The Cruise Chronicles - Chapter 2 - The Airport

Dear Phantom Readers, I don't know about you, but airports taunt me. I am pretty sure it's only me. So as you know, after I got my nails, I did eventually leave to go to the airport to fly to Miami. My gaybors and I had a sweet hookup, so we got to park in the employee lot. So I hoisted my bag in the shuttle and to what did I notice, a co-workers wife. It was so nice to see her because she is crazy and would always bring me my first beer at the dreaded work Christmas party. I will always be fond of her. So after this little pleasant meeting, I hoisted my bag off the shuttle and made it to the security check in.


Security check in is a beating. Guess what else is a beating? Traveling on Labor day. Everyone and their grandmother is checking their floral bag. So I have to check my bag. I got secret cruise booze in there, and it wasn't just 3 ounces if you get my drift. So then I get charged a lousy $25.00. I can't wait until I am an MBA executive with a fat paying job. Remember when your bags got to fly with you for FREE? So then I get in the line to go through security. Usually they think I am the suspicious one. But I made if safely through the first go round. So we find Mr. Karaoke King, and head out for a sandwich. Little did I know that it is what almost saved my life. So we board the plane and all goes smoothly and we take off. I read a NON school book for the first time in probably a year and enjoyed that it was for pleasure and not a lesson. So we land and everything is working out great. One gaybor says, I will go get the rental car and pick you guys up, you guys get the luggage. I am like sweet. The plans were to go out to South beach and see Kourtney and Kloe Kardashian (well maybe just my plans). So we wait for an eternity and our bags come out and we are skipping out the door. And then I was hit by a wall, a wall of HUMIDITY! HELLO! Its like a MILLION %. I would never have straight hair again if I lived there. See example below:

So we get on the shuttle bus and we don't move. At All. We get our high tech phones out and what happens next. BOMB THREAT! Airport shuts down, we are stranded on a shuttle bus. Of course.

Upon getting back from my trip, I hear that it is a Texas Tech professor. Awesome. I went to Texas Tech. Thanks buddy for having me stranded on a shuttle bus. If I hadn't had that 20 dollar sub before I took off, I would have had to pick which person looked tasty enough to eat, just like that movie in the snow, when they had to eat each other to survive. to be continued...

The Cruise Chronicles - Chapter 1 - the Nail Salon

So this year I planned on going on a cruise with my gaybors and the karaoke king. But prior to leaving, I had to get ready. First I did laundry - what a pain! BUT, I did buy a few new clothes and had to pull the tags off and wash them. You know when you don't, you end up with black fuzzy armpits. I laid these clothes out in the staging room (also known as the guest room and past room of my roommate Mr. Basketball). Then I had to get my mani and pedi. So I arrive at the salon and I get the "new" girl. I am pretty tired from my day and just sit down so the chair can vibrate my butt to whisk away my stress. So Lynn, Ann or June or whatever her name is, sits down and says and I quote, "you married?" WTF!. It's like a painful every time I hear it. And don't worry, every chick in there has asked me the same identical question and so when I get to my regular salon I usually don't have to deal with it, and they probably whisper there goes that single girl. But not this day. So I tell her no, and that is why I can travel the world, because at that moment, that was the coolest thing I could thing off. If she had then said, "but you so pretty" she would have gotten a ninja kick in the face. So then my toes are done, sadly with no offer of a flower, and she starts my nails, "you want American manicure?, it look so natural." If I wanted natural, I wouldn't freaking be here. I want tropical orange because I am going to the tropics. I want color because that is the point of getting your freaking nails done, because if I did them myself I will have painted half way to my elbow! Then she asks me if I wanted my nails shorter, hell no lady! It is rare that I can even grow them this crazy long length. Paint them like they are! I mean who wants short nails? So then I go to the drying area and as soon as I did the down pour of rain began. Perfect. So now I have crazy long orange nails and an afro!

to be continued...

Pop Culture - KNOW IT!

Do you know who this is?

I am sure you do, however, perhaps if you were born in 1986, you may not. And here is where my story begins. Once a upon a time in the lunch room at the office, a conversation broke out and is was a little like this:

Mr. Heavy Weight: "Do you think Little Miss Liar knows who Jimi Hendrix is?
Miss Country Beer drinker: Yes, I think she does
Myself: I agree, she must know who this is. He is an icon of music.

THE VERDICT:
Little Miss Liar says, and I quote, "I have heard of him, but I don't know what he sings," from then she started singing a song by Bob Segar. Not even close.

So me and Miss Country Beer Drinker now owe Mr. Heavy Weight what we like to call "the stuff" which translate to 5 Hour Energy. It is considered contraband up here at the office.

The lesson I should have learned was from last week when I asked her if she knew who Sammy Hagar was. And the answer was, "who?"

And why on earth if she didn't know who Sammy Hagar is that she would know who Jimi Hendrix is. I know sometimes I just think, of course people know about all these things. If in 10 years I have this happen again, it will probably be similiar to this, "Do you know who Oprah is?" and the response will be, "who?"

Scary...

Since when did I become and adult?

Dear Phantom Readers,

Once upon a time on a Monday, this happened to me...

Alright, so I am currently in my 30's, if you know me, then you will know my true age, and then you will minus 3 off of that because that is what I tell strangers my age is. So I ventured to the 'rents house this weekend and my mom, who is a cross between Martha Stewart and June Cleaver gives me these rubber band bracelets. They are in the shape of a Princess, there are 4 different kinds. You can wear them and they never lose their shape. My mom tells me they are the latest rage for kids. So they are different colors, and shapes (like animals and fruit) and you wear them and then you are cool. So I think to myself, I will take these to work and hand them out to the girls and tell them that they are cool and that I am sharing. WRONG!

First off, the Miss Blue hair, already knows what they are, tells me that they come in all different shapes and colors, you can trade them, and her granddaughter has tons of them. Disappointment #1.

Then, Miss Strawberry tells me that she has seen them all over the place. All the stores have them. Disappointment #2

Then, Miss Country Beer drinker tells me that her step-nephew has them too, and that they were lying all over the backseat of the car. Disappointment that takes the cake!

So since when is my mom, who is clearly a motherly age know more about this stuff that me, who is somewhere around half her age? I mean what the heck? I thought knowing who stupid Dora the explorer was at least kept me in the loop, but NO!

I watch the freaking TODAY SHOW. That's where I get all my news. Why isn't there a story yet? Dang it. I am off to get a drink, something only adults can do. And I hope it comes with an umbrella in it!

Peace out.

Why I would rather be a Ninja...

So I am pretty sure that I want to be a ninja. I don't want to come to work at my job anymore. Today I was inspired. I got to work and one of my favorite employees had been gone on the longest vacation ever, which means 3 days. So after she pushed vitamins down my throat we discussed my new TOMS shoes. I had to buy these expensive yet cheaply made shoes for a grad school presentation. They are actually confortable, but if I am going to pay $47.00 for shoes they better be awesome snakeskin print.

You hear what I am saying? So she checks them out. Now I did a little research and let me show you what I am going to need to be taken serious, BLACK NINJA shoes. Duh. For night prowling...

I mean I would be so much better at being a ninja especially with all this business knowledge I am aquiring. I get to write a business plan on a company I made up. Now tell me that isn't fun? I bet ninjas don't have to write business plans. They get to sharpen their samari sword instead, and plot revenge on people that have crossed them. I wish I was a ninja when I got rear ended last week. I bet that guy wouldn't have expected a ninja getting out of a red nissan altima. I am just saying.

Basically I am going to try to be a ninja, right after I get my outfit.

Chivalry is dead.

Dear Whoever is reading this,
Once upon a time, I woke up and in my horror realized it was Monday. I have to say this has been a particularly rough Monday. I had a wicked awful hangover yesterday and it seems that it had crept into my Monday morning. I didn't feel bad, but my eyes were swollen and basically I was looking like a truck ran over my face. Yea for Monday. So last week there was a cute electrician replacing lights in the building. This was an act of God I am sure, because we never have any work done in this dump. If you don't believe me, come see my office. So one of the warehouse guys, let's call him Mr. tank top, told me that he notified this cute electrician that there happened to be a blond checking him out. FYI - the blond is me, there are no others in this building. His response was a smile, and then Mr. tank top found out he would be returning Monday. Mr. tank top is very sweet and took great care in finding me a nice tall man. So in my fog of a morning, I still managed to straighten the beast of hair on my head, and wore purple. I've been told it brings out my eyes. Well he came by, even mentioned that I smelled good. Smiled all the while and then when the lights were installed, he was gone. Naturally. This may be the story of my life.

I should have worn a pony tail.

NOW, get ready for the rant, because here it comes. Wikapedia (and yes I know you cannot actually site this as a reference as I have been told by every grad school teacher I have had) says this: Chivalry[1] is a term related to the medieval institution of knighthood. It is usually associated with ideals of knightly virtues, honor and courtly love. The word is derived from the French word "chevalerie", itself derived from "chevalier", which means knight, derived from "cheval", horse (indicating one who rides a horse). Well folks, chivalry it's DEAD. The men who I have grown up with that are the same age as me do not know what manners are, or even how to court someone. So Mr. Pringle tells me today that if I want someone then I have to go get it. Find a man, ask him out and yadda, yadda, yadda. OMG, I am so sick of doing everything myself I could just scream. In my head, I am all ready screaming. So along with supporting myself, going to work, going to school, keeping up a house and a vehicle, now I have to go find a man. PULEASE! Why can't he just come in a nice little package on my door step?

The End

Why I hate flying!

Once upon a time, I went to Asheville, NC. It just so happens I had to fly to Charlotte because driving would have taken a lifetime. I am not a world traveler, nor do I have a kick ass job that requires me to travel to awesome and exotic places. HOWEVER, I always have to sit next to the weirdest people.

Example A. I naturally select the seat in the aisle because I have long legs and I must pop my right knee every so often. This is due to being a runner. If this doesn't happen to you then, you haven't run for 10 years. And if it does pop, you haven't run for 10 years, you are still an advanced runner. Anyways, so I find my seat and an Indian gentleman is sitting next to the window. Not a Cherokee Indian, a person from India is what I mean. Although sitting next to a dude with an awesome feather headdress would have been way more awesome. So this person from India has a red dot on his head and everything. Insert stereotype. I sit down and immediately he is on the phone speaking in another language that is not English or French, the only 2 languages I can translate. I put my bag under my seat, and then I smell the worst musty old man, rotting old spice mixed with musty mothballs of death cologne in my life. And then a headache ensues. So I sit and read my book, and he falls asleep. I bet you are thinking on me. Close. But NO! But he is snoring like a freight train. Awesome. So then the drink lady or flight attendant starts down the aisle. And so I get my standard ginger ale.

SIDEBAR. Canada Dry is SHITTY ginger ale. It has no punch or karate chop at the end. It's crap. The airline should only stock Vernor's Ginger Ale. Period.

Now, the India guy orders hot tea. I am like, OK. So then the SLURPING takes place. Slurp, slurp, slurp...PAUSE...slurp, slurp. Good grief, are you kidding me? This guy is making me nuts. I just want to judo chop him to pass out. And if this wasn't enough he is wiggling his right leg, which is making my leg wiggle, so now I am crushed up against my seat just to get away from him. EWE!

And then we land and I am free.

A few more stipulations.
1) No reclining in my lap. I hate that. I hate that it is even available. I have no room as it is.
2) No crying children. Yes, I get that their ears are popping. Give them some cheerios.
3) No people reading the newspaper in my lap

The End.