[about the author]
i actually like speaking in front of large crowds. freakish,
i work crossword puzzles in ink.
i am the american nigella lawson. or maybe the american eddie
izzard. can't decide, really.
i would be a really good mom, but i'm cool with being a really
i am sometimes more perceptive than i would like to be.
i am fiercely loyal. sometimes, stupidly so.
i never play dumb. never.
i am way too hard on myself.
i am a change agent.
i sometimes cross that fine line between assertive and aggressive.
i am not afraid to tell people that i love them.
i am militantly pro-choice.
i am pro-adoption.
i know a little bit about alot of things.
i typically enjoy the company of men more than women.
i am capable of being really mean and nasty, but i fight it.
i am a lifelong cubs fan. do not laugh.
i have been known to hold a grudge.
i have hips.
i am not my sister.
i am lousy at forgiving myself.
i am an indoor kind of gal.
i am a bargain shopper. to the point of obsession.
i am 32 flavors. and then some.
highlights from the weekend, immediately followed by one motherfucker of a lowlight
- sitting on the acela on my way back from baltimore and thinking that the perfect antidote to two crushingly brutal days might just be a quick trip down to atlanta -- land of humidity, the neiman marcus outlet, my aunt’s potato salad...and wonderful friends who will probably disown me when they read this and realize that i came to atlanta and didn't call them. again.
- going straight to the airport from union station with not so much as a clean pair of underwear or a toothbrush in my possession and getting on a plane to atlanta.
- noticing while waiting for take off that the sign inside the coat closet on the plane touts the closet door’s “whiptastic handling.” immediately making a note to try and work the phrase "whiptastic handling" into at least one conversation a week for the rest of my life.
- being punchy at midnight at the hertz counter and deciding that what we really need here is…a jag.
- having diana-at-hertz comp the gps navigation service because she thinks it’s totally cool about the jag.
- pressing the “whatever/whenever” button on the phone in the hotel room and having the following conversation:
hotel employee: thank you for calling w hotel guest services, what can i get for you tonight?
me: yes, i was wondering if i could get a few items that i don’t have with me. like…a toothbrush, maybe?
hotel employee: certainly. is there anything else?
me: well…actually, what do you have?
hotel employee: well, we have the things people usually forget, so anything you don’t have, we can probably assist. razors. q-tips.
me: well, i didn’t bring anything with me. so all of that would be good. just bring whatever you have.
hotel employee: you didn’t bring anything with you?
me: nope. not even a bag. i'm traveling like a rock star.
hotel employee: well…we don’t have…clothes…or anything like that.
me: oh. okay. well then just bring me extra q-tips, i guess. but a lot okay? i mean...a lot.
[ed. note: so much for the whole “whatever/whenever” concept. i bet no one tells lenny kravitz "we don't have clothes or anything like that." i bet gwen stefani doesn't have to make due with some cheapass toothbrush and some fake q-tips. i am totally going to write a letter.]
- using the gps navigation thing to go everywhere, including the 800 feet from the hotel parking lot to the bank drive-thru next door. just. because. i. can.
- putting on my new shirt in the
car jag and screaming at the gawking man in the target parking lot, “oh for god’s sake, just pretend it’s a bathing suit top and get over it.”
- putting on clean underwear in the jag and being asked “aren’t you gonna tell that very happy ups driver next to us to just pretend that it’s a bathing suit bottom and get over it?”
- sitting in the jag with no shoes on while eating a chik-fil-a chicken biscuit and then, just when you think it can't get any better than that...journey comes on the radio. honest to god.
- commenting repeatedly on the jag’s “whiptastic handling.”
- telling the waitress at mellow mushroom that you dream about their pizza every night since you moved away four years ago and having her respond with all sincerity and solemnity befitting the occasion: “right on, man. we are honored.”
- noticing the photo and sign on the wall commemorating the “historic moment” of the “first and only” completely non-smoking shift ever at mellow mushroom. and feeling very certain that by “non-smoking” they mean tobacco cigarettes.
- eating the pizza and commenting that it’s even better than you remember, and that you cannot conceive of how it possibly could be any better than this and then, suddenly, from the speakers you hear...two journey songs in a row.
- trying to convince yourself that you don’t actually smell something hot and acrid and burning immediately after take off, only to have your efforts interrupted by a high-pitched beeping followed by the flight attendant’s voice telling everyone to remain in their seats because we’re “going to head back to atlanta,” and then, as the plane drops and banks unusually sharply back in the direction of the airport, you see out the window that the tarmac is swarming with flashing lights and emergency vehicles and you know they’re waiting for you.
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