If I could rewrite bible stories to fit what I think really happened (let's pause for a moment and really take in what I just said.... I used the word "I" and "bible" in the same sentence.... like I really know anything about any bible stories), I would have the tree in the garden of Eden full of avocados. And the tree next to it would be a Reginelli's Caesar dressing tree or a Newman's Own Balsamic Vinaigrette tree. Because I could resist a delicious looking apple (unlike Stephanie Choy*), but I could never resist an avocado- especially if I had some amazing dressing to go with it.
With that being said, you can imagine my excitement when I saw that the Subway near my house got with the program and started to offer avocado as a sandwich accoutrement (probably not the correct use of the word- but honestly- it is one of those words that should be used as often as possible). Needless to say, when I ordered my six inch turkey on wheat- I was gonna get me some avocado with that. Alright future Leila- go back and warn past Subway Leila that ordering avocado will only add 15 minutes to her Subway adventure- but it is worth it anyway. (PS- If someone could help me find some sort of sound effect or image that I could use to insert "uhh uhhh- that's not going to happen" when I want to warn past Leila about something- it would be much appreciated).
So I am standing in the Subway line and the sandwich artists are busy at work. There is a couple ahead of me and two guys behind me and my friend, Mollie, there to witness it all. I order my turkey- no cheese please- I am being healthy and get to the veggies selection of the process. The guy in front of me asks for avocado on his foot long sandwich and apparently they only have enough for half of it (ie, three ice cream scoops full). The lady working at Subway told him she would be right back and brought the empty avocado container to the back. The next lady was ready to finish up my sandwich but I let her know that I also wanted avocado so she moved onto the next person in line- whose order I got to pay attention to since I had nothing else to do but wait for my avocado. This gentleman ordered a six inch tuna on white bread, with olives, and extra mayonnaise. You read that right.
The wait for the avocado continued so the ladies behind the counter decided they would start ringing people up to avoid a bottle neck. At this point- two things happened. An elderly couple walked in and the man took a seat at a table while his wife got in line and the couple in front of me was rung up (even though he was still waiting on his three more ice cream scoops of avocado). The couple was rung up and the woman begin to argue with the total and couldn't understand why it came out to $16. Once it was explained to her multiple times, and she was satisfied, she pulled out a $100 to pay. At a Subway. A hundred dollar bill. Instead of signs that say "We do not accept bills larger than $20" I think places should have signs that say "We can break $100"- because I think it is fair to say that pretty much NOWHERE can break "$100" and it would allow companies to save money on all of the signs they buy that say "No bills larger than $20." Because everyone knows that you should not go into a Subway, or any fast food place, or any gas station, or ANYWHERE and try to buy $16 worth of stuff with a hundred dollar bill. Needless to say- much confusion ensued behind the counter- as they had to get the manager and try to figure out if they had enough cash to break this stupid bill and still have change for other customers.
As this is going on, the elderly lady stepped out of line two times to ask her husband to clarify his sandwich order. Really? The man has probably had the same sandwich order since Eisenhower was in office. Those things don't change. No- he doesn't want to try banana peppers. No- he doesn't want it on some fancy bread. Just wheat. Come on now.
Well the fiasco at the register died down and the lady paid. Since there was still no avocado to be seen, the Subway lady decided she would start ringing up the men behind me. Fair enough. They shouldn't have to wait for avocado. One of them clearly did not like anything green- only gelatinous white for him. So they start to ring them up. They check out the guy that did not order the tuna fish sandwich at about the same time the avocado appears (insert heavenly glow and angels singing in background). During this transaction, my sandwich gets its avocado dollops and is wrapped up and sent down the line to be rung up. It is placed next to a similar looking six inch sandwich. The lady at the cash register asks her coworker which sandwich is mine and she can't remember. Honestly- I was pretty sure I knew- but I was not taking that chance. I had whole wheat, turkey, and avocado. He had tuna. And white bread. And mayonnaise. He quickly said "check- because I definitely don't want her sandwich." I appreciated his honesty. They unwrapped the sandwiches- figured out which was mine, and sent me on my way. Thank god for avocado and the wonderful cluster that ensued. If it were not for that, what would I have to blog about?
*PS- I have to give a shout out to my friend, Stephanie Choy. Steph was home one Fall to celebrate the glorious story of the pilgrims and the Indians, and do like all Americans do, and consume enough to last anyone a week. After the meal wrapped up, she was wandering through the kitchen when she saw "the most beautiful apple in the world." Steph, who was not listening to her body at that point, decided that an apple has never hurt anything before. She consumed the ripe beauty and immediately regurgitated it. And her Thanksgiving meal. All of it. Gotta listen to your body and not fall for that Garden of Eden trick. Unless, of course, it is full of Avocado and Salad Dressing trees.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Friday, June 3, 2011
You know that dream where....
You go to class and realize you have a test you didn't study for or you are standing in front of a crowd naked or....... you bust your ass in front of a lot of people. Yeah, well I am lucky enough to have that last one come true. So- keep wishing upon stars, because some time dreams really do come true.
I grew up going to Henry S Jacobs camp in Utica, MS (a bustling town). The summer after my Freshman year in college, I worked as a counselor at the camp. It was a great experience. I really liked my co-counselor and our campers. My co-counselor, Jodie, was easy to get along with and had a similar sense of humor as me.
Every night at camp, each unit participates in an evening program. The units are broken up by age group (basically by elementary school kids, middle school kids, and soon to be high school kids). The counselors plan the evening session every day and present a skit at lunch to give their campers an idea about what to expect that night. All the cabins in the unit participate in the program together except one night a session... a very special night.... bunk night. Each cabin has one bunk night during their time at camp where they get to do whatever they want while the rest of the camp is going to their evening programs. I have very vivid memories of some of my bunk nights that included swimming across Lake Gary (I think my counselors slipped all of us something to convince us to do that), eating so much cake I thought I was going to vomit, and being lifted up in a chair (similar to a Jewish wedding)- which seemed like a good idea at the time until one of us almost lost our head to the ceiling fan.
So when it came to planning a bunk night for our cabin, Jodie and I, with all of these amazing memories, knew we had to do something special for our girls. And we had to get them really excited during the skit at lunch. And this is where the story takes a turn. I can't remember anything that our bunk night entailed. Not one single detail. Nothing. And the reason for this is because all I remember about our bunk night is the skit.
Jodie and I were planning to come hauling ass into the dining hall from different directions and jump onto the stage in the middle and do something silly to let our campers know it was bunk night. The stage was really just a large wooden block that was about a foot and a half tall. Over my time as a camper, I probably watched at least 100 people jump on and off that stage. After my skit, I think the rules were changed to (in your best Long Island Jewish mother accent) "no jumping on or off the stage" (you could poke your eye out). So Jodie and I were lined up for our skit and came running into the dining hall. We neared the stage and Jodie got there a second before me and jumped on. I made my move to jump but apparently miscalculated and hit both of my shins directly on the corner. Anyone who understands basic physics knows what happens next (think a body in motion will remain in motion). Well- my body was in motion- it was just my legs that had stopped. The rest of my body kept going and my face went directly into Jodie's crotch. Smack Dab. It was the most intense, quickest, and unplanned lesbian occurrence of my life. And the entire population of the camp- campers, counselors, and staff members were there to witness it.
I immediately popped up and pretended like I didn't just head butt my co-counselor's vagina in front of the entire camp. But there's no playing that one down. Especially when you have bruised and bloodied shins and tears coming out of your eyes. So, if you ever find yourself in a situation that you are afraid of falling in front of a lot of people- just try to measure your distance from others and make sure that if you do fall- that no one's private parts will be there to catch you.
I grew up going to Henry S Jacobs camp in Utica, MS (a bustling town). The summer after my Freshman year in college, I worked as a counselor at the camp. It was a great experience. I really liked my co-counselor and our campers. My co-counselor, Jodie, was easy to get along with and had a similar sense of humor as me.
Every night at camp, each unit participates in an evening program. The units are broken up by age group (basically by elementary school kids, middle school kids, and soon to be high school kids). The counselors plan the evening session every day and present a skit at lunch to give their campers an idea about what to expect that night. All the cabins in the unit participate in the program together except one night a session... a very special night.... bunk night. Each cabin has one bunk night during their time at camp where they get to do whatever they want while the rest of the camp is going to their evening programs. I have very vivid memories of some of my bunk nights that included swimming across Lake Gary (I think my counselors slipped all of us something to convince us to do that), eating so much cake I thought I was going to vomit, and being lifted up in a chair (similar to a Jewish wedding)- which seemed like a good idea at the time until one of us almost lost our head to the ceiling fan.
So when it came to planning a bunk night for our cabin, Jodie and I, with all of these amazing memories, knew we had to do something special for our girls. And we had to get them really excited during the skit at lunch. And this is where the story takes a turn. I can't remember anything that our bunk night entailed. Not one single detail. Nothing. And the reason for this is because all I remember about our bunk night is the skit.
Jodie and I were planning to come hauling ass into the dining hall from different directions and jump onto the stage in the middle and do something silly to let our campers know it was bunk night. The stage was really just a large wooden block that was about a foot and a half tall. Over my time as a camper, I probably watched at least 100 people jump on and off that stage. After my skit, I think the rules were changed to (in your best Long Island Jewish mother accent) "no jumping on or off the stage" (you could poke your eye out). So Jodie and I were lined up for our skit and came running into the dining hall. We neared the stage and Jodie got there a second before me and jumped on. I made my move to jump but apparently miscalculated and hit both of my shins directly on the corner. Anyone who understands basic physics knows what happens next (think a body in motion will remain in motion). Well- my body was in motion- it was just my legs that had stopped. The rest of my body kept going and my face went directly into Jodie's crotch. Smack Dab. It was the most intense, quickest, and unplanned lesbian occurrence of my life. And the entire population of the camp- campers, counselors, and staff members were there to witness it.
I immediately popped up and pretended like I didn't just head butt my co-counselor's vagina in front of the entire camp. But there's no playing that one down. Especially when you have bruised and bloodied shins and tears coming out of your eyes. So, if you ever find yourself in a situation that you are afraid of falling in front of a lot of people- just try to measure your distance from others and make sure that if you do fall- that no one's private parts will be there to catch you.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
I have massive sneezes.
This morning, while I was getting ready for work, I sneezed. My neighbor (who was standing in his drive way) yelled "Bless you."
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Where it all started.
The inspiration for my blog came from a series of emails I sent out last summer (much like the Leimail of my night in hell the Atlanta airport). The following are a series of rapid fire emails I sent to a friend after deciding that I desperately needed some wine (you know that feeling, right?). Please enjoy. Or don't. If you don't enjoy, please contact a medical professional immediately because it means that you are lacking the part of your brain that can process humor.
9:01 P.M.
I just got back from cake class, and I am covered in icing, and just googled "how to open a bottle of wine without a corkscrew" and then checked my email for the fun of it (before opening the wine) to find SIX messages (back to back) from --------- (insert name here of anyone you know that you don't want 6 back to back emails from... actually that would probably be anyone. If they can't say it in ONE email, then you don't really need to hear it). I really need to find my corkscrew.
9:15 P.M.
Things I found while looking for my cork screw:
9:17 P.M.
9:01 P.M.
I just got back from cake class, and I am covered in icing, and just googled "how to open a bottle of wine without a corkscrew" and then checked my email for the fun of it (before opening the wine) to find SIX messages (back to back) from --------- (insert name here of anyone you know that you don't want 6 back to back emails from... actually that would probably be anyone. If they can't say it in ONE email, then you don't really need to hear it). I really need to find my corkscrew.
9:15 P.M.
Things I found while looking for my cork screw:
A rolling pin
A pastry brush (who knew)?
A lemon squeezer???
A garlic press
A garlic chopper
A carrot peeler
Salad tossers (maybe after all this wine, I will be tempted)
Shish-kabob skewers (good thing I own those for all the times I make my famous kabob)
Two ice cream scoops
Bamboo skewers (maybe I should just go ahead and skewer something)
Lessons I learned:
Swiss army knives DO NOT have cork screws on them (what is the point of that?)
Banging a bottle of wine on a flat surface does not actually push the cork up but, instead, builds pressure in the bottle
Jamming a screw driver through the cork of so-banged-on bottle seems like a good idea at the time
Cork breaks up easily
Wine in a banged-on bottle builds up pressure
A screwdriver used to puncture a cork on a pressurized bottle only results in a volcano of pinot noir
Pinot Noir can burn your eyes
Cork floats (not a new lesson, but a reminder)
Tiny bits of cork, while floating, are impossible to remove from wine
Lessons I may learn tomorrow:
What cork does to one's digestive system
9:17 P.M.
OK, since I am on a roll here.
Why don't they rename the email folder from "outbox" to "outhouse?" That would be much funnier
Also, the guy at the walgreens found my purchase of $30 worth of candy (Earl's finest) and two cans of spaghettios hilarious. You know what I found hilarious? His grossly ornate ring that may as well have been taken from Schmiegal, himself. Also, who the fuck asked him if my purchases were funny? I sure as hell didnt.
Tonight in cake decorating, we made 'puppies' (two cupcakes turned upside down and covered in pounds of icing). And one of the women in the class begged the instructor for hers because, apparently, it is one of her coworkers birthdays tomorrow. Once she recieved the extra puppy, she then begin to giggle histerically, and informed us that "she's gunna think I made it.....hehehehehhe..... she's on a all cabbage diet....... hehehehe..... She's gunna ruin her diet......hehehehe" I think her coworker should punch her, eat the cake, and then plan on spending the rest of the day in the bathroom.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Smells Like Teen Spirit
Or something like it.
So, for those of you who know me well- you probably already know this about me- I sweat like a dude. For those of you that didn't know that already- well there it is. Like a dude. Really. I think I can attribute my amazing sweating capabilities to my dad (who is a dude, so his sweating abilities really aren't as awkward as mine). I have only come across a few other girls that will be dripping like me after ONE song on the dance floor (the word glistening is only appropriate after I have walked from my bedroom to my kitchen).
The other thing some of you may know about me (but only the select few who may have experienced it before)- I love bathroom products! Lotion, shampoo, deodorant, conditioner, soap, makeup. Anything in a shiny bottle will do. I do find this odd since I don't really consider myself a "girly girl" but put me in a well stocked, organized CVS and I could be in there for hours- sniffing, touching, perusing, reading (how many ways can you say volumize- a lot!). Sometimes I leave a situation like this worrying about things like if I have weak nails, or if my hair is conditioned from the inside out, or if my makeup is perfectly right for my tone. However, most of the time I leave with about $30 of bathroom stuff that I don't end up using but I have in my reserves.
I always make sure to check out the deodorant section anytime I find myself in the wonderful toiletries section in a store. While I have found a brand that I stick to- Ban- Sweet Surrender- I always like checking out the options. (Quick sidebar- after Katrina I decided to go to Boston U for the semester. I got up there with everything I owned- which fit into one suitcase and ran out of deodorant the first few weeks there. I looked everywhere for my deodorant and couldn't find any and called my mom and probably cried. A few days later, I had a care package with my deodorant in it- thanks mom! You know shit is bad when my mom is willing to ship deodorant across the country so I stop freaking the f out.) So any way- I always like checking out deodorant options. Last Fall, I was in Charlotte for work, and got my friend, Becky, to take me to a Target. Wait- let me correct myself- she took me to a Target that was actually stocked and organized. A rare find in New Orleans- an organized, stocked store. She got to witness, firsthand, Leila wonder aimlessly around the bathroom section while touching shiny things and smelling anything blue, pink, or purple. During this trip, while examining the deodorant section- I came across a new find- "Clinical Strength" deodorant. Excellent idea for those chicks that sweat like dudes. Well- I immediately started pulling open the boxes of each scent and checking them out. When it was all said and done, I settled on "Marathon Fresh."
I got a good laugh over the fact that a deodorant was called Marathon Fresh. I have only run one half marathon- and the word most likely NOT used to describe me after I was done was 'fresh.' What the hell is marathon fresh anyway? Do you think these people look fresh? Did they hang out around races and really try to nail down the scent of finishers and voila- came out with marathon fresh? Because if they did, I think that they were off a little bit. But just a little bit.
This mislabeled scent inspired me to investigate a little further. I started looking at all of the scents available and was shocked at the plethora of idiotic names assigned to scents for armpits. I decided to put together a list of some of the best ones for your pleasure.
So, for those of you who know me well- you probably already know this about me- I sweat like a dude. For those of you that didn't know that already- well there it is. Like a dude. Really. I think I can attribute my amazing sweating capabilities to my dad (who is a dude, so his sweating abilities really aren't as awkward as mine). I have only come across a few other girls that will be dripping like me after ONE song on the dance floor (the word glistening is only appropriate after I have walked from my bedroom to my kitchen).
 |
| Ahhh... heaven! |
I always make sure to check out the deodorant section anytime I find myself in the wonderful toiletries section in a store. While I have found a brand that I stick to- Ban- Sweet Surrender- I always like checking out the options. (Quick sidebar- after Katrina I decided to go to Boston U for the semester. I got up there with everything I owned- which fit into one suitcase and ran out of deodorant the first few weeks there. I looked everywhere for my deodorant and couldn't find any and called my mom and probably cried. A few days later, I had a care package with my deodorant in it- thanks mom! You know shit is bad when my mom is willing to ship deodorant across the country so I stop freaking the f out.) So any way- I always like checking out deodorant options. Last Fall, I was in Charlotte for work, and got my friend, Becky, to take me to a Target. Wait- let me correct myself- she took me to a Target that was actually stocked and organized. A rare find in New Orleans- an organized, stocked store. She got to witness, firsthand, Leila wonder aimlessly around the bathroom section while touching shiny things and smelling anything blue, pink, or purple. During this trip, while examining the deodorant section- I came across a new find- "Clinical Strength" deodorant. Excellent idea for those chicks that sweat like dudes. Well- I immediately started pulling open the boxes of each scent and checking them out. When it was all said and done, I settled on "Marathon Fresh."
I got a good laugh over the fact that a deodorant was called Marathon Fresh. I have only run one half marathon- and the word most likely NOT used to describe me after I was done was 'fresh.' What the hell is marathon fresh anyway? Do you think these people look fresh? Did they hang out around races and really try to nail down the scent of finishers and voila- came out with marathon fresh? Because if they did, I think that they were off a little bit. But just a little bit.
 |
| "Hey Bob- don't you feel fantastic?" "Yeah Joe, I feel marathon fresh!" |
 | |
| "Fresh as I kenyan be!" |
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| "I am going to trip your marathon fresh ass if you keep running in my space. QUIT DRAFTING!" |
This mislabeled scent inspired me to investigate a little further. I started looking at all of the scents available and was shocked at the plethora of idiotic names assigned to scents for armpits. I decided to put together a list of some of the best ones for your pleasure.
- Spring Breeze- Well this scent could really be anything. If it is a spring breeze off of a garbage can full of crawfish in Audubon Park- that is a nasty smelling deodorant. I actually don't know if I have ever experienced a "spring breeze" that makes me sniff the wind like a dog and wish that I could bottle it and wear it.
- Paradise Winds- Again- what does this smell like? I mean- I enjoy smells of the beach- like salt water or sunscreen- because they mean I am at the beach. But- if you are at the wrong end of a gust that just made its way over some dead beached fish- GROSS.
- Island Falls- I guess they are referring to the Island Falls without leeches. The ones that smell fabulous and have Tahitian models in them all day everyday. The models that don't get the prunies (prunies are the best, by the way. They still amaze me).
- Clearly Tropical- Oh, ok- this makes a whole lot of sense. CLEARLY Tropical. Like you will walk around emanating coconut scent and calypso music, which are things that are CLEARLY associated with a Tropical climate. They should work on "Clearly Temperate" and "Clearly Polar" as well..
- Nature Fresh- Give me a break here. I would be willing to say that there are probably about as many things in nature that smell bad as there are good, and 50/50 is being very generous.
- Fresh Oxygen- I mean, really? Fresh Oxygen? As opposed to that shit most of us breath on a regular basis? I think a more realistic scent would be "Smog" or "Busy City Ozone."
- Refreshingly Floral- Ahhh, yes. But why with the 'refreshingly?' It can't just be a 'Floral' scent? That wouldn't be fancy enough?
- Ooh-la-la Lavendar- Well- if there is one thing I want my deodorant to say about me--- It IS OOH LA LA. I want random strangers sticking their noses in my pits. The alliteration must equal higher sales.
- Rockstar Rose- I have no words for this. Wait, actually I do. Why would ANYONE want to smell like a rockstar? Even a pretty rockstar? You really think Beyonce smells sweet after shaking her ass on stage for two hours? Really?
- Just Dance- I already mentioned me and the dancing. And you don't want to smell like it.
- Love- Love? Love has a smell now? I mean- I guess it does, just like most other emotions. For example- the other day, as I was walking to work- I got a big whiff of "anxious" from this girl next to me. And then- when I was at the gym- the person on the treadmill next to me definitely smelled "indifferent."
- Classic Romance- I guess this is like love, but a little muskier. Like it's been up in an attic for a while. Picking up that classic status.
- Sexy Intrigue- Is this the same as a "Hooker Shower?" When you just blast yourself with whatever smells half decent (including but not limited to: perfume, body spray, air freshener, etc) instead of actually bathing?
- Delicious Bliss- Unless this smells like a big ass piece of chocolate cake, it doesn't smell like delicious bliss (but maybe that's just me).
- Rebalanced- My guess is that they probably fill this one with hormones. Like "Here- you crazy bitch. You refuse to take meds, but we will slip it to you through your pits and you won't even know." Therefore this scent is just directly associated with what the product actually does.
- Revive- This has a cocaine and coffee smell to it. A nice little 'pick me up' to get you and your bowels running.
- Vanilla Twist- Why the twist? Is it doing a dance move? Is it looking over its shoulder?
- Cherry Mischief- This is the exact image I think of and I am not sure that I want it on my arm pit.
 |
| Oh that angry cherry is getting into some mischief again |
- Mystic Melon- So- is this like the scent you smell when you go to a fortune teller that is Cantaloupe or when you visit with a Watermelon that has ESP?
- Truth or Pear- REALLY!? REALLY!? Because "Pear" just wasn't good enough?
- Red Satin- Because, you know, red satin smells completely different from green satin or blue satin. It just has that "mmmmmm this is definitely red satin" smell about it.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Reasons I could never marry into the Royal family...
(Because, you know, I might have the chance to do so one day....):
- I would probably drink too much champagne at all of the family gatherings and after I break multiple flutes from the Royal china, my guess is they would vote me off the Royal island. "I just don't understand-- this set of glasses has survived since The Stuarts-- and she has broken three of them tonight." Whoops!
- I consider myself decent enough looking but certainly not on par with Kate. However, my decentness is often not expressed in photographs- ie I am just about the most unphotogenic person that exists- especially in candid shots. And you certainly wouldn't want some shot of me like the one above popping up in the newspaper with the line "THIS IS WHO HE IS GOING TO MARRY!?!?" (PS What the hell is going on with my finger!?)
- I would probably be marrying just to get closer to Paul McCartney, and for some reason I don't think that is acceptable.
- I can't imagine the in-laws tailgating with my family at Tiger Stadium.
- If I ever walked out onto a balcony to greet millions of people, I would probably be inclined to bust out into some sort of very inappropriate chant (insert USA or G-e-a-u-x- GO TIGERS GO!).
- While I once saw a book labeled "Even Princess Di Farts and Lifts the Covers" and we all know this is true- I don't think the Royal family would find Dutch Ovens very funny.
- I don't think they would approve of me rolling all over the floor with the royal Corgis during family reunions. Or the royal Dachshunds. Or the mixed breed- the dorgis.
- While a "Chocolate Biscuit Cake" does sound appetizing (please note extreme sarcasm), I don't think they would OK my request to have a "Better than Sex chocolate cake" at my wedding.
- I just can't imagine giving into the fashion of wearing an
InstigatorFascinator for fun. I would probably luck out and wear one that would attract birds, and after I got shat on for the umpteenth time- I would make a scene. - Since Prince Will is now off the market and Harry is the only one left- I can't imagine introducing my husband "Harry Wales" for the rest of my life.
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| Of course my Harry Wale has a southern boy flip. |
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Leila's Life Lesson- Numero Uno
Always travel with extra underwear (on your person). ALWAYS.
If you have not been a lucky one to recieve one of my "Leimails," here is a gift for you. This is my most recent Leimail that I sent from the ground of the Atlanta airport at 3:00 A.M. in the morning.
I wish there was a way to make sure badly behaved people get what they deserve. What is she rambling on about this time? You may ask yourself. Well, if you notice the time, you will see that it is really late/early and I am not drunk/at the goldmine/ watching the freakin royal wedding/ dancing on the pool table at f and ms/ or drinking tequila sunrises at the sae house as the sun comes up on mardi gras day. No, I am not doing any of these things. I am simply at the Atlanta airport. Still. Going on hour 8 here.
So.... The purpose of this email? To try to figure out a way to produce instant karma.... And to get the cinnabon place to open early (but I think I have a better chance with the instant karma thing). Maybe I will just sit outside of their airport hut and whine like a dachshund. I am sure that will be better than sitting on the ground, against the wall, where there is an outlet, right next to the smokers cancer glass bubble. Oh I mean airport room. Seriously, who smokes at 3 in the morning when they are not at any of the places I listed above?
Anyway, I digress. I will now recount the first half of my travel day from hell. And why just the first half? Because the second half is yet to come.
So I booked a ticket with robin out to San Fran for lianas wedding. (ps it does not really matter if you know who any of these people are). Then about two days after I booked the ticket, the Earl of admission asked if I would go to atlanta for work. Absolutely. Slight problem that I was suppose to be flying to the city of gay hippies (and don't get me wrong- i love both gays and hippies, and even much more so gay hippies- if those exist) the same day, but I figured a twelve hour detour to Atlanta wouldn't hurt. If only I could warn Leila in the past. Don't do it!
So I fly out here, do my thang, yadda yadda yadda.
GOD DAMNIT MYBACK HURTS BHJKFHJKJFJKVKHJFGHKD!!!!!!!!!
Anyway... Get to the airport with plenty of time to make my ten o'clock flight. The flight is a little delayed. I am a little grumpy about it. There is a bad storm rolling into Atlanta. We get on the plane a little late. The flight attendants (NOT stewardesses.... Nicole, you tell your mom I say it right) make an announcement that if we all get seated right away, we can get on the runway and beat the storm of the century out of here.
Apparently other people on my plane did not care as much as I did. They did not sit immediately. Thank you woman with cowboy hat who took about 7 minutes to decide if she wanted to put her hat in the bin above her or wear it on her head. Ultimately, when they cancel our flight and we have to stand in line to rebook, you go to the back. And if you are wondering- she decided to wear the hat on her head. Gotta look good when traveling.
Everyone finally sits down and we get going. We make it out on the runway and they say they have grounded our flight and we will wait for the storm to pass. Wonderful.
This would be all well and good until some little snot nose child starts crying in the back. It keeps going and going. And apparently at some point, the mother decides there is something terribly wrong with her kid, and we have to go back to the gate so she can get off of the plane. This could be a point where you take this shit seriously. I did. Until the mom actually got off of the plane with the kid and the kid looks over her shoulder and gives the back of the plane a loud, cheerful 'byyyyyyyeeeeeee.'
During the commotion of the woman asking to turn the plane around, another woman got her panties in a big wad. Because, you know, in a situation where a lot of people are stressed out and being affected, the best thing to do is to publicly freak the fuck out. Wadded panties woman, back of the line.
We get back to the gate and they announce that we are going to be able to take off soon... But then wait.... Nope. Can't take off now. The pilots have passed their expiration dates and can't not make the flight, because it would put them over their hours. Ok, I appreciate you thinking of our safety. But deep down inside I do wonder if that would have happened if snot nose hadn't pitched a fit, and If we didn't have to come back to the gate. And to be honest, I didn't wonder deep down inside, I wondered it out loud to my temporary line friend.
So we all stand in line for about two hours. My line buddies consist of my new line friend and a Hasidic couple with really bad breath. REALLY bad breath. The Hasidic woman informed us that number one freak out happened because the woman on the plane was on her way to san Francisco to be impregnated, to be a surrogate for her friend. Now I am not sure how much the baby gets from the surrogate, but it did make me wonder why type of condition her friend was in to feel like this woman was her only hope.
Well I am going to go search for a carpeted piece of ground. And wait for the cinnabon place to open. Sweet dreams, a holes! Sorry- that was uncalled for. I am just a little tired.
So, if you are wondering how it ended up... I did make it to San Francisco.... about 14 hours after I wrote this. If you are wondering, I was in the same clothes for about 33 hours. I would forget this until I would get a whif of myself. G-ROSS. Fa-nasty!
I did end up finding a nice little piece of carpet next to a bench in the Atlanta airport. The bench was taken by two other women, so I snuggled down on the ground at the end of it. I hugged my phone, which was on alarm and vibrate, as close to my face as possible. I woke up a few times to wipe the crumbs off of my face and to realize that I had scooted completely underneath the bench.
There was an old man pushing around a dumb squeeky wheely cart for a while when I was writing my Leimail. You could hear him coming 6 gates away. I could hear him moving around during my sleep and around 5:30 in the morning I heard him purusing all of the floor and seat openings at Gate B-FML. (That is B-FuckMyLife if you don't get it). He squeaked his way around the maze of droolers and squeaked right over my god damn hand.
I sat up immedately and tried to wipe the drool and dirt off of my face. I also gave a few lip smacks to try to determine the foulness of my breath. Old Man took a seat directly across from me. I didn't want to take any more chances of loosing any digits to squeaky cart, so I checked my phone to decide what I would do with the new morning. I then realized that Cinnabon was going to open within the half hour and so my day began! Hoo-hah! I'll take 3 to go, please. Yes I would like them warmed up. Yes- all of them- I've got to start my Thursday right!
If you have not been a lucky one to recieve one of my "Leimails," here is a gift for you. This is my most recent Leimail that I sent from the ground of the Atlanta airport at 3:00 A.M. in the morning.
I wish there was a way to make sure badly behaved people get what they deserve. What is she rambling on about this time? You may ask yourself. Well, if you notice the time, you will see that it is really late/early and I am not drunk/at the goldmine/ watching the freakin royal wedding/ dancing on the pool table at f and ms/ or drinking tequila sunrises at the sae house as the sun comes up on mardi gras day. No, I am not doing any of these things. I am simply at the Atlanta airport. Still. Going on hour 8 here.
So.... The purpose of this email? To try to figure out a way to produce instant karma.... And to get the cinnabon place to open early (but I think I have a better chance with the instant karma thing). Maybe I will just sit outside of their airport hut and whine like a dachshund. I am sure that will be better than sitting on the ground, against the wall, where there is an outlet, right next to the smokers cancer glass bubble. Oh I mean airport room. Seriously, who smokes at 3 in the morning when they are not at any of the places I listed above?
Anyway, I digress. I will now recount the first half of my travel day from hell. And why just the first half? Because the second half is yet to come.
So I booked a ticket with robin out to San Fran for lianas wedding. (ps it does not really matter if you know who any of these people are). Then about two days after I booked the ticket, the Earl of admission asked if I would go to atlanta for work. Absolutely. Slight problem that I was suppose to be flying to the city of gay hippies (and don't get me wrong- i love both gays and hippies, and even much more so gay hippies- if those exist) the same day, but I figured a twelve hour detour to Atlanta wouldn't hurt. If only I could warn Leila in the past. Don't do it!
So I fly out here, do my thang, yadda yadda yadda.
GOD DAMNIT MYBACK HURTS BHJKFHJKJFJKVKHJFGHKD!!!!!!!!!
Anyway... Get to the airport with plenty of time to make my ten o'clock flight. The flight is a little delayed. I am a little grumpy about it. There is a bad storm rolling into Atlanta. We get on the plane a little late. The flight attendants (NOT stewardesses.... Nicole, you tell your mom I say it right) make an announcement that if we all get seated right away, we can get on the runway and beat the storm of the century out of here.
Apparently other people on my plane did not care as much as I did. They did not sit immediately. Thank you woman with cowboy hat who took about 7 minutes to decide if she wanted to put her hat in the bin above her or wear it on her head. Ultimately, when they cancel our flight and we have to stand in line to rebook, you go to the back. And if you are wondering- she decided to wear the hat on her head. Gotta look good when traveling.
Everyone finally sits down and we get going. We make it out on the runway and they say they have grounded our flight and we will wait for the storm to pass. Wonderful.
This would be all well and good until some little snot nose child starts crying in the back. It keeps going and going. And apparently at some point, the mother decides there is something terribly wrong with her kid, and we have to go back to the gate so she can get off of the plane. This could be a point where you take this shit seriously. I did. Until the mom actually got off of the plane with the kid and the kid looks over her shoulder and gives the back of the plane a loud, cheerful 'byyyyyyyeeeeeee.'
During the commotion of the woman asking to turn the plane around, another woman got her panties in a big wad. Because, you know, in a situation where a lot of people are stressed out and being affected, the best thing to do is to publicly freak the fuck out. Wadded panties woman, back of the line.
We get back to the gate and they announce that we are going to be able to take off soon... But then wait.... Nope. Can't take off now. The pilots have passed their expiration dates and can't not make the flight, because it would put them over their hours. Ok, I appreciate you thinking of our safety. But deep down inside I do wonder if that would have happened if snot nose hadn't pitched a fit, and If we didn't have to come back to the gate. And to be honest, I didn't wonder deep down inside, I wondered it out loud to my temporary line friend.
So we all stand in line for about two hours. My line buddies consist of my new line friend and a Hasidic couple with really bad breath. REALLY bad breath. The Hasidic woman informed us that number one freak out happened because the woman on the plane was on her way to san Francisco to be impregnated, to be a surrogate for her friend. Now I am not sure how much the baby gets from the surrogate, but it did make me wonder why type of condition her friend was in to feel like this woman was her only hope.
Well I am going to go search for a carpeted piece of ground. And wait for the cinnabon place to open. Sweet dreams, a holes! Sorry- that was uncalled for. I am just a little tired.
So, if you are wondering how it ended up... I did make it to San Francisco.... about 14 hours after I wrote this. If you are wondering, I was in the same clothes for about 33 hours. I would forget this until I would get a whif of myself. G-ROSS. Fa-nasty!
I did end up finding a nice little piece of carpet next to a bench in the Atlanta airport. The bench was taken by two other women, so I snuggled down on the ground at the end of it. I hugged my phone, which was on alarm and vibrate, as close to my face as possible. I woke up a few times to wipe the crumbs off of my face and to realize that I had scooted completely underneath the bench.
There was an old man pushing around a dumb squeeky wheely cart for a while when I was writing my Leimail. You could hear him coming 6 gates away. I could hear him moving around during my sleep and around 5:30 in the morning I heard him purusing all of the floor and seat openings at Gate B-FML. (That is B-FuckMyLife if you don't get it). He squeaked his way around the maze of droolers and squeaked right over my god damn hand.
I sat up immedately and tried to wipe the drool and dirt off of my face. I also gave a few lip smacks to try to determine the foulness of my breath. Old Man took a seat directly across from me. I didn't want to take any more chances of loosing any digits to squeaky cart, so I checked my phone to decide what I would do with the new morning. I then realized that Cinnabon was going to open within the half hour and so my day began! Hoo-hah! I'll take 3 to go, please. Yes I would like them warmed up. Yes- all of them- I've got to start my Thursday right!
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