I realize now that the title is more alluring than what the actual content is…. but you’re here now so whatever. Also, this is an old post that never got posted – times and living situation are now phenom bombs. (shit I think I just made that up… awesome..)
Due to our previously flooded apartment/leaking skylight (we lived in a basement apartment with skylights – which made no sense to me then and makes no sense to me now). They (building people) managed to carve out a little platform where all nine heat pumps and air conditioning units would sit and make continuous loud ass noise. Here, is exactly where they decided to floppa-do two skylights so one could have the beautiful view of shitiness. At first glance, appealing for a basement apartment – at second glance – dumb as hell.
Had I known Jaclyn’s room would start melting and mine would be a loud constant humming of rattles I would have – well, thought otherwise about moving in. We also had a broken stove burner, a washing machine that didn’t drain, stompy neighbors (see A Note to Our Upstairs Neighbors) and a small ant problem in the shower. I think of it as kind of a half-ass Jumanji. The ants are the monkeys, the rain is the rain, and well only those two things kind of apply…. The ant problem was an issue for me because I hate killing insects so it took hours out of my day to extricate the ants from the wall of the shower via flying piece of toilet paper and into the hallway (it was too far to go outside and I feel as though the hallway was good for them).
Jaclyn and I moved into a hotel after the leaking destroyed her room and bedding. I stayed there twice and realized I hated not having all my shit with me and not being able to make eggs in the morning. I decided to move back to the molding apartment as my room wasn’t completely fucked and I would at least have all of my crap. We had to move everything into the living room to avoid further damage. I spent countless nights rummaging through my own filth.
I felt like that underground population of people in Demolition Man. Lots of shit piled everywhere and loud noises from the heat pump that moaned every 30 minutes above my head – not to mention a similar noise coming from the other side of my bedroom wall when the neighbor had sex with his girlfriend and/or mistress lady who frequently wears jeggings. My room was like sitting in a box of horrors when it came at me from both angles. Heat pump vs. loud-ass girlfriend with dramatics. Because of the shared wall I felt like I was actually in the room with them – perhaps sitting in a giant plush smoking a pipe in a robe and voyeur-ing . The whole thing is creepy. Including that previous imaginative description of my own creation.
Upon not sleeping and living in piles of clothes riddled with dampness I felt a shift in my sanity and general maintenance of my person. It’s amazing how living in a messy environment effects your will to live. People who actually hoard for reals must reek of rat poo-poo. During this phase, I wore the same long black woolen sweater with anchor buttons to work for five days in a row. My boss finally noticed and asked what the deal with the sweater was to which I responded, “I just felt like being cozy….” (hugging my arms around myself) I also felt like not giving a fuck. Basically, cozy equals not giving a fuck. I don’t think I own anything that is “cozy” and not remarkable hideous or ill fitting. It generally has been washed too many times or not at all and makes me look like I’m 10-15 pounds heavier. It is also covered in 9 million lint balls. Fuck winter for making me look homely. ANYWAYS, I would continue to wear my sweater as we were on the apartment hunt again, six months after we moved into our current place.
I cant think of anything worse than moving – mainly because you have to rely on other people to help you. So, when you move as much as I do – you start losing friends. I have four friends so shits getting slim. This will probably be the last time I move or the last time I have friends.
If you take the part out where you are viewing someones home to in the near future make it our own, which is weird as hell but giant king crabs steal each other nests all the time so there’s that. The actual idea of meeting a stranger at a location that they may or may not still live in and touring around their apartment and stifling through their things is in all normal capacities – weird. Sometimes these units are vacated but most of them still have people living in them. I despise the awkward tenants home while you just look at (and judge) their shit and especially when they just follow you around to every room as you open up random cabinets and search through their bathroom medicine cabinet. (no?)
With ALL of that said – we went out one weekend and slammed in three apartments to go see. The first one we wanted to move in immediately. It was charming and owned by an older gentlemen that spoke to us about the war (just the “war” in general ), his farmhouse, and how he came to paint the living room canary-peach-merrygold-yellow. All pretty riveting stuff Mr. Gleason. Kudos. He made us sign some papers before we left (uh, what the fuck were those?) and I gave him my pen because he was just so old and his ran out. He also had a giant gash across his forehead with stitches jetting out of it which was impossible not stare profusely at. We bid him adieu and told him we would be submitting our applications after we had seen the other properties. Since email was not an option, we had to snail mail all of it over so we would hear back in 2.5 weeks.
Next up was a place off of 13th street that I insisted I knew the way to no problem – which of course I did not. I led us a few blocks away from 13th street and then back around in a circle until we happened upon a Mexican restaurant so we gave up and had some beers. Victory is mine.
The third was by far one of the strangest experiences ever. It was owned by an eastern European man named George – also pronounced ‘Gee-jorge.’ He looked like he just got back from the tanning salon and was interested in fucking off the apartment showing and b-lining to some sort of discotheque to dabble in some cocaine. He spun us around the apartment opening up ever cabinet and showing each custom closet him and his sister had installed when they lived together (kind of weird). After we saw inside of each wooden drawer we asked him about the huge paved driveway out front and if we would be able to park there (neither of us have cars) but if we DID – could we?
He responded in a thick and violent accent…
“No. NO!. No one can park there. The guys who bought this place had bad permit so after they built it no one can use.”
“Okay….So who’s car is that?” …(We both pointed out the window).
“Well, that’s my car.” Gee-jorge said giggly. “You know sometime I go to Target for a few hours and when I do – I park.”
“Okay, but we cannot park there?”
“No. And also, I have key to your apartment so in the night I come by and I look around and it is good, yes?”
“Excuse me? Like in the night? Wait, we’re talking about a parking space here.”
“You do not use. Not ever. Me? Yes….I use. Sometimes..I use. ”
This all made two pails full of bat shit sense to me and he was borderline rapey. Actually, not border line – just rapey. We told him we had seen enough and to please stop opening all the drawers we would have to be on our way.
He stopped us and said, “FINE! If you take right now I’ll give to you for $2,200.00 – Ready? Go.”
Go what? He handed us a form that was literally just like an English exam with one open ended question in the middle of the blank page with a bunch of lines and a place to put our names. We would be leaving Gee-jorge.
“What you guys do tonight? Is it Saturday. We can do the party?”
“No Gee-jorge. We cannot do the party.”
We left thinking we’d be doomed to live with Gee-jorge in his disco-harassment-village of modern European furniture. Alas, we found a little gem literally two blocks away from our old apartment. We would proceed to move by hand (physically our bare hands) and one grocery cart for the next ten days taking trips back and forth and looking like a regular case of vagabonds. BUT ALAS, here we are – happy as clam with windows and free to park in our own fucking driveway.
‘This is How I Feel Today’ is by Jaclyn my roommate and dear friend. This week her room flooded and we had to move into a hotel that was made in the 1950’s and smells like peanut butter. ‘This is How I Feel Today’ is a depiction of the inner turmoil between being pissed as shit at our bro-tastic fratty landlords for never fixing the fucking leak in November, having to live in a peanut butter motel, looking for a new apartment and moving – all while having to work a 9-5 job.
The below could not be any more spot on.
Just logged on to OKCupid this morning for the first time in awhile and to my surprise found these little gems.
“Happy Monday! So I noticed you’re pretty tall, so am I. That’s all I have to say about that.If you’re really good at breaking the ice, do you have a favorite way to do that or does it change substantially with the situation?”
I always break the ice like this…………………….
“What’s in your favorite Omelette? Mine would be chorizo, green peppers and onions with some extra sharp cheddar cheese thrown in the middle. BAM!”
Why are you yelling at me? Do we really need to talk about this right now? And in so much detail? Fine. This is my favorite omelette – it’s called the sleeping bear. And yes, that is his egg blanket.
“Serious question… you can only pick one. No cheating. M&M’s, Skittles, or Strawberries?”
How would I cheat? By picking two? What is with online people and asking ridiculous multiple choice food questions? – I know what this is getting at and I will not fall for it.
If I pick:
Strawberries: I’m a slut
Skittles: I’m a slutty slut slut
M&M’s: I’m a husky slut
So, none of the above.
“Jeez I think you are so hot that I wish I can turn into the man of your dreams lol. Corny, yes. But so true.”
“Have you ever dated guys who are not as tall as you?”
Yes and the whole time I wished I could do this to them….
“It was the barefooted dance pic that that caused really caused the tswoonami……and I’m Joshua for the record”
I can quite honestly say that I have no fucking idea what Joshua is trying to say nor what a tswoonami is. Is that like a snackadium?
“How are you? I like your pictures. you look beautiful.”
“Tell me, are you as interesting as you seem? P.S. High five for the taller side…”
No, I’m not as interesting as I seem. My whole profile is surprisingly deceiving. I actually, generally suck.
“Nice profile.. care to chat? Wishing you a great day and I love the positive energy. How is online dating for you?”
I think this person has ADD.
“Hi! Are you set on the taller side? 🙂 I’m 5’10, but I love when a girl is taller. I hope that doesn’t stop you either. So do you like omelets? Do you like them stuffed (ingredients in the middle like a burrito) or mixed in the egg batter? As you can tell I have foodie tendencies and my awesome kitchen skills 🙂 What’s your name?”
Okay, what is with the omelette questions? Some kind of “I’ll be seeing you in the morning” sexual innuendo? Yes, I like omelettes. I like them stuffed into whatever delicious burrito thing that you are talking about.
“I like activities….I like all sorts of activities. I’d like to tell you all about my fun activities. Anyway, hope you are well and hope to chat soon.”
Oh Please. Go On…
“Hi, I like your profile and also think honesty is important in any type of relationship. You’re really cute too;)”
Message from Deeznuts654
Hi, thank you Deeznuts. I think honesty is really important too – just as important as “deeznuts.”
“I said to myself this online thing is so delicate…within two lines of the conversation you can surmise that someone is either extremely cool and fun or makes you want to delete you account and run for the ocean.We have four lines to decide if the ocean is worth running for…I’ll start…Hi :-)”
I’m sorry …who’s delicate? Who said the four lines? Do we want to run for the ocean or is that a bad thing? Just based on this alone, I assume you deleted your account and ran for the ocean.
“I’m in NoVa during the summer / holidays, and I’ll be in DC next week on a party bus… Let’s meet at one of the bars! Oh and I’m a great conversationalist… I pride myself on it so much so that I leave just about every detail about myself up to being learned via conversation. Last time I checked we don’t get flash cards about people when we meet them haha. Anyways, I’m sure the fact that I’m 6’6 already piques your curiosity (I hope)… So let me reiterate how neat it would be to meet you next weekend! Hope you can make a cameo.”
Why would I ever, in the history of time – meet anyone at a bar that is a stop on a party bus crawl that I’m not actually participating in? Wouldn’t you just have to leave shortly thereafter? No need to reiterate – anything. Anything at all.
Howdy-Any fun travels this summer?
I spit on your brevity. Pppft-a-too.
Well, I actually have no idea what a day in the life of an optometrist is like – I was only there for a few hours but I can imagine it revolves around a lot of eye-ball-talk. As per usual, any visit to a specialist for me means embarrassment, some kind of injury, and never being able to go back to same doctor/office again – this visit would no different.
I’m getting old and my eyes aren’t seeing as they once did. I can’t read menus that are posted on walls (extremely important) and I definitely cant see people that I know walking towards me until they were right in front of me which is startling as fuck. At any rate, I needed to get new glasses. My parents have been pushing the Costco optometrist for weeks now claiming he’s some kind of wonder boy. The offer to get an eye exam and free food samples is all very tempting but they were always booked when I tried to make an appointment – leaving me to believe in his wonder- boyness.
Being the adult that I am, (whaddup!?), I made an appointment with MyEyeDr (they weren’t mine at all but they force you to say that). It would be in the late afternoon of new years eve and the store was bustling. So much so that when I arrived there were like five people waiting around the front desk. No one wore anything to differentiate themselves from customer to employee so my initial reaction was to talk to the first person I saw wearing glasses (I mean come on, they have to work here..) I called out, “Hey four eyes!” just kidding, I simply invaded his personal space by manhandling his right arm and taping him on the shoulder with one pointy index finger. “Hi, I’m Nina and I have an appointment at 2:30 today.” The man turned around slowly, just half way so that he was peering over the tapped right shoulder to glare at my pondering face. “Hi, I don’t work here,” he explained,*sneered and bitch smacked me with his eyes*. I looked around and realized he was the only person not busying himself with papers, sitting at a computer, or behind any kind of desk. He definitely didn’t work here. “Right, but you’re wearing glasses…?” (haha-he-ho) …..He looked up at me completely unamused….”Okay, I’ll just go over here and talk to this person, thanks!”
There were still other people standing around the desk, one guy hovering by the mint bowl and another just standing and obstructing. I didn’t want to “butt” them in line so I stood 10 yards back by myself in the middle of the store until I think finally someone felt sorry for me. Front desk lady, “Hi, excuse me miss…..can I help you with something? You’ve been in here for quite awhile.” “Oh, yes me? Thank you. So, those two aren’t waiting for anything that guy just stands there up by the mints?” I twirl my finger in his general direction while she looks at me like I have four heads. I continue anyways,”Okay, I have an appointment at 2:30 – well, I guess it’s 3:00 now but it was at 2:30 but since I’ve been standing around for 30 minutes and talking to people who don’t work here…the time is now later.” Lady just stares at me blankly, “Alright….well…I’ll just take you back for your testing now.”
I followed her into the back room with one of those folding doors that kind of look like blinds. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how to close it so I accidentally unhinged the whole thing to the point where it just laid straight and would just flap around instead of closing. She asked me to please just stop touching it and sit down. Since being unhinged, the door slightly rested on my back for the duration of the exam…..which I think totally threw me off.
Anyways, when it comes to eye exams I always ask if they can make sure that the machine is at MY eye level – being tall and what not can really mess these things up unless the proper adjustments to seats and machinery are made. I went to the DMV once and their eye test was still set for someone the height of a garden gnome which meant it was just pointing at the floor, so everything I saw was black and they deemed to be completely blind. I convinced them that I wasn’t blind and told them that there must have been something wrong with the test. I wasn’t gonna let that shit happen again…. I actually ended up telling the eye test lady that story and she assured me that none of the tests would be pointing at floors. Perfect.
And so forth…the exam. So far so good. I could see the miniature farm house in the distance on a hill with the white fence. I was on one of those wheelie chairs with no backs which I find incredibly difficult to stay put on – I always accelerate with my feet too forcefully and it was time to swing over to the air puff test. I was way off and wheeled pass all of the three tests and into the wall. I readjusted myself and wheeled backwards by tiptoeing my feet ever so slightly towards the appropriate machine. I have no idea what the lady was thinking when I zoomed by her and rammed my shoulder into the far wall but it probably wasn’t anything positive.
By the way, I fucking hate the air puff test. Nothing is more traumatic than the air puff. You know it’s coming….but MY GOD it’s impossible to receive it in any kind of calm fashion. I jetted my head back and yelled, “GO’ LORD that’s one strong puff of air! Shocking really.” The lady asked me to keep still and to stop talking so much. There was one more test with a bunch of blinking red and green lights – which I totally nailed.
I feel like all of this had to have been one giant fools errand. How could any of this determine anything. Lets recap, I stared at an itty bitty house for 30 seconds, some balloon thing puffed air in my face, and I’m supposed to raise my hand when the smallest traffic light on earth blinks from red to green. If you think about it – probably the most fucked up way to spend an hour. Ever.
That part of the exam was over and I was to wait for the actual doctor back in the main area where I had spoken to a bunch of strangers moments before. I walked out like a nerd pushed into a coupled up dance floor. Timid and with the fear of peeing my pants. I teetered around the borders of the room and started to aggressively try on every pair of glasses on this giant wall. Trying on, checking in mirror, trying on, checking in mirror, and so on for the next 20 minutes until I was called back by the doctor. I turned around when I heard my name and was wearing a pair of glasses on the top my head, a pair on my face, and was holding another in my hand for quick try on convenience. I was trying on glasses as one eats at a buffets. After I de-robed via glasses face I followed the sound of my name to another room.
The optometrist was surprisingly young and tall. I knew immediately, that we would be friends. I sat in the giant chair with the archaic looking mechanism that you are supposed to put your face into with the rotating lenses. We chatted for a little about my health and what it’s like being tall women. She told me that in college she had a boyfriend who was 5’7″ and sometimes she would rest her arm on his head when she felt like leaning on something. She also told me they had since broke up – most likely because she used to rest her arm on his head. I laughed and said, “Pppsssshhhh I know right, haha short guys are the worst.” She looked at me and nodded. So, we should probably try and start the test. Great, she asked me to read the top line of letters. My voice would get really loud when I thought I got one right. And sometimes I would even raise my hand in enthusiasm for no reason at all. We joked about her maybe not being a real doctor. “Hahahaha wait, really?” The weird flipping lenses giant thing was over and now we would talk about my eye health by looking at a picture of a two pink orbs that were meant to be my eye balls.
Apparently one of those machines earlier had take pictures of my eye balls without me knowing it – I felt extremely exposed. She said everything looked really healthy and explained that all of the gross shit was normal. She asked if I ever had any headaches. I said sometimes but I’m pretty sure they’re because of dehydration (I love to self diagnose out loud). She told me that I had a slight astigmatism but it was nothing to worry about. She also explained that astigmatism only means that the eyeball is becoming more of an eye-oval. I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to interject my favorite word “oblong” into the conversation. “Oh, really is that so? Very interesting – so in fact the eye is becoming somewhat of an oblong shape, is that correct?” I kind of grinned after I said it like, yes, totally worked that in. She picked up on it and asked if I tried to work that in on purpose I told her yes, yes, I did.
She agreed that it was a great word. She also said that one eye was slightly worse than the other but that was normal. I inquired about monocles just in case it should worsen. She told me a story about a guy who came in the other week and had one eye that had perfect vision and the other was all shits of crazy. He had ordered a monocle because didn’t want to deal with glasses – naturally. THEY WILL STILL MAKE MONOCLES ON REQUEST – you’re welcome for the info. I asked about pocket watches because they are kind of in the same territory as a monocles. She said I’m sure those are also available. I told her I just liked small useful things that were attached to chains. She laughed and turned to her paper to jot something down. Dammit. What the hell is she jotting down? I hate that about doctors, always jotting down judgment for later.
Now that was out of the way, I guess the exam was over and I was to go talk to a glasses sales guy to trick me into buying some ridiculously priced glasses I could find online for one tenth of the cost. I mean do I look like and idiot? (don’t answer that..). I sat down as he typed on the computer for awhile and told him what kind of glasses I liked. He said he would grab a few pairs. I followed him around while he gathered them instead of just staying seated. When we both returned I explained to him in great detail that my face was like a circle “See sir, it’s just round, just a round circle-face.” My finger just twirled around the circumference of my head to demonstrate the roundness. I continued, “If you have glasses that can accommodate a round circle face – then those would be the glasses for me.” “Do you know what I’m talking about?” He nodded and got some glasses for round people faces.
The glasses I wanted would be $264.00 just for the frames. Excuse me what? I told him you could buy a mobile home for $264.00. He said, “Okay, maybe we can cut you a deal.” He aggressively typed into his computer for the next seven minutes like he was searching for something. Alright we can offer you $249.00. How the fuck-wads did you arrive at that number? What the hell did you type in? Anyways, that’s a hard pass – I would be ordering them online.
I needed to get my prescription from the doctor in order to know what to order so I shadowed him back up to the front desk while we waited for my BFF to sign the prescription. As he was filling out the prescription for her to sign I caught myself leaning headfirst over the counter as he wrote the numbers…. .75 for right eye .05 for the left eye over a little picture of eyes on the sheet of paper, it was all mesmerizing. I realized my head was leaning over so much so that my shadow was blocking his light and some of my hair was getting in the way of his pen. When I noticed I said, “My God. I’m so sorry about the hovering. I mean, I was just really getting in there.” He told me it was okay but maybe I should just sit down and wait for the doctor. Right, this again. Hasn’t everyone realized by now that I am incapable of sitting down and waiting? I have ADHD. Sitting and waiting is a hard no-go muchacho.
I wanted to see the doctor to give her my card – I thought we could hang out. It’s rare you meet another tall female person to hang out with. She also mentioned earlier that she had recently moved to the area and was only hanging out with her other MyEyeDr friends which must have been pretty lame. I thought I was reading all the right signals. I crapped out and didn’t leave my card but I did send her a Facebook message at 8:30 pm on a Friday night…the below is verbatim:
Hey! I hope you don’t think I’m the biggest creeper on earth – I know this is super random but I thought we “hit it off” as funny tall people. Let me know if you would ever want to grab drink or meet up! My number is XXX-XXX-XXXX.
What I didn’t realize then is that starting anything with “I hope you don’t think I’m the biggest creeper on earth..” generally means whatever you are doing is in fact, really creepy and you should discontinue doing it. Well, I didn’t not. And I also did not receive any kind of answer back. So….. I will be in the market for a new eye doctor (again) and it is there I will be ordering my monocle.
We were off to Miami for the holidays. “I’m in Miami Bitch” “Welcome to Miami” and all other songs that contain “Miami” should now be playing in the background.
The last time I ventured to “party in the city where the heat is on” was during a very poorly planned spring break vacation my sophomore year of college. We stayed at a Howard Johnson that was 50’s themed, smelled of pukes (plural: several pukes), and miles away from the beach. We ate our meals in a booth that was shaped like an old pink Chevy and there was this giant bobbled headed old woman on roller skates that just hovered and stared at you while you dined (I don’t think she even worked there).
On top of the extra shitty accommodations, none of us five girls on the trip (girls vacay! woohoo! eff’ boys) realized that you cant do anything or go anywhere in Miami unless you’re 21. We were 19 and 20 with crappy fake id’s. We ended up buying booze from a sketchy liquor store and just drinking in the hotel room the whole time. We probably could have saved a lot of money if we had just done that locally.
The one time we went to the beach I got severely sun burned and had heat stroke. The tide also brought in an abnormal amount of horse shoe crabs which washed ashore and died on the sand, creating a carcass beach of helmet animals that smelled, and smelled bad. After exhausting the shitty smelly beach, we decided to try our luck at shopping. At the first shop I was instantly “pretty woman-ened” (it’s a new verb) out of the store after the sales clerk looked me up and down wearing my cut of jean skirt and ill fitting slant-off-one-shoulder jersey/tank. He said that there wasn’t anything in the store for me and that I should leave in a hurried manner. I thought, well, fuck that guy. I would be leaving at whatever pace I choose and a side step in extreme slow motion while gingerly touching merchandise on the way out would be the way to go. He rolled his eyes as I exited the store at the pace of a slug stuck in a glob of molasses. I mouthed “ffuuuuucccckkkk yoooouuuuuu” also in slow motion.
I would love to go back and do the whole “you work on commission right?” except I would probably only be flinging around a CVS bag with tons of Wet n’ Wild cosmetics in his face which would completely defeat any purpose of doing any “you work on commission revenge tactics.” Apart from that asshole, there are other assholes in Miami – a place for the over indulgent and over worked male biceps. The only way to participate in anything remotely cool is if you’re Pit Bull himself. At least there is one person having fun. You go Pitbull. You go.
THE MOST GIANT-LY LARGE RAMBLING TANGENT…..is now over.
Back to my most recent trip to Miami:
I flew down with my parents out of DC. I made special arrangements so I would be able to take my luggage as a carry on (by special arrangements I mean put some of my liquid belongings into plastic baggies). For some reason, liquid-baggie-packing always seems like this giant fucking inconvenience when really it’s just like packing your lunch except with toiletries. Actually, that blows too. I packed and repacked for hours knowing that I’m the worst packer ever and tried desperately to make sure that I didn’t pack any bed linens instead of actual clothing, no pillowcases instead of a white shirts for this lady.
We taxied to the airport and my mom was thrilled to find out that she had TSA pre-approval without her knowledge – which seemed to me like a major loop hole. I waited in the long ass “must-take-everything-off-you-are-now-naked-this-is-weird” line for 40 minutes with all the other plebes. I always have to go into the full body scanner and I always forget to wear socks. I also use 45 to 78 plastic bins. Individually stacking and separating out any belts, shoes, socks, jewelry, electronics, coats, hoodies, 6 ml liquid bottles and anything else I could be arrested and shackled for.
I’m sure everyone feels this way but what is it about airports that instantly makes you feel like you are unknowingly a Colombian drug mule? I would never take anything illegal on the plane nor traffic drugs but the paranoia that I’ve swallowed 20 grams of her-oine and am also carrying a stash in between my butt cheeks whilst armed with a loaded gun is how I act – which is suspicious as shit. Sweaty, rambling, beady eyed with severe nausea.
After all of this the flight attendant made me check my bag anyways because it didn’t pass the weakass metal box test. GREAT. Now to look for my aisle while everyone stares are my feet to make sure I’m not wearing 8 inch platforms. I’m not – these are my legs.
I’m by far the most hapless person ever and in classic my no luck style my mom, dad, and I were sat in three different seats sprinkled amongst a family with five kids, their parents, and one twin uncle named Herb. None of the children had flown before and they were all between the ages of 2 and 7 (fml..you’ve got to be kidding me). The mother had to continuously reassure them that we were not going to all die inside a fiery ball of hell. Which in turn kicked my fear of flying up a notch to the point where I also wanted to ask her bunch of questions to calm my nerves:
Will we die when we take off?
Will we die when there is turbulence?
Can the drink cart be used as a weapon?
Why don’t they serve peanuts?
Can I use the barf bag to store things other than barf?
Statement: I only ever order ginger ale or tomato juice on airplanes. Question: Why?
Do the emergency exit people really know what the fuck they’re doing?
The kids covered most of these questions anyways and also felt the need to ask really dumb questions that only children would like: “Hey mom. When we get into the car can we have the windows rolled down?” (What kind of lame ass question is that?) Another was, “Will the people here like us?” in which the mother responded, “Honey, they don’t know us.” I wanted to raise my hand. Oh, actually, excuse me children….. I can answer this one….the answer is no, no they will not.
In addition to the 476 questions, 57 screeching screams from hell, and 19 karate kicks to the back of my seat, all five children were asking the mother rapid fire questions about their cat; Meatball.
“What is Meatball doing?”
“Do you think Meatball would like this plane?”
“Meatball peed on the Christmas tree before we left.”
“What is Meatballs?”
After the plane landed and we de-boarded I wanted to dance on river mountains, twirl around in an open field with a basket of wild lilies, and just breathe in the fresh air that was the Miami airport terminal. That’s how good it felt – to be out.
We were staying at a super flash hotel with loads of people that inconvenienced you by being too helpful. There were also tons of perks and free things to take on daily basis. My mom took a liking to hoarding the free delicious apples that were placed in a giant bowl at the front desk every morning. We would eat them on the beach as a mid-afternoon snack. She felt the strong need to dispose of her apple core by feeding it to the starving seagulls. Everyone gets pissed when you feed seagulls on the beach because they go ape-shit. To do so anyways, my Mom would go on top secret missions to inconspicuously deliver the apple cores to the seagulls in a sort of feeding ritual. To me, this was the most hilarious thing ever. Not only did she look incredibly suspicious as she walked towards the ocean everyday with snack to dispose of in hand – but the quick escape after the seagull mayhem is the best thing since sliced bread. Thank little baby Jesus I recorded it. Please find below for the largest video on earth that I couldn’t figure out how to shrink:
In addition to feeding the seagulls apple cores, she was also really good at recording my brother and only my brother while he was swimming in the ocean. His wife had asked us to take videos of the family vacationing and send them to her – a request which mom took in all seriousness. Day in and day out she would take the same videos of my brother doing close to nothing – just floating in the waves. He would announce that he was going to take a dip and then 3 to 5 minutes later she would follow him down to the beach with her iphone and begin recording. I think the secretiveness came because A) he doesn’t like being filmed and B) the whole thing was creepy as hell. I loved it. With the amount of footage taken we could produce a feature film of my brother swimming back and forth and sometimes just floating in the ocean. I would call it “Finding Nothing,” an epic story of no adventure at all to find something that was never lost.
This is the trailer:
I don’t want to give you a warped impression – my dad is just as hilarious with his antics. He typically decides to abruptly start walking in incredibly abnormal ways. The walks are either the lunge forward hunching with slow leg lifts or fulfilling the dream of being a human duck and waddling. Either one, the family will usually join in and walk through public spaces in a conga line of village idiots. I love every second of it. He will also ask ridiculously difficult, confusing, and mind probing questions to strangers and wait staff in particular. Dining interactions would go something like the following:
Waiter: “Hello, my name is Justin and I will be your server this evening.”
Dad: “Hello Justin. Some have claimed that no true democracies ever go to war with each other. In fact, does history bear that claim out? If so, try to explain how democracy exerts such an effect.”
Waiter: “Well, how about I tell you about our specials?”
Dad: “You are special. Pop Quiz: you are also the CEO of a consumer products company. How would you determine the portion of your budget to devote to advertising?”
Waiter: “Not sure but we do have a lovely entree dish with roasted chicken breast and rosemary potatoes.”
Dad: “Hmmm I’m an admirer of rosemary potatoes. In fact, many admirers of Ronald Reagan credit him and his policies with the fall of Communism. Is that claim justified?
Waiter: “I’m actually here just to take your drink order…”
Dad: “Right. I’m thinking of my drink order. I’ll tell you what beer I would like either telepathically or in pantomime. Go.”
Waiter: “In pantomime?”
Dad: <Acts out a Stella Artois in a can.>
One night when we were out to dinner, my dad noticed a group of people sitting at the lounge table behind us. He had come up with the theory that the one guy in the “goggles” as my mom called them (they were clear thick framed glasses) was being protected by the three larger gentleman and if anyone made any swift movements they would be walloped. The man in the goggles was in his 70’s and was ordering champagne every 5 minutes. He was surround by gorgeous eastern European women who never spoke to him directly. Whoever he was, there was no deceiving the Foster family. We knew those were his bodyguards, we knew he ordered a lot of champagne, we knew he wears goggles even at nighttime…. Billy likes..SODA. Ms Lippy’s car is…GREEN. We could all leave in peace.
The vacation carried on as a series of laughable moments and was a huge success. Not a success in that we got to spend time in a lavish hotel or plop on a sunny beach for 4 hours each day but in that quality family time is the best time you can spend. And there is never enough of it. I could not be more blessed to have a family that is such hilariously good company and are the people that understand me the most. I am definitely my parents daughter. Mom & Dad I hope you know I’m laughing with you – at least sixty percent of the time.