We just got back from the first Christmas party of the year… for me, anyway. (I try to get out of as many as possible.)

It was there, at my godparents’ house, when I realized just how old I really am.

Their youngest is 15. I changed his damn diapers and now he has a girlfriend who’s 16 (cute as hell) and he just bought her, her first diamond for Christmas.

Dear sweet lord, when did I get this old?! (Did I mention he’s 6’1″ and still growing?)

The dentist was uneventful. Nurse Ratchet attacked my gums and caused serious puncture wounds, but alas, no cavities. Really the best part about her was when we were talking about where I live and I mentioned it was kinda “artsy,” to which she replied, “Oh are there a lot of gays? I don’t like a lot of gays.”

I accidentally bit her.

I worked in coffee. In Seattle. The gay people are my people.

I think she gathered from my less-than-impressed expression that I thought she was nuts, so she quickly followed with, “I just don’t approve of the homosexual lifestyle.”

Did I mention my parents chose the dentist?

Yup.

Last night I was planning to post about a) shopping with my mom, b) taking out the trash with my dad (truly is an experience, let me tell ya—he put on foul weather gear, to include a cowboy hat… oh boy), c) seeing my cousins (who are now PEOPLE—they are old and have girlfriends and lives and it’s very freaky and that makes me feel old) and d) plucking my dad’s eyebrows with my mom (I had to hold his face still… so much joy in my family, lol.)

However, I had an awful nightmare last night, just terrible. Someone was sending me weird notes. Then they got scary, and for some unknown reason, I didn’t tell anyone. Then, to make matters worse, the person took my cousins and sent me a note saying “Come and get them… but you can’t use your car.” So the place I was at, the woman let me borrow her car and my friend and I went after my cousins. But we didn’t know where to go, we just had to wait. At this point I told my dad and he was kinda freaked out, but not as much as me (typical). Anyway, long story short, she dropped them off there when I was with my dad at a pizza parlor (dunno), and it turned out to be one of my friends from college (more scary) and I threatened to kill her if she ever came near me or mine again.

Helloooo, that was a fun night.

I have to work now, then go to the dentist (whoopee).

I arrived. I am not dead, nor did I succeed in killing people… although I came awfully damn close.

Then my dad had picked up my favorite Thai food and had it in the car, just waiting for when we got home. 🙂 🙂 So all was not lost.

Must sleep now.

I just got into Chicago about an hour ago. Actually, no, that’s not right. I got into Chicago an hour and a half ago, but there was another plane at our gate and they made us sit next to it for 30 minutes. Just. sit. there.

Which wouldn’t have been bad, except we’d been on that plane for five hours already… for a two hour flight.

Mechanical trouble bites my ass, let me tell ya.

I started the day all damn cheery and now ::boom, splat::, after sitting on the tarmac at my home airport for TWO hours, the plane finally took off. Then we got here and sat for another 30 minutes. In those 30 minutes, I missed a connection. Not my connection, oh no, that left three hours ago. This was the next flight they could get me on.

And I missed that. Because we were waiting for the other freaking plane to move.

So now I’m waiting to board the third flight I’ve been booked on today, charging my laptop (went through both batteries on the last flight) and knowing that somewhere Grampa is laughing right now, happy to see that my “joy” bubble has been popped.

Stupid airplanes.

Stupid flight people.

Stupid airlines.

I’m now on iced doppio number three and I have a four hour flight ahead of me… and oh joy, two of the little babies (three!) that were on the last flight are on this flight and they are still crying. (Mind you, they haven’t stopped for about six hours now… you’d think they’d be tired, but no.)

I need liquor. Stat. Anybody I know in Chicago and that wants to bring me a ridiculous quantity of vodka?

(Oh, bright spot… an adorable Aussie (no competition baby, don’t worry) just wanted to chat about my Apple and if I had wireless. Love the accents, gotta say.)

I’m sitting at the airport, waiting to head home and I’ve seen (and yes, I counted) seven pairs of Ugg boots already. Sigh. They’re truly hideous, I just have to say… and to everyone who wears them and reads this, I’m not judging. 😛

I checked two bags, and one, sadly, was 12 pounds over. The nice older man at the check-in counter said, “Well, you could take 12 pounds out of this bag and put it in that one.”

I smiled, “Not gonna happen.”

He started laughing, “Not gonna happen, hmm? Alright, 25 clams.”

I happily paid the man (seriously, aside from the whole “how the hell do I know when I’ve taken out 12 pounds?” fiasco, I’m not opening two suitcases in the middle of the airport and moving stuff around… hell no). All the while, he kept repeating “not gonna happen” and laughing. He thought I was adorable, lol.

So after I paid him and went to grab the bag, he said, “No, no, I’ll walk you over. It’s heavy.” And I just looked at him and laughed

He walked me to the security line and was still repeating “not gonna happen” and laughing. 🙂

Am I the only one who ever smiles/talks to the security screeners? I mean they’re doing their job and all they ever get is shit, especially from people who a) set off the alarms, b) or have kids or c) are business travelers who feel entitled. Now, I’m not bashing any or all of these groups, I’m just saying that when I notice people causing a ruckus, they normally fall into one of those categories.

I had my coffee, I slept well and it’s not bloody early in the morning, so I’m in a congenial mood. The baggage guy had made me laugh, so I was smiling when I got up to be screened. The older gentleman who took my boarding pass and reminded me to put everything in the tray smiled at me, so I smiled back and said “Good morning.” He responded with, “Well good morning insider, and how are you today?”

I grinned, “Just dandy, and you?”

He chuckled, “Well, I’m in charge here, so I’m great. At least I think I’m in charge…” and he started laughing. “According to my wife, I’m never in charge.” Then he wiggled his eyebrows at me and I was really laughing.

The guy who waved me through the security gate told me to stop flirting, otherwise he’d (and he pointed), get a big head.

“And you’re good, no alarms,” he finished with.

I smiled and said, “Of course not, I took off all the shiny stuff.”

(Now, if you’ve never heard a man in his sixties say “bling-bling,” you haven’t lived.)

“Ah that’s right, you got rid of all the bling-bling, hmm.”

Dying people, I was dying.

It’s going to be fun few weeks; I can already tell. 🙂

I should explain, Le Will, why I love the concept of a giant moose statue.

Meet my moose. 🙂

In a Past Life…

You Were: A Famous Spice Trader.
Where You Lived: New Guinea.
How You Died: Consumption.
Who Were You In a Past Life?

I have to pack and clean today.
Can you tell I’m procrastinating?

John Spencer died today of a heart attack.

I would have to say that Spencer (who played Chief of Staff Leo McGarry on The West Wing) was, and will remain, my favorite actor.

I’m sad now.

If you don’t think this kid is freaking adorable as all holy hell, go get your heart checked.

And then both Anne and Moxie pointed me to this: CuteOverload.com. And it is, it really is.

The most annoying part about driving around New York City is driving around New York City… with the taxis… who use their horns incessantly.

Generally I’m not a horn blower. I don’t like excess noise and I honestly feel that laying on the horn can cause more problems than it can solve.

That being said, I was only in NYC for five hours before I was honking the horn. Not continually, like most of the cabbies, but a fair amount—to show that a) I am here and b) I see you being a jackass and trying to cut me off… back up bitch!

It was slightly exhilarating—in a nail-biting kind of way, lol.

The ticket, however… grrrrrrrr. The $65 ticket for parking somewhere that had no signs. It was a side street and when I asked someone who was going into the building, she told me it was fine. Apparently, someone else in the building called the ticket police and there’s a “complainant’s” name on the ticket. Again, grrrr.

Fortunately, I can oppose the ticket via the Internet—very cool—and I shall prepare a statement to rival all statements. It will be eloquent, it will be precise and it will take off at least $20 from the fee—so help me god.

The coworker and I were less-than-impressed with the ticket, to say the least. Especially after we had spent the better part of the afternoon in back alleys and side streets, going behind fake walls and popping secret trap doors to get to the good fake designer stuff on Canal Street—going “outside of the law” had a certain brass balls effect on both of us. We have Prada, we have Tiffany, we have Yves St. Laurent, we have Chanel and we have Kate Spade—and yes, some of what we bought was presents, so shush it.

Then there was pizza in Little Italy and thai food at Topaz (on 56th, between 6th and 7th), Bloomingdales, FAO Schwartz and Niketown, followed by a three and a half hour drive home…

During which the coworker fell asleep and I, driving in torrential rain, envisioned a road where there was a ceiling and no rain marred my line of sight. My vision fell apart during the whole logic faze, but it did make me wonder about the Chunnel. How did they build the Chunnel? Is it in the water on the sea floor, or under the sea floor? How long did it take to make?

And so, for educational purposes, the answers:

The Chunnel opened in 1994.
Three attempts were made to build the tunnel. The first two failed because of politics and cash.
When the process was finally started, it took seven years to finish.
Construction workers had to move more than 17 million tons of earth to complete the project.
It cost more than $21 billion dollars.
There are three tunnels. Two of the tunnels carry trains and one is used for repair work and emergencies, such as fire. Each tunnel is 32 miles long.
The Chunnel goes from Calais, France to Folkestone, England.
They were built about 45 meters below the seabed under the English Channel.
Many of the tunnel boring machines used on the Chunnel were as long as two football fields and capable of boring 250 feet a day.
When construction began in 1988, British and French tunnel workers raced to reach the middle of the tunnel first. The British won.

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