My 15 Minutes of Fame Are Up

So, the other day I'm at the neighborhood nail salon getting a much much MUCH needed pedi, and along comes a reporter from the Star Tribune. He's doing an article on spas and how we are fitting in our beloved mani/pedi's into our budgets now that it costs nine dollars a gallon at the gas pump. I chatted with the very polite reporter and he went on his merry way.

Turns out, just hours before, the same reporter had been interviewing management at the Minnesota School of Cosmetology. As it happens, my lovely sister-in-law is the Campus Director there, which means she was the management in which the reporter had been speaking to. Neither Jill or I had talked about this prior to this chance encounter with the same reporter.

Later that week, I was enjoying a beer and a smoke at my brother's Beer League Softball game, joined by my lovely sis-in-law. I was showing off my new pedi, which I have to say still looks fantastic after 2 weeks thankyouverymuch, and I mentioned the reporter. I was pumped that I might get my name in the paper since I'm such an attention-whore (yeah I said it). Jill about fell off the rusty bleacher. Then she told me about her experience with the nice reporter man because she was pumped about getting some press on her school (and deep down, she was excited about getting her name in the paper too because she's got a little attention-whore in her too...yeah, I said it).

Long story short (or longer, given you just read all that crap above), my sister and I are quoted in the same article without even knowing we were both interviewed for the same article. What are the freakin' odds on that, my friends? Here's our beloved 15 minutes of fame (which I'm quite sure are officially up):

http://www.startribune.com/lifestyle/yourmoney/20657714.html

I just have to point out who's name is in the first paragraph....that'd be me. I win at Attention-Whore Olympics. I'd like to thank Yang, who gave me that now infamous pedi. I'd like to thank Red Nails for allowing me to walk in off the street with no appointment and for the expansive selection of polish. And finally, I'd like to thank my mom for always supporting me and my need to be beautiful no matter the cost of gas.

Xoxo,
Pedi-Girl

My Pretend Boyfriend

Since I have nothing of substance to contribute to my blog, here's a photo of my favorite Wild player, Mikko Koivu. Enjoy. I do.

California Dreamin'

It's official. I am getting off my ass and back into blogging, people! I'm not sure why I took so much time away from St. Pauly Girl. I think I've been sort of censoring myself, which is weird because I wasn't aware that I came equipped with a censor device. I've never used it before which is probably why I didn't know how to turn it off once I accidentally tripped it on.

Quick life update for you. I'm still in school for radio. I still love it. Radio, that is. What I don't love is the 99% moron/loser quota of students that go to my school. I don't want to come off like a total megalomanic but every day I'm amazed at the level of low-life that is enrolled in my program. And this is a program full of people who actually think they deserve to speak to the masses through the radiowaves. I am truly frightened by this, every single day.

For example, and this is coming from an older gentleman in my class, when doing an assignment in class which involved writing a commercial for an insurance company (or something...I can't remember the exact details of the class...you'll understand why in a minute) a classmate said "I just have a problem with obese people. They should be required to have their stomach's stapled. Then they can stop costing the insurance companies so much money."*

Um, I can't bring myself to discuss it further. Let's just say, I no longer even pretend to be nice to this person. I've eliminated him from the list of people I acknowledge as existing on this earth.

That's just one example of the population. The rest of them, in general terms, are busy contributing to the air pollution epidemic just opening their mouths at all. Not a single class goes by without hearing at least one comment from the following categories: A) racism, B) sexism, C) sexual harrassment, D) illegal drugs, E) miscellaneous offensive statements. At this point I struggle to allow this verbal diarrhea go in one ear and out the other without leaving a stain on the muscle in my skull and have allowed myself to play the role of Stuck Up Bitch. I've resolved to the fact that being looked down upon by this sort of person should be viewed as a compliment. Stuck Up Bitch I am, then.

With that said, I do still LOVE my classes. I just got down with Digial Audio Production and Radio Commercial Writing which were awesome. I no longer listen to radio for music and/or ramblings of various on-air personailities, but I tune in for the commercials which I critique harshly because I think I can produce a much more superior product for the radio commercial waves. Next quarter I'm back in the studio where we'll focus on news broadcasting, along with a news writing class with my favorite insructor, Radio Dale. The best thing so far is that every quarter I feel more and more confident that I'm in the right business. I'm starting to really be able to see myself doing these things, like, for real, outside the walls of the BC dungeon (location of the radio program at the school).

Outside of school, there's a lot going on. St. Pauly Boy is finally home after a five-week stint flying between the West Coast, home on weekends, and the East Coast. He was home for a total of 9 days in March. This takes a toll on both of us. Between him being gone so much and the shitty ass fucking weather we have in Minnesota, we have decided that a Big Move would be beneficial when I'm finished with school. Before you freak out, it's not a final decision, but is something that makes a lot of sense for both of us and quite frankly, we both want it at this point. The Big Move would of course be to Southern California. Let's go through the Pro/Con list, shall we?

Pros:

• Opportunity for growth for SPB's career
• Lots of radio jobs for SPG
• THE WEATHER
• Relief on SPG's Seasonal Affective Disorder
• Living together full-time (what a concept)
• The weather
• We already have friends in the area
• The weather

Cons:

• Missing family
• Missing friends
• Cost of living
• Anaheim Ducks

The first three on the list of cons can be taken care of through travel and upgrades in salary due to the availabiliy of good jobs for both of us. So that leaves only one con, being the Anaheim Ducks, which we will handle by going to the Wild/Ducks games in full Wild gear each time. This is our last season with season tickets for the Wild, at least for a while. The family as a whole decided to save some money and take a few years off. So I'll already miss my Wild if we move to CA but at least I won't be sitting under a palm tree or laying on the beach being jealous of my dad and brother braving the frozen tundra from the parking ramp to the front door of the Xcel Energy Center. They won't be going to the games either! This helps. So, basically, we have a plan for the con list.

The only other con I would add, which I'm hesitant to do at this point, is starting a family. Oh lord, can you believe it? We've been talking about having a baby. I know, it's crazy. The Big Move would probably put that on hold for a while, which is ok with me. I'm ready, but it would probably be smarter to wait till I'm done with school, have a job, stuff like that. But as everyone says, you can always wait until you're "really ready" but the longer that lasts, the more excuses you will find to just keep waiting. So, we're resolved to the fact that if it happens it happens. We'd be ecstatic if it did but if it doesn't, it doesn't. I guess you could say we're not NOT trying. Yes, that does so make sense. I do have to say, it would be harder to have a baby once we make the Big Move. If we stayed in Frozen Hell, at least I'd have my two moms around (who are freaking out with anticipation of becoming Grandmoms) to help out. But then again, it's not like they can't come stay for a while. And what the fuck, am I not strong enough to handle a baby on my own? I think I could kick Motherhood's ass. I mean, I always have Squab as a virtual guide to kicking Motherhood's ass. Along with South St. Pauly Girl and Jen who are the best mom's I know :) In other words, yes, it would be difficult, but it'll be difficult no matter where I live, so I can't use it as an excuse to stay just because I'm scared.

So, there it is. My status in a nutshell (i.e. long-winded blog post). Thoughts? Comments? Think I'm crazy? Tell me about it.

Xoxo,

Gossip Girl, I mean, St. Pauly Girl

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*This is actually a little paraphrased but the concept true. The statement in it's entirety lacked any form of gramatic substance, it was hard to pick out the exact sentiment he was trying to make. But I got it.

Bonjour, Mes Amies!

I'm alive, I swear. I just suck at the blogging thing these days. Shout outs to Squab, I miss you and your damn daughter looks so stinking cute with pigtails, I could just barf. Also to C. Kerns. I miss my big brother. Keep on keepin' on. Salut to Tad and Lisa on the birth of Baby S.! Damn girl, you survived a 9 pound baby. I owe you a beer for that one. Can't wait to meet that lil' guy! Big Ups to M & P & Fi! Can't wait for baseball season, maybe I'll then I'll see you again. KC, you're still my cookie. X's and O's. Kyle, I still need that playlist, dammit. Still heart you though. I really don't think anyone else reads this thing or has read this thing in the past, I don't really know, but if I missed a shout out, then comment to your hearts content and I'll pay the dues where the dues should be paid.

Life = fab. Stinky Pete = sleeping at my feet right now. Snowblower usage = once and quite successful so far. Radio = rocks my world and hopefully someday I'll rock it's.

Peace and Love!
St. Pauly Girl

You Are Cordially Invited.....

...to my Re-Entry Pity-Party. Japan was AMAZING, trust me, I'll tell you all about it, just as soon as I get past this curse of re-entry into normal life. It all started at Narita Airport in Tokyo. As we were checking in for our flight home, my bags failed the security check-point thus had to proceed to formal inspection. Luckily I'm a total spaz about the organization of my luggage so it was rather easy to dig through my stuff, even if it were mostly dirty laundry. After 20 minutes we finally found the problem: a lighter in the front pocket of my suitcase. You see, in the U.S. if you want to travel with a lighter, you have to keep it in your checked luggage. Apparently it's the opposite in Japan, so the Nice Inspection Lady took the lighter from my checked luggage and put it into my carryon. Wha? Ok, you're the boss, lady. Keep in mind that there is not a whole heck of a lot of English being spoken during this process and I'm operating on not so much sleep.

Moving along, everything is fine, we're on the plane, the majority of our flight attendants spoke English which was a total relief by this time, but I get seated next to I Need Both Armwrests Guy for the 10 hour flight home. I'm on the aisle, so using that armwrest is out of the question unless I want broken bones from the beverage carts going up and down the isle slamming into my arm. I drugged myself into slumber, so luckily I didn't have enough wake time to be pissed off about the situation.

We land at MSP and all 4 of us are so excited to be home where we understand the language (8 days of a foreign language can really wear on you mentally) and we're relieved to see that our flight is the only arrival at Immigration so the line was only 400 some people long. We get to the Immigration Officer who askes me the strangest question: "Do you have any issues with high blood pressure?" Ummmmm, no sir, I'm just fine, thank you. "Well, don't freak out but I have to keep your passport." Ummmmmm, why exactly??? "It's not valid. How much did you pay for this thing?" [Blood pressure immediately sky-rockets, I almost have to ask for a crash cart, stat.] Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm, this is a government issued passport, sir, I don't understand the problem. "Do you have a credit card?" [Self-dialog: what in the FUCK is going on with this guy?????] Yes. "What do you have to do to activate a credit card?" [Self-dialog: I don't know, call that little number or something???] The officer slides my passport over to me, open to the page with my picture and my signature…..signature being the absent item there. I had never updated my last name on my passport after I got married but for this trip I finally got a new one and apparently forgot to sign it before we left. So I signed it in front of the officer and he goes, "Ok, now you're legal to go to Japan, have a good trip." Sarcasm was not appreciated at that moment, but I let it go and went to go find my luggage. ..:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />

Next up, cab ride home from the airport. Reasonably uneventful minus the fact that I slammed my head on the door of the minivan, causing a rather large bump to form.

We're finally home! All I want is a shower and a nap, but alas, that was not to be. Greg and Jill had left their truck at our house while we were gone and now it wasn't starting. This didn't suck for me nearly as much as for G & J, obviously, who were equally excited to get home and relax. 2 hours later, Nate finally just drove them home. My dad and Greg just finally towed the truck up to a shop in Highland, yesterday.

Saturday (the day we got home, around noon) I took like a 5 hour nap, got up for pizza for dinner, then went right back to bed and slept till 4am. I was totally done sleeping by this point so I got up to watch some TV. After a little while, I got up to open some windows, in the process I fell down the back stairs and sprained my knee. We just found out officially yesterday when we spent 3 hours in the ER at United. I have a big huge immobilizer on my leg. The pain is pretty well contained as long as I don't move it. Oh, and have 800mg of Ibuprofen in my system.

Nate had to travel to California this week. He left shortly after we got home from the ER yesterday. I hate when he leaves at night. It totally throws off the routine. I went to bed pretty early, exhausted from hopping on one leg all day, but after only a couple hours of sleep, I woke up. My throat was sore and my nose was runny, I just thought it was dry in the house and my allergies were acting up. 5 hours later, still unable to get back to sleep, I realize that it's not allergies, it's a full blown cold. So now not only am I a gimp, but I'm an Ailing Gimp.

Tomorrow is the first day of school for Fall quarter. I'm going to hobble into class, with my medicine head and clouded voice, which is going to sound so awesome on the radio….not, and everyone is going to be like, what the fuck happened to you in Japan?! Luckily I was fine while I was in Japan. It was re-entry that kicked my ass.

Easy Peasy Japanesey

I have officially finished my first quarter as a broadcasting student. I know you're all on pins and needles wondering how I did. Well, I'm here to tell you that you are looking at a 4.0 student with "a natural ability for radio". There you have it. I did the right thing when I quit my job 9 months ago (well, I never really debated that decision) and chose a completely different career path. It's amazing to be doing something that actually energizes you. That's how I feel now, at least, but check with me in a year when I'm at some po-dunk town working at a country radio station.

How better to celebrate a successful first term than to take a trip somewhere? In a few hours St. Pauly Boy and I, along with my brother and his wife, will be taking off on a 12 hour flight to Japan! I'll check in when we get back, but right now, I gotta go pack! Woot woot!!!

If Found, Please Return To....

Sorry folks, I've been spending too much time on MySpace to post here ;)

I'm 2 weeks away from the end of my first quarter as a radio student and then I'm off to Japan for my version of "Spring Break" which is more like "St. Pauly Boy Needs A Lot Of Miles To Stay Platinum and I Have A Week Off Before I Go Back To School So Let's Head To Japan For A Week, Sure, Why Not". I can proudly report that I believe I'll be landing a 4.0 on my report card before I head East. I'll let you all know for sure since I'm sure you're sitting on the edge of your Lazy Boy RIGHT NOW in anticipation of the results of my first term back in school.

If only Farva would flunk out.

MyLameSpace

I did it. I don't really know why, I just felt like it. I did it on my own terms, no one made me. But I fully recognize how lame I am because I now have an active MySpace page. Oh lord, what have I done?

Tropically Depressed

As you may have heard, I'm tropically depressed at the moment. I think it's because everyone is so mad at me for coming to Texas. I can't understand it, I just wanted to go to a little rodeo. I'm not trying to hurt anyone.

I would like to thank the media for broadcasting my issues with depression all over the world. It's so nice to see my picture in the paper next to statements like "Erin Depressed" and "Erin's Depression Drenches Texas". It's not my fault, you guys! I'm even taking anti-depressants! I think it's Global Warming's fault, that bastard. I always hated that guy. He has no idea what it's like to deal with depression. Lay offs, G Warm! I'm trying my best here!!

Radio Blogging: Farva

Anyone who willingly joins the radio broadcasting industry is undoubtedly going to encounter some major douche bags in their career. Well, let's just say, I'm starting early.

There is this one guy in my class, we call him Farva (Super Troopers reference), who is a total douche bag nightmare. I've compiled a list of reasons why he is number 1 on my douche bag hit list. It goes a little something like this:

1. He wears a hat (over his ungroomed pony-tail-on-top-short-on-bottom hair) that reads: Believe The (Pissed Off) Attitude.
2. The hat is disgustingly dirty.
3. He wears cut off t-shirts, jean shorts, black socks, and old tennis shoes. Everyday.
4. His clothes/shoes are disgustingly dirty.
5. His teeth are literally rotting out of his mouth. What's left of them are dark yellow or black and all of them are pointy.
6. He drinks at minimum 2 liters of Pepsi Max within each 4 hour class period. Sometimes he drinks it right out of the 2 liter bottle, but most of the time he is drinking out of this gigantic refillable bottle with a handle and a spout.
7. He sleeps in class. Even when we're in the studio. He literally lays on the floor, stretches out so that his belly and boxers are hanging out, and once he's asleep he drools and snores. IN THE STUDIO.
8. When he's not sleeping, he talks. All the time. About nothing. He's inappropriate and gross and straight up obnoxious. One day he was bragging about having drank 2 1.75 liter bottles of Captain Morgan over the weekend. By himself. And he added that this amount is actually much, much less than he used to drink. Be proud, Farva. Be proud.
9. You can actually hear his laugh through the sound-proof walls of the studio.
10. His fingernails are caked with dirt as if his hands have never seen nor touched water or soap.

And for extra credit...

11. He's always late. Sometimes an hour and a half late to class. He misses his time on almost ALL of his studio jobs (running the board, reading the news, reading commercial spots, etc). When he does show up, he's usually telling someone else that they're not doing it correctly.

To summarize, it's a joy to share classtime with him. Pure joy.

Radio Blogging: It's Official

My life has been dedicated to the world of Radio Broadcasting. Not only am I a full time broadcasting student but I have also permanently removed my...tongue ring. There's no going back now. What's done is done. I threw it in the river on my way home from school yesterday after I got fabulous feedback from my Radio Dale (Studio Operations instructor) that my very first master demo was really good and that my skill level is at least two steps ahead of the rest of the class. Woooooooohooooooooo Radio Dale!! He's my new best friend. I should mention that the demo was cut sans tongue ring because RD and I had a conversation prior to my taping about how it's not really "accepted" in the broadcasting industry (i.e. it'll be hard for me to get a job with a big metal bolt causing all my s's to sounds like ssssssss's). I do miss it though. Strangely enough. My tongue is much, much lighter than it used to be and it's a whole new feeling to get used to. But I'm so pumped about this whole new career path that it wasn't a very tough decision to make. RD did tell me about one of his prior students who refused to take hers out, thus failing the program and never finding work in the industry. Dumb ass girl. I'm not going to make that mistake. Maybe that's because I'm not insane.

Radio Dale's next mission: get me to stop smoking. I think he might just be able to do it too. I heart him that much.

Stay tuned for future postings following my journey through broadcasting school. Specifically regarding the other students who began their program in the same term as myself. There are some good, there are some bad, there are even some really cool I-could-have-a-crush-on-you-if-you-weren't-19-and-I-wasn't-married, kind of stories. Until then, rock on, Internets. I love ya.

The Road To Wellness

Rule #1: Never, I repeat, never eat at Chipotle. Ever.

Well, duh. Nobody is stupid enough to think that Chipotle is healthy. But the actual numbers make me wish I could hurl up every single burrito I've ever consumed over the past 6 years (mainly due to Lil'M, thankyouverymuch). Check this shit out:

Exhibit A - Burrito with rice, black beans, carnitas, tomatoes, cheese, sour cream, and guacamole.

Calories = 1352 (ONE-THOUSAND THREE HUNDRED AND FIFTY TWO......HOLY SHIT)
Fat = 63g (Shut up, Jared. Just shut up.)
Cholesterol = 136mg (My doctor would have a heart attack just thinking of me eating this burrito.)
Sodium = 3801mg (Quadruple by-pass, anyone?)

You've just got to be kidding me.

In order to burn that shit off, you could walk on the treadmill, uphill, for at least 2 hours or have 5 hours of "vigorous" sex (info per Calorie-Count.com). I feel sore just thinking about it.

I'm going to go have some celery now.

Future Country Club Member

My apologies for the lack of attention on my blog lately. I have found far more important and snobby things to do with my time. That's right, St. Pauly Girl is learning how to golf.

Between my golf lessons and shopping for the cutest golf apparel in the midwest, I just haven't been able to justify taking time away from my development as a superior women's golfer in order to blab about nothing on this site. Besides, my nose is sticking so far up in the air that I can no longer see the screen of my laptop. I apologize to anyone who has been waiting for updates, as my schedule can no longer accommodate anything other than perfecting what is already looking like a gorgeous swing. Ta, ta, mes amies.



Ok, I really can't pull that shit off.


Here's what's really up with my not posting....


Yes, I am learning how to golf. I have lessons on Thursday's with South St. Pauly Girl and my Sis-In-Law, which suck but are fun at the same time. I get home from that and collapse on the couch. Who knew it would take that much energy to NOT hit the ball? Every once and a while I practice my swing in the back yard, attempting to hit pine cones, but after a bit I need to come back inside and collapse on the couch again. Not hitting pine cones is just as exhausting as not hitting golf balls.

After a couple of lessons, I think I'm getting the hang of it. My swing is really improving and I actually hit the ball 9 times out of 10. The problem still is getting to 10 swings without feeling like I need to have the big cooler of Gaterade dumped over my head. My arms feel like mush and my back aches. In essence, golf is making me feel like a 90 year old man who's just trying to lift the beer up to his mouth and back down to the bar without falling off the stool. This is what I get for allowing myself to be so terribly out of shape. What, did you think I've been spending all of my glorious unemployedness out jogging or something?? Hells no, there are re-runs of 90210 every day on Soap Net for the love of Pete. Why the hell would I want to exercise when I can reacquaint myself with Kelly Taylor and Dylan McKay?

I've decided that I can do both. I can spend my mornings at the driving range and my afternoons with the 9-0 clique. But for now, the part where I collapse on the couch after swinging the club is still part of the equation.

England: A Land Rich in Tradition

Screw America's Favorite Passtime (which is supposedly baseball, although I'm thinking that label is pretty outdated), England has much more interesting traditions. The prime example being the annual Cheese Rolling competition on Cooper's Hill in Gloucestershire. Do yourself a favor and watch the video. I guarantee there is no event in the US in which the following quote is acceptable: "...unfortunately nobody went to the hospital, so all bets are off."

Bloody brilliant.

Pre-Occupied

Sorry, no time to post. Too busy being hung over from our baseball weekend in Milwaukee in addition to being pissed about the Grey's Anatomy season finale last week. More later when I gain some brain cells back.

Peace,
St. Pauly Girl

R.I.P. Jerry

And by that I mean Ruminate In Perverbial-Hell, you psycho fundamentalist bastard.*

Despite my Catholic upbringing, I don't actually believe in hell. But if it exists, I hope he's there and I hope his hell consists solely of gays & lesbians (especially some whom have legally committed or married and adopted children), liberals, atheists, secularists, humanists, Bill Clinton (once he passes, hopefully not soon, of course), civil rights activists, porn stars, pagans, abortionists, and one TV which will only televise Teletubbies, loudly, with no off switch.

That, my internet friends, would be justice.

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*St. Pauly Boy commentary: "YEAH, you fat bastard".

LAX to MSP: The Joy of Air Travel

I met up with St. Pauly Boy in So. Cal. for a weekend getaway last weekend. We went to Sea World, laid on the beach, swam in one of the luxurious pools that are available to the tenants of the Villa Sienna, the apartment complex in which SPB's company accommodates their traveling consultants a place to comfortably lay their head after their 18 hour workdays. It was a great weekend, overlooking the blisters on my feet for attempting to break in new (and C.U.T.E.) sandals and the blazing sunburn on my back from my lack of enough sunscreen for the California rays. What completely sucked about the trip was our flight home.

Caution: the following depiction could be viewed as overly dramatic, but a readers you should already have caught on to the fact that I excel at being overly dramatic.

1) Checking in for our flight was a breeze, despite the fact that we had to actually speak with someone at the ticket counter instead of being able to use the delightfully anti-social e-check-in-thing-a-ma-gigger. This is because we were trying to see about an upgrade for yours truly, as my Platinum Husband had already received his free upgrade. But it wasn't in the cards for us this time, so SPB actually gave up his first class luxury in exchange for an exit row seat by his wife. What wasn't a breeze was checking our luggage. At LAX, you have to wait in line to check your luggage (after you've waited in line to check in, mind you). It took 20 minutes. And when it was finally our turn, all we did was leave our luggage in the pile of the luggage from the previous line-waiters. Bravo on the engineering of your processes, LAXers, bravo.

2) LAX security positions are mainly held by unhappy middle aged men on a severely over-deserved power trip who unnecessarily yell at the travelers as if we all suffer from serious forms of learning disabilities. I realize that a lot of travelers are idiots, but seriously, get over you attitude problem and out of the airline security business if it causes you to act like an ass to everyone. If you find out that I'm a terrorist, THEN you have my permission to act like an ass.

3) The only place to actually have a drink in the terminal for NWA is the Roadhouse. Crappy food and shitty beer on tap. This is an area in which we are spoiled rotten at MSP. I guess I'm just an airport food & drink snob, what can I say.

4) The LAX bathrooms are nasty. There is always a fresh aroma of dirty diapers/fresh poo, there is always a line, and there is almost never soap or hand towels in sight.

5) Sitting in the exit row isn't always what it's cracked up to be. Yes, extra legroom is nice but when you have no armrest and your recliner is broken (as in, it reclined MUCH too far for the coach section of the plane, thus I couldn't fully sit back in the chair for the entire 4 hour flight) and the tray table doesn't reach you by 2 feet, sitting in the exit row blows. I think that NWA has THE worst aircrafts of any airline in the world. Their planes are pieces of shit and that's putting it lightly.

6) Potty break just before the flight attendants approach your row with the drink (and much too expensive snack box options) service, only because the 2 tall Bud Lights you choked down to attempt at calming the fire on your back, right where your bra strap is, are demanding to be flushed out of your system, then getting stuck in the galley while the drink service is still going. With 3 people crowded in the back of the plane, there's no where to go until the FA's get their job done, but apparently it's still not ok to be back there. The FA with the expensive snack service cart literally yelled to me (just me, not the other two asshats that were back there) to get out of "her" galley, that I'm not allowed to be there. So I squeezed between the asshats and stood in front of both lav doors, even though there was a 6'5" man trying to get into one of them with his 4 year old child. And he gave me a dirty look too. So I joked to one of the asshats, "Well, where the hell am I supposed to go?!", and she says, "Oh, it's a security thing". Yeah bitch, I'm aware of the "security" issues with air travel, I can read. So finally the snack cart bitch approaches us and as I'm struggling to figure out where to go she snaps at me, "Could you please get out of mygalleynowthankYOU". By the time I made it back to my seat, I was so pissed about the whole NWA experience, that I actually began to cry. Then SPB was irrate at the lady for making me cry. It was such a fabulous flight for us.

7) As we finally began our descent, water began dripping all over me from the Exit door.

8) Upon making our way out of the godforsaken aircraft, that snatch of a flight attendant was literally scowling at everyone and in her perfectly condescending tone of voice saying "Good NIGHT" as if our exit was finally relieving her from the inconvenience of actually having passengers on her flight. If it weren't for our current obsession with the Fear of Tera, I would have given that evil woman a piece of my mind. But I didn't feel like being arrested and interrogated for being a potential terrorist. In my dream, this is how it would go:"Listen here you horrible beast of a woman, you take that passive-agressive pissy flight attendant tone with me again, and I'll take my plastic fork from my $150 snack box, and I'll jam it down your throat. Then you can tell me whether or not being trapped in your goddamn precious galley was my fault or yours. Thank you for flying Fuck You Airlines. We hope you have a pleasant stay, burning in hell."

We're glad to be home and extremely glad that our upcoming weekend getaway involves driving the Pathfinder down to Milwaukee for some Twins v. Brewers baseball (and no goddamn airlines). A road trip sounds a LOT better to me at the moment.

The War in iRack

Hey Baby, What's Your Handle?

As I approach the beginning of my new career in radio broadcasting, I need to adopt a handle in which I will be referred to in the biz. Give me your suggestions!

So far St. Pauly Boy has come up with "Cxgyae" (sounds like "E", all of the other letters are silent). Understandably, I have turned this one down.

Let me hear you, Internets!

I Love Zach Braff Too, Bud