I'm Home!

And more tired than I ever thought possible. I probably should have spent the night at my parent's house in the suburbs, but I really wanted to get home to my own bed.

I haven't watched (American) television in a week. What did I miss?

The flight home today was almost eleven hours. By the time I got off the plane and through customs I was ready to chew up a cigarette whole.

I'm better now.

I have 4 million pictures and lots of fun stories to tell...after a hot bath and a short coma.

ZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

A Friendly Reminder to the Fucktard Parents at After School Pickup

There is limited parking in front of the school. Please refrain from stopping your car three feet from the person in front of you instead of pulling up far enough to let another car in the line.

You are not special.

I'm looking at you BMW Bitch.

If you are driving a gaggle of children home from school--presumably other people's children in addition to your own--have enough seat belts and/or car seats for all of them.

Seeing a seven year with a toddler on her lap in the back seat makes me want to see how you'd like being thrown through a windshield face first.

Smoking on school property while waiting for your kid to come out is trashy.

...as is swearing into your cell phone in front of little kids.

That sign that says "Buses and Daycare Vans Only"? It applies to everyone--even you, Mr. Jesusfish Minivan.

Generally, and I'm just guessing here, it's not recommended to blast your stereo at full spleen-shattering volume with kids in the car.

That is all.

Well, it's pretty damn convenient for me

60 degrees in January? In Illinois?

I love it!

Pass the cigarettes and the motherfuckin' hairspray!

Oops

This morning, I "adjusted" the garage door.

My car sat out all night on New Year's Eve so we would have room in the garage for the smokers in attendance. We got a good bit of snow that night, so last night I asked him to bring the car back into the garage. I assumed he would get all the snow off first. Nope.

This is how it looked last night:





When I went to back my car out of the garage this morning to warm it up, I couldn't see out the back window and failed to remember that I had only opened the door halfway when I went out there to smoke a cigarette earlier.

I hate when I do stupid shit like that.

It's not just that I dented the bottom of the door (it's not even that bad). It's more about the fact that Jim now has free reign to give me shit, and there's not a goddamned thing I can do about it...except wait until he does something equally as stupid.

Just like the Girl Scouts, but drunker

For the record, Jim and I had a fantastic time at the little get together.

The bar was a hoot-just the type of place Jim has wet dreams about turning our extra room off the garage into.

When we first got there, I told the hostess that we were meeting a group of people. When she asked me who, I felt a metaphorical puddle forming at my feet. Aside from Grant (who, as I previously mentioned, I haven't seen in person in about 16 years), I didn't know anyone. And Grant hadn't arrived yet.

Sure, I've commented on their blogs and maybe seen a quick spapshot in a post or two, but I felt a growing sense of panic at the thought of tapping the wrong person on the shoulder.

"Hi, I write a blog. Am I here to meet you?"

I decided the gregarious group at the bar looked friendly enough not to laugh in my face.

"Um, hello. This is going to sound really weird, but who are you here to meet?"

She turned out to be the fabulously warm and easy-to-talk to MizBubs (who, if you don't know by now, is one sexy mama).

The drinks were holyshitstrong and by about 11, I was taking my shoes off to ensure my upright status.

It was such a cool experience to meet a bunch of people who, up until that night, were kind of like imaginary friends to me--the proverbial "girlfriend in the Niagra Falls area".

There's been so many times I've read what someone wrote and thought, "We could totally hang out and get drunk together!". And lookee loo, I got to do just that with a handful of 'em!

I'm really glad we went. I know Jim was more apprehensive about what the night would bring as he was even less familiar with those in attendance, but I know he had a good time too. I can tell he's having fun when his voice gets louder accompanied by wild arm gestures (of course, that also means he's drunk, but who's counting?).

You can read all about the evening (and see some photos) here and here.


P.S. I am taking part in some guest blogging, along with a host of others, at Grant Miller Media. Stay tuned.

Italy by way of Pooptown and Shitsburg

I spent the better (or rather worse) part of an hour on the phone to Delta airlines this afternoon.

My online itinerary stated I was still "waitlisted" a few days after I spoke with a skymiles representative, so I needed to find out what was up with that.

Also, when I told my brother how pleased I was to get a nonstop flight in business class, he got pissy. It seems he wasn't planning on giving up that many of his frequent flier miles and ordered me to downgrade to coach. Apparently he needs some left in his account for when he has to fly 22 hours straight for work, and needs that upgrade in order to be somewhat presentable to the client he is meeting with. Bastard!

So I had to change my whole plan. I'm leaving a week later than originally planned and now I have two stops. One is in Detroit and the other in Newark. It's like some sort of cosmic joke. No offense to anyone reading who might live there, but these are not two locations I have ever dreamed of visiting, even if only in the airport.

But hey, at least I still get to go.

I'm not looking forward to sitting in a cramped seat for hours upon hours, but what I'm really not looking forward to is not getting to smoke for pretty much a whole day. Unless one of the airports I have to stop in has one of those crazy smokeboxes (ever see them in the St. Louis airport? It's like a zoo exhibit.), I'm SOL in the nicotine fix department.

And don't tell me to quit before I go. Don't remind me how gross it is and bad for me. It's the last vice I have, and I'm not ready to let it go quite yet.

When I finally land in Milan, I should resemble a crazed and very tired junkie on a binge.

I should really get a picture of that hotness.