the new Kylie video. Someone in programming must have been listening because yesterday or the day before, because it all blurs together, there was an uninterrupted live Kylie concert on. I turned it on while she was singing "Can't Get You Outta My Head," and I was again like, I know! And then I remembered with the next song that "Slow" is a fucking hot song.
Dear Germany,
Please place a limit on the amount of sugar a person can buy at one time. It will benefit the sanity of many.
Thanks,
Karen
Tuesday, December 21, 2004
I'm Kylie Minogue's Bitch
I know. No. I know. It's bad, and embarassing, and really just should never be muttered, uttered, shouted and clearly not posted on the internet. But dammit, it's true.
Ever since she came out again with the catchy title, "Can't Get You Outta My Head," I become hooked on her singles. Every single slowly seeps into my consciousness until it's lodged and wil never be removed until I listen to it again. And pretty much the same cycle over again. Have I paid for a single yet? Thank god, no. I love them, but have usually found other people that have bought her music and had them burn it for me, or I record it onto my minidisc from the radio. And it usually happens when I come home to Germany for break because her videos are playing non-stop.
My latest love affair took one watching of the video. No. I know. The song, "I Believe in You," is awesome. Clearly fucking cheesy and I'm sure her vocals have been worked with, but the beat is catchy, and really, what is better than cheesy-lite techno?
The problem? Now I am almost thinking of subcumming to the pressure and actually buying the single. Or maybe the CD? I need to see if iTunes carries it.
I also want to say that in no other country can a man be dressed as a gay man in a video and still be seen as hitting on a woman. There is this awful video circulating rather regularly with the guy dressed in totally short running shorts from the '80s and legwarmers...LEGWARMERS people and dancing along with the aerobics class, don't ask, and as I said dancing with gay hip thrusts and whatnot to the song and presumably flirting with the teacher. It's awesome. The legwarmers that is. I had to check twice to make sure he was wearing them. Europeans fucking rock.
Now that I've admitted my dark Kylie love, and shut up you people trying getting her song out of your head, I feel free to actually purchase said music.
Ever since she came out again with the catchy title, "Can't Get You Outta My Head," I become hooked on her singles. Every single slowly seeps into my consciousness until it's lodged and wil never be removed until I listen to it again. And pretty much the same cycle over again. Have I paid for a single yet? Thank god, no. I love them, but have usually found other people that have bought her music and had them burn it for me, or I record it onto my minidisc from the radio. And it usually happens when I come home to Germany for break because her videos are playing non-stop.
My latest love affair took one watching of the video. No. I know. The song, "I Believe in You," is awesome. Clearly fucking cheesy and I'm sure her vocals have been worked with, but the beat is catchy, and really, what is better than cheesy-lite techno?
The problem? Now I am almost thinking of subcumming to the pressure and actually buying the single. Or maybe the CD? I need to see if iTunes carries it.
I also want to say that in no other country can a man be dressed as a gay man in a video and still be seen as hitting on a woman. There is this awful video circulating rather regularly with the guy dressed in totally short running shorts from the '80s and legwarmers...LEGWARMERS people and dancing along with the aerobics class, don't ask, and as I said dancing with gay hip thrusts and whatnot to the song and presumably flirting with the teacher. It's awesome. The legwarmers that is. I had to check twice to make sure he was wearing them. Europeans fucking rock.
Now that I've admitted my dark Kylie love, and shut up you people trying getting her song out of your head, I feel free to actually purchase said music.
Monday, December 20, 2004
Holiday Cheer Just Doesn't Translate to Flying
Jet Lag sucks. Due to the fact that it's 5:30 or so in the morning and I've been trying to fall back asleep for over an hour I decided to do something, and post about my trip and pretty much this is a warning that this might be the longest blog post in history. For me.
Essentially, my trip started Friday, and I decided to finally heed fucking Super Shuttle's time advice, even though it always gets you there wicked early and serious time to kill. Like who wants to do that in an airport which must have a tax that makes everything $5 more expensive than it should be? I digress, so despite the fact that my flight was a little past 7, those Super people wanted me to be picked up at 3;25 which I decided to edit to 3:50 and they give you that blah, blah your own risk lecture. I hung up the phone and became paranoid because of normal Friday traffic coupled with the fact that the airport could be crowded so I decide on a pick-up at 3;35. Which I am seriously glad for now. I was the first, and seriously I should sue Super Shuttle because no one else was ready, with one person giving the dude lip on the phone for being there so early, and it's like Shut It, Woman because it's the holiday season and there are obviously people in the van waiting for you, but overall means that they totally put me on the fucking wrong bus. I mean we first went to go pick someone up, waited 10 minutes then left without her, went to the next and waited and she actually came out, and it was pretty much rinse and repeat after that 3 more times, and then we circled to go pick up the girl who we left, and she was then standing on the curb. She was seriously pissed, as would I have been because she probably got that message about coming down and it must have been 45 minutes later. I was in that van for over an hour picking people up. Pissed was I. I should probably mention at this point that my tolerance was a little low due to the massive birthday celebration hang-over I was suffering from. Couldn't make it out of bed before 11 but that's a different story.
The airport, she was a clusterfuck. I couldn't do self check-in as my final destination was international and so luckily the line was relatively short which I'm thankful for now. As I was waiting, there were a gaggle of people suddenly behind me, and for some reason the line just was not moving. I don't know if people were incompetent or what. I mean I'm used to the international lines moving more slowly, but these lines just weren't moving. Clearly due to this, I could begin to hear noises of annoyance from the couple with a young baby behind me. I hate it when people are huffing and puffing at this point. I know that if it's close enough to your flight time that they will push you forward, or beg motherfuckers. I digress though. So as we're closer to the front the agent pushes this kid in and finally they are louder and start complaining to the couple behind them like they have the sob story of the century. She's all, we're going to Norway, I haven't been home in 2 years, and neither have her blah blah husband and baby, and this kid is getting in line, and no one is helping them, so fucking as for it bitch, and going on and on, and they had to travel the Jersey Turnpike and traffic blah. I wanted to be like, dude, if it's been 2 years and the Turnpike is known to a paved waiting line to hell, then you should have fucking left earlier! Or ask for help!! Sigh.
I enter the security line, and I believe that it may have been at this point where I realized that no one was really in the holiday spirit in traveling. Every one is talking about how they are about to miss their flight and jostling their way to the front. Which you know at this point, I understand, because the weekend before after a series of unfortunate events I was running late and I was hustling and pushing people over and asking to be let in front of line, well okay, only once and it was this slow girl who was very nice and let me in, so take that Shavonda from the Real World, and so I have time and I let people through. And I understand because Dulles is a serious motherfucking clusterfuck that is ridiculous to get through. Architect? Should be shot. So the next guy I let through is freaking out about his flight and is a fucking dumbass because he doesn't keep his boarding ticket out and he's holding the line up trying to find it. So then this dude behind me is like you need to go otherwise this person is going to miss his plane and just put your stuff through, which I did. I hope that guy found his flight.
So I'm waiting for my flight, paying too much money at the ATM for cash I didn't have time before to pick up, thinking about buying the Washington Nationals gear in the giftshop and selling it for a bonus on eBay, which is clearly too organized for me, and generally lounging. When I realize that my dinky plane to New York is carrying at least two European couples. Like who is their travel agent who can't get them a fucking direct flight or at least not farther away that the first? Fire them. So the British chick is talking to the dude who obviously wants to buy something while they wait and so she gets their cash out, and like I know these aren't the streets but maybe you shouldn't be waving your wad of cash in your baggie. Seriously filled with crisp 50s and 20s. Seriously thick wad. They are so going to get fucking robbed in New York. And then I notice there is a sugar daddy couple behind me. He's all so you want to see the tree all lit up, and what else, and something about windows being lit up, which I have no idea what she wants to see, but he's way too old for her. It's at this point that Aloof Co-Worker walks up and is all, where you going. Turns out he missed his flight to Boston and had to wait another two hours. Ha!
I'm also making deals with myself in my head at this point because I'm worried about my connections. Like I'll be happy if I can just get onto my flight in New York, it will be okay if I miss my connector, then like well if I do catch my connector I won't be upset if my bags don't make that connection either. So essentially I worried about this entire trip. Plus, who the fuck actually likes to fly?
So we get on our dinky plane with propellors, which, not really that awesome. I hate these types of planes. Always make me feel less safe but at least had two seats on each side and the one I had to fly to college only fit one person on each side. That was a tiny fucking plane, which I swear I once heard honking at an incoming plane. I digress. So this dude is talking in the aisle about how small it is and I wanted to be all, shut it, this ain't nothing. Clearly kept my trap shut. So then began the beggining of terrible co-seaters.
Now there are a few things. I have flown quite a bit for quite a few years and pretty much have never been stuck next to a hot, chatty guy. I once had a cute guy who said a few words but then his reading on the plane was a Bible. I shit you not. Which? No. So I am always hoping for that hotty who my friends always sit next to, or not next to the huge guy who snores and sleeps on you, which, I've been there.
So this guy is in the aisle and in this totally unecessary tone is "Excuse Me" motioning with his head to the seat next to mine. Now he's sort of cute but I can already tell and asshole. Plus, seriously, bland dresser. So he sits down next to me and already stars sighing. Like, back off motherfucker. So this entire flight he does this fidgeting and sighing, and groaning and then he does the most annoying thing ever. He starts unclasping his table and letting it drop and putting it back up. I mean not only is that annoying to me, but that must be annoying to the person whose chair it is as it's just free falling. Fucker. So then we land and he's still doing that and sighing and fidgeting. Like seriously, yes we had to wait on the runway which was giving me a coronary, and then we were taxing in NY for what felt like we were actually driving to New Yor, but you made your flight and it's pretty puntual. So, step off! I did sit across the teensy aisle from the sugar daddy people and he was actually charming in his own rogueish way. I've decided that there are two military types in terms of relationships, the major fucking assholes who are that way because whatever training they are given pretty much assures it, or the charming ones who are pretty decent and respectful, if not potentially conservative. So I could see why she liked this gregarious man who decided to chit-chat with me. Plus you could see in his earlier days he was probably really handsome and he still had a military body.
JFK Airport? Even more of a clusterfuck. Seriously awful. I studied environmental pszchology in college and we discussed signage and JFK would fail. Horribly. I had never been there and so I didn't realize that you had to leave the terminal and security of the terminal because it there were no SIGNS. No signs saying what airline was in what terminal. So I was trying to find my flight on the floor and essentially circling and freaking out because I'm running later for my international connection. And so I finally decide to go to the British Airways first class lounge where I ask the receptionists for help, and are both total Long Island girls and totally awesome and helpful. Thank you women, and fuck you JFK. So then I have to take the train from 7 to 1 and go through security again, like main security which luckily wasn't that crowded. Unfortunately though they decided they had to look through my bag because my perfume looked like a weapon. I know. But the guy was all loping and smiling and I'm like if you have to keep on putting it through, I'm sort of in a rush. And he was acting as if there wasn't a rush in the world and that is was weird that I seemed rushed. Plus. He was smug. Asshole. So I ran to my flight where it was delayed. And of course then I worry about my second connection.
And now my rant about international planes. As we finally begin boarding an entire small country on the plane, couldn't they make seats bigger in economy? I mean the seats are so close together, I had more leg room on my local flights, and the seats are bigger too. It seriously, seriously pisses me off. Plus it's so fucking uncomfortable, and you're still paying loads of money for these flights. So as I'm waiting in that, who the hell knows what the little loader aisle thing is called to the plane, this woman carrying a Louis Vuitton bag that should have been checked it was so massive was complaining about having to travel economy. And woe is her and her family that they had a flight in first class last night but something was wrong at LaGuardia and seriously I hate you woman. She kept on calling it a wooden box to her kids and is complaining. Shut IT, rich lady. I hate you and your pretentious ways.
So then I get to my seat where someone is already making themselves comfortable. I'm like, you're in my seat, thinking if they double-booked us someone is going to get killed and I'm not getting of this plane, and she gets up to show me after looking in her stuff that she is 36G and it's actually 34G and at that moment I wanted to cry because hers was such a better seat. It was the first row to the wall so no one's head with their fucking dandruff and bad smell is in your lap and you can hike your feet up against the wall and get comfortable. Most importantly though, there was no screaming child next to her.
The most dreaded of all co-passengers. Small, crying babies. In the same way there are those you need to be this tall to be a passenger on this ride, there should be the you should be this old to be on the plane. I fucking hate babies on the flight. And unfortunately this one was probably a year old, so more mobile and more vocal. The name Elena is fucking ruined for me. I mean it can't be a good sign when the baby is crying before you even squeeze yourself into your seat. And I overhear that it's her first flight. So we're taking off and the stewardess is like you need to strap her in and the mom's like she's too small and so Elena is in her mom's lap squealing. And fucking struggling. Kicking me in the process. Knocking me. Which, you know, whatever as long as she just shuts her trap. So after awhile she gets a bit better, but she's finicky and not afraid to be really vocal about it. So she falls asleep and everyone else is trying to fall asleep after they serve dinner. Which, my other rant is, why do they serve you a drink, with a snack that are essentially really small and then serve dinner right afterwards where you're thirsty obviously again with the awful plane food. And when you're two-thirds done they come by with another dinky cup. But when they were doing the first round I was tempted to get alcohol because it was free but then was like, dude my liver is still processing liquor from last night. So people, I'm officially not an alcoholic I say. But the mom doesn't take the cashews, but she will take the Gin and Tonic thank you very much. Awesome. Liquored up mom with bratty child. And she doesn't have dinner either but she didn't order more alcohol.
It's pretty much been a problem my entire life that I can't sleep on planes. I just can never find a position to suit me. Even when I used to travel with my sister all the time, she wanted to do the whole rest on me and I'll rest on you thing which I couldn't do and I would always have to bump her head off my shoulder. I know, I'm a bitch, but I couldn't stand it in such closed spaces. Plus, it's my sister. And so I forgot my little neck pillow but was starting to sort of sleep through Around the World in 80 Days, Fuck You Lufthansa and your crappy programming, and here was the miracle of sleep when the fucking child is doing something and her mother is trying to restrain her and she fucking knocks me hard with her head and wakes me up, and I can't fall asleep again. Fuck you Elena, and fuck your mom too. For some reason I swear they are making their planes smaller. When I was walking/running through Frankfurt to catch my connection my muscles were so very sore in my knees. This had never happened before.
I was feeling gross, because seriously hours later, but I did make my connection and suddenly I was like my bags BETTER fucking be there rather than just joyful I made all my connections. And the plane had more leg room. I was so annoyed. Needed it sooner assholes. But at least the middle seat was free for the last hour and so leg, and I was able to get home safely. It seems an hour and 20 minutes really is all you need to make a connection.
Now, Jet Lag. I hate it. I'm going to be so grumpy later today.
Essentially, my trip started Friday, and I decided to finally heed fucking Super Shuttle's time advice, even though it always gets you there wicked early and serious time to kill. Like who wants to do that in an airport which must have a tax that makes everything $5 more expensive than it should be? I digress, so despite the fact that my flight was a little past 7, those Super people wanted me to be picked up at 3;25 which I decided to edit to 3:50 and they give you that blah, blah your own risk lecture. I hung up the phone and became paranoid because of normal Friday traffic coupled with the fact that the airport could be crowded so I decide on a pick-up at 3;35. Which I am seriously glad for now. I was the first, and seriously I should sue Super Shuttle because no one else was ready, with one person giving the dude lip on the phone for being there so early, and it's like Shut It, Woman because it's the holiday season and there are obviously people in the van waiting for you, but overall means that they totally put me on the fucking wrong bus. I mean we first went to go pick someone up, waited 10 minutes then left without her, went to the next and waited and she actually came out, and it was pretty much rinse and repeat after that 3 more times, and then we circled to go pick up the girl who we left, and she was then standing on the curb. She was seriously pissed, as would I have been because she probably got that message about coming down and it must have been 45 minutes later. I was in that van for over an hour picking people up. Pissed was I. I should probably mention at this point that my tolerance was a little low due to the massive birthday celebration hang-over I was suffering from. Couldn't make it out of bed before 11 but that's a different story.
The airport, she was a clusterfuck. I couldn't do self check-in as my final destination was international and so luckily the line was relatively short which I'm thankful for now. As I was waiting, there were a gaggle of people suddenly behind me, and for some reason the line just was not moving. I don't know if people were incompetent or what. I mean I'm used to the international lines moving more slowly, but these lines just weren't moving. Clearly due to this, I could begin to hear noises of annoyance from the couple with a young baby behind me. I hate it when people are huffing and puffing at this point. I know that if it's close enough to your flight time that they will push you forward, or beg motherfuckers. I digress though. So as we're closer to the front the agent pushes this kid in and finally they are louder and start complaining to the couple behind them like they have the sob story of the century. She's all, we're going to Norway, I haven't been home in 2 years, and neither have her blah blah husband and baby, and this kid is getting in line, and no one is helping them, so fucking as for it bitch, and going on and on, and they had to travel the Jersey Turnpike and traffic blah. I wanted to be like, dude, if it's been 2 years and the Turnpike is known to a paved waiting line to hell, then you should have fucking left earlier! Or ask for help!! Sigh.
I enter the security line, and I believe that it may have been at this point where I realized that no one was really in the holiday spirit in traveling. Every one is talking about how they are about to miss their flight and jostling their way to the front. Which you know at this point, I understand, because the weekend before after a series of unfortunate events I was running late and I was hustling and pushing people over and asking to be let in front of line, well okay, only once and it was this slow girl who was very nice and let me in, so take that Shavonda from the Real World, and so I have time and I let people through. And I understand because Dulles is a serious motherfucking clusterfuck that is ridiculous to get through. Architect? Should be shot. So the next guy I let through is freaking out about his flight and is a fucking dumbass because he doesn't keep his boarding ticket out and he's holding the line up trying to find it. So then this dude behind me is like you need to go otherwise this person is going to miss his plane and just put your stuff through, which I did. I hope that guy found his flight.
So I'm waiting for my flight, paying too much money at the ATM for cash I didn't have time before to pick up, thinking about buying the Washington Nationals gear in the giftshop and selling it for a bonus on eBay, which is clearly too organized for me, and generally lounging. When I realize that my dinky plane to New York is carrying at least two European couples. Like who is their travel agent who can't get them a fucking direct flight or at least not farther away that the first? Fire them. So the British chick is talking to the dude who obviously wants to buy something while they wait and so she gets their cash out, and like I know these aren't the streets but maybe you shouldn't be waving your wad of cash in your baggie. Seriously filled with crisp 50s and 20s. Seriously thick wad. They are so going to get fucking robbed in New York. And then I notice there is a sugar daddy couple behind me. He's all so you want to see the tree all lit up, and what else, and something about windows being lit up, which I have no idea what she wants to see, but he's way too old for her. It's at this point that Aloof Co-Worker walks up and is all, where you going. Turns out he missed his flight to Boston and had to wait another two hours. Ha!
I'm also making deals with myself in my head at this point because I'm worried about my connections. Like I'll be happy if I can just get onto my flight in New York, it will be okay if I miss my connector, then like well if I do catch my connector I won't be upset if my bags don't make that connection either. So essentially I worried about this entire trip. Plus, who the fuck actually likes to fly?
So we get on our dinky plane with propellors, which, not really that awesome. I hate these types of planes. Always make me feel less safe but at least had two seats on each side and the one I had to fly to college only fit one person on each side. That was a tiny fucking plane, which I swear I once heard honking at an incoming plane. I digress. So this dude is talking in the aisle about how small it is and I wanted to be all, shut it, this ain't nothing. Clearly kept my trap shut. So then began the beggining of terrible co-seaters.
Now there are a few things. I have flown quite a bit for quite a few years and pretty much have never been stuck next to a hot, chatty guy. I once had a cute guy who said a few words but then his reading on the plane was a Bible. I shit you not. Which? No. So I am always hoping for that hotty who my friends always sit next to, or not next to the huge guy who snores and sleeps on you, which, I've been there.
So this guy is in the aisle and in this totally unecessary tone is "Excuse Me" motioning with his head to the seat next to mine. Now he's sort of cute but I can already tell and asshole. Plus, seriously, bland dresser. So he sits down next to me and already stars sighing. Like, back off motherfucker. So this entire flight he does this fidgeting and sighing, and groaning and then he does the most annoying thing ever. He starts unclasping his table and letting it drop and putting it back up. I mean not only is that annoying to me, but that must be annoying to the person whose chair it is as it's just free falling. Fucker. So then we land and he's still doing that and sighing and fidgeting. Like seriously, yes we had to wait on the runway which was giving me a coronary, and then we were taxing in NY for what felt like we were actually driving to New Yor, but you made your flight and it's pretty puntual. So, step off! I did sit across the teensy aisle from the sugar daddy people and he was actually charming in his own rogueish way. I've decided that there are two military types in terms of relationships, the major fucking assholes who are that way because whatever training they are given pretty much assures it, or the charming ones who are pretty decent and respectful, if not potentially conservative. So I could see why she liked this gregarious man who decided to chit-chat with me. Plus you could see in his earlier days he was probably really handsome and he still had a military body.
JFK Airport? Even more of a clusterfuck. Seriously awful. I studied environmental pszchology in college and we discussed signage and JFK would fail. Horribly. I had never been there and so I didn't realize that you had to leave the terminal and security of the terminal because it there were no SIGNS. No signs saying what airline was in what terminal. So I was trying to find my flight on the floor and essentially circling and freaking out because I'm running later for my international connection. And so I finally decide to go to the British Airways first class lounge where I ask the receptionists for help, and are both total Long Island girls and totally awesome and helpful. Thank you women, and fuck you JFK. So then I have to take the train from 7 to 1 and go through security again, like main security which luckily wasn't that crowded. Unfortunately though they decided they had to look through my bag because my perfume looked like a weapon. I know. But the guy was all loping and smiling and I'm like if you have to keep on putting it through, I'm sort of in a rush. And he was acting as if there wasn't a rush in the world and that is was weird that I seemed rushed. Plus. He was smug. Asshole. So I ran to my flight where it was delayed. And of course then I worry about my second connection.
And now my rant about international planes. As we finally begin boarding an entire small country on the plane, couldn't they make seats bigger in economy? I mean the seats are so close together, I had more leg room on my local flights, and the seats are bigger too. It seriously, seriously pisses me off. Plus it's so fucking uncomfortable, and you're still paying loads of money for these flights. So as I'm waiting in that, who the hell knows what the little loader aisle thing is called to the plane, this woman carrying a Louis Vuitton bag that should have been checked it was so massive was complaining about having to travel economy. And woe is her and her family that they had a flight in first class last night but something was wrong at LaGuardia and seriously I hate you woman. She kept on calling it a wooden box to her kids and is complaining. Shut IT, rich lady. I hate you and your pretentious ways.
So then I get to my seat where someone is already making themselves comfortable. I'm like, you're in my seat, thinking if they double-booked us someone is going to get killed and I'm not getting of this plane, and she gets up to show me after looking in her stuff that she is 36G and it's actually 34G and at that moment I wanted to cry because hers was such a better seat. It was the first row to the wall so no one's head with their fucking dandruff and bad smell is in your lap and you can hike your feet up against the wall and get comfortable. Most importantly though, there was no screaming child next to her.
The most dreaded of all co-passengers. Small, crying babies. In the same way there are those you need to be this tall to be a passenger on this ride, there should be the you should be this old to be on the plane. I fucking hate babies on the flight. And unfortunately this one was probably a year old, so more mobile and more vocal. The name Elena is fucking ruined for me. I mean it can't be a good sign when the baby is crying before you even squeeze yourself into your seat. And I overhear that it's her first flight. So we're taking off and the stewardess is like you need to strap her in and the mom's like she's too small and so Elena is in her mom's lap squealing. And fucking struggling. Kicking me in the process. Knocking me. Which, you know, whatever as long as she just shuts her trap. So after awhile she gets a bit better, but she's finicky and not afraid to be really vocal about it. So she falls asleep and everyone else is trying to fall asleep after they serve dinner. Which, my other rant is, why do they serve you a drink, with a snack that are essentially really small and then serve dinner right afterwards where you're thirsty obviously again with the awful plane food. And when you're two-thirds done they come by with another dinky cup. But when they were doing the first round I was tempted to get alcohol because it was free but then was like, dude my liver is still processing liquor from last night. So people, I'm officially not an alcoholic I say. But the mom doesn't take the cashews, but she will take the Gin and Tonic thank you very much. Awesome. Liquored up mom with bratty child. And she doesn't have dinner either but she didn't order more alcohol.
It's pretty much been a problem my entire life that I can't sleep on planes. I just can never find a position to suit me. Even when I used to travel with my sister all the time, she wanted to do the whole rest on me and I'll rest on you thing which I couldn't do and I would always have to bump her head off my shoulder. I know, I'm a bitch, but I couldn't stand it in such closed spaces. Plus, it's my sister. And so I forgot my little neck pillow but was starting to sort of sleep through Around the World in 80 Days, Fuck You Lufthansa and your crappy programming, and here was the miracle of sleep when the fucking child is doing something and her mother is trying to restrain her and she fucking knocks me hard with her head and wakes me up, and I can't fall asleep again. Fuck you Elena, and fuck your mom too. For some reason I swear they are making their planes smaller. When I was walking/running through Frankfurt to catch my connection my muscles were so very sore in my knees. This had never happened before.
I was feeling gross, because seriously hours later, but I did make my connection and suddenly I was like my bags BETTER fucking be there rather than just joyful I made all my connections. And the plane had more leg room. I was so annoyed. Needed it sooner assholes. But at least the middle seat was free for the last hour and so leg, and I was able to get home safely. It seems an hour and 20 minutes really is all you need to make a connection.
Now, Jet Lag. I hate it. I'm going to be so grumpy later today.
Sunday, December 19, 2004
Heat Maintenance
Heat is included in my utilities in my apartment, and so I seem to forget that luxury, not that I use it much, until I come home to visit.
The apartment becomes freezing at night, and there is nothing I can do about it. I'm sitting here at the computer with my sweatshirt hoodie on, and the hood up to trap all heat leaving my body. I mean seriously people. It's fucking freezing. Me saying that in of itself is somewhat of a miracle. The heat is activated by the cold outside, and the heaters can only be turned up to a certain level, which I promise you does not make the apartment hot.
The yuletide ritual of the fight over the heat has thus begun. My step-mother likes to keep it on 3. At night, I sleep next to the window, not much I can change there people, and am next to the heater. The problem is, even though I'm near the heater I'm still cold. So I turn the dial up to 5, the highest setting, and push my fabulous futon bed (I almost miss my twin bed from high school. Kind of sucks moving up and out. Clearly, I digress) against the heater which my step-mother HATES! It wrinkles the curtains. Seriously. No, seriously that is what pisses her off. I always play dumb the next day if I don't move it away in time, all 'Oh, how did that happen? I must have been tossing and turning?'
I can't tell if she's figured out, or if she realizes that there isn't really anything she can do about it.
High ceilings, many windows, and a weak heating system fucking suck people. I always seem to block it out until I visit. I need fucking longjohns just to hang around my apartment.
The apartment becomes freezing at night, and there is nothing I can do about it. I'm sitting here at the computer with my sweatshirt hoodie on, and the hood up to trap all heat leaving my body. I mean seriously people. It's fucking freezing. Me saying that in of itself is somewhat of a miracle. The heat is activated by the cold outside, and the heaters can only be turned up to a certain level, which I promise you does not make the apartment hot.
The yuletide ritual of the fight over the heat has thus begun. My step-mother likes to keep it on 3. At night, I sleep next to the window, not much I can change there people, and am next to the heater. The problem is, even though I'm near the heater I'm still cold. So I turn the dial up to 5, the highest setting, and push my fabulous futon bed (I almost miss my twin bed from high school. Kind of sucks moving up and out. Clearly, I digress) against the heater which my step-mother HATES! It wrinkles the curtains. Seriously. No, seriously that is what pisses her off. I always play dumb the next day if I don't move it away in time, all 'Oh, how did that happen? I must have been tossing and turning?'
I can't tell if she's figured out, or if she realizes that there isn't really anything she can do about it.
High ceilings, many windows, and a weak heating system fucking suck people. I always seem to block it out until I visit. I need fucking longjohns just to hang around my apartment.
Thursday, December 16, 2004
"I was born without ears!"
I swear I thought I heard wrong, no pun intended. We seem to have a Compulsive Lier in the office. It's slowly coming to our knowledge that CL's stories just don't match up.
So she's telling this story about how she wasn't born with ears. So as to prove said story she's starts waving her ears back and forth. She's fucking flapping her ears people. And not in the "Wow, I could take this shit on TV and win money for my mad skillz, yo'" but taking her hands and moving her ears back and forth. What the fuck does this prove? So she has less cartilage? Can she hear? Yes. Conflicting seems to be a theme of her stories. Cranky Co-worker was the first to discover this seeming mystery of classing facts about how one minute her mother is an emotional abuser, the second her mother has abondoned her, and then the third is that she is just fine and dandy with dear old Ma. The stories continue with some moving fiasco that involves hostages, furniture of course, and how at the ripe old age of 23 she ran a clinic. Okay.
So now Cranky Co-worker and I are checking her ears out at all times. And people, they're pierced. Ear-Watch 2004 has started, clearly with two weeks left, and I'm just waiting for one of those motherfuckers to fall off.
So she's telling this story about how she wasn't born with ears. So as to prove said story she's starts waving her ears back and forth. She's fucking flapping her ears people. And not in the "Wow, I could take this shit on TV and win money for my mad skillz, yo'" but taking her hands and moving her ears back and forth. What the fuck does this prove? So she has less cartilage? Can she hear? Yes. Conflicting seems to be a theme of her stories. Cranky Co-worker was the first to discover this seeming mystery of classing facts about how one minute her mother is an emotional abuser, the second her mother has abondoned her, and then the third is that she is just fine and dandy with dear old Ma. The stories continue with some moving fiasco that involves hostages, furniture of course, and how at the ripe old age of 23 she ran a clinic. Okay.
So now Cranky Co-worker and I are checking her ears out at all times. And people, they're pierced. Ear-Watch 2004 has started, clearly with two weeks left, and I'm just waiting for one of those motherfuckers to fall off.
Finally, right?
You know you have to be either a) suffering the slump of a semi-hangover from the first day of your birthday festivities, or b) cognitively unavailable to do your work to finally succumb and do something your friends' have been asking you to do for awhile. That of course being finally starting a blog. No pressure, right? I think part of the resistance was because I think blogs are innantely totally self-absorbed. I mean you're putting something out there for people to read assuming that people even give a fuck.
So, as I'm sitting here in my office, with a rainforest of print-outs I should be reading sitting on my desk so I don't get fired after the fabulous holiday season, I decided fuck it, everyone has a blog, so why not? Clearly, I'm not functioning, I mean currently I'm so lazy that my left arm is using a pile of the printouts as a resting place. No. I know. I should have named this fucker lazy, but too late right. Whatever problems come with the name, and me hating the name are clearly going to come later which I can blame on the alcohol still being in my system.
Questioning is never a good thing. It means a lack of defense. It means the really, really important part of your brain that reigns you in from fucking yourself over is not running on anything, fumes be damned. Though some people, like my friend Charlie, weren't even born with that filter. You can see his Id working because there's nothing else going on. Gotta love the sonofabitch though as he is always a sure deal in having a good time. Plus, who the fuck else would I have to drink liver crashing amounts of Vodka with.
So I'm recovering from my semi-post-birthday-hang-over. It went well thank you. Who knew that mixing wine, with a dot of bourbon ginger, and Guiness, and oh yeah the free shot. Thanks cute bar crush, CBC for short of course! See, the inherent nature of blogs is to sound pretty smug! Who the fuck gives names to people? Well I'm trying to think of a code name for him. So this moniker may not last. I love my bar crush too, I mean would I even go to Nanny's if not for him? I think not. I digress of course. So I had my bad, this of course being trying to wake up this morning, and not leaving the house until 10:20, even though one of my favourite Golden Girls episodes was on, just for you GG lovers out there it was the one where Dorothy and Blanche go on Rose's morning show as mistaken lesbians...gotta love it, and not being able to find a taxi. The Good was getting to work, faking a meeting with Echo Boss, for she just recites Uber Boss without really knowing what is going on, and feeling fab thank you very much. I believe the fab part came from the rush of not being fired for being able to fake, and the poor man's moccachino I made with our crap coffee and a packet of hot choclate...I mean bouncing would be a good description. The Ugly is sitting here writing this blog with my head thumping, despite 3 Advil liquigels thank you very much, eyes throbbing, and being pretty confident that I have massive bags under my eyes.
And I think that the real festivities start in about two hours. Vodka here I come bitches!*
Fuck me.
*This of course coming when I'm clearly not totally packed and I've got to be on time to work tomorrow.
So, as I'm sitting here in my office, with a rainforest of print-outs I should be reading sitting on my desk so I don't get fired after the fabulous holiday season, I decided fuck it, everyone has a blog, so why not? Clearly, I'm not functioning, I mean currently I'm so lazy that my left arm is using a pile of the printouts as a resting place. No. I know. I should have named this fucker lazy, but too late right. Whatever problems come with the name, and me hating the name are clearly going to come later which I can blame on the alcohol still being in my system.
Questioning is never a good thing. It means a lack of defense. It means the really, really important part of your brain that reigns you in from fucking yourself over is not running on anything, fumes be damned. Though some people, like my friend Charlie, weren't even born with that filter. You can see his Id working because there's nothing else going on. Gotta love the sonofabitch though as he is always a sure deal in having a good time. Plus, who the fuck else would I have to drink liver crashing amounts of Vodka with.
So I'm recovering from my semi-post-birthday-hang-over. It went well thank you. Who knew that mixing wine, with a dot of bourbon ginger, and Guiness, and oh yeah the free shot. Thanks cute bar crush, CBC for short of course! See, the inherent nature of blogs is to sound pretty smug! Who the fuck gives names to people? Well I'm trying to think of a code name for him. So this moniker may not last. I love my bar crush too, I mean would I even go to Nanny's if not for him? I think not. I digress of course. So I had my bad, this of course being trying to wake up this morning, and not leaving the house until 10:20, even though one of my favourite Golden Girls episodes was on, just for you GG lovers out there it was the one where Dorothy and Blanche go on Rose's morning show as mistaken lesbians...gotta love it, and not being able to find a taxi. The Good was getting to work, faking a meeting with Echo Boss, for she just recites Uber Boss without really knowing what is going on, and feeling fab thank you very much. I believe the fab part came from the rush of not being fired for being able to fake, and the poor man's moccachino I made with our crap coffee and a packet of hot choclate...I mean bouncing would be a good description. The Ugly is sitting here writing this blog with my head thumping, despite 3 Advil liquigels thank you very much, eyes throbbing, and being pretty confident that I have massive bags under my eyes.
And I think that the real festivities start in about two hours. Vodka here I come bitches!*
Fuck me.
*This of course coming when I'm clearly not totally packed and I've got to be on time to work tomorrow.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
