How Much Do I Love Airports?

Warning: What you are about to read has been written out of frustration. Please bare with me, I know it is long.




While the rest of America focuses on health care reform, I am proposing reform in what is often perceived as the Country's largest cess pools: airports.

For my plan, let's call it the *Protection of the Sanity of Seasoned Travellers*, the benefits will extend not only to smart people like myself, Gina, and you, our readers, who, I assume are smart if only by association, but also to non-travellers, old people, and general douche bags. I am not saying old people are douches, please don't send me hate mail.

My proposal is as follows:

All airlines are to join a database in which every ticket purchased by traveller A is logged for a period of 5 years. When traveller A purchases a ticket, he is automatically placed into a particular security line (high speed, regular, remedial, leisure, family). If A has travelled extensively in the recent 6 month time period, he is automatically bumped to the high speed security line. If he has only travelled occassionally, he is sent to the regular security line. If traveller A is familiar with airport practices and is designated the regular security line, but feels he is qualified to move up to high speed, he must take a 5 question online quiz and present his 100% passing score to the check in agent in order to be allowed acces to high speed security line.

See, I understand that some people are perfectly capable of moving through airports with ease even though they may only fly occassionally. I am probably in this category, so I think a move up option should be available to those that deserve it. My quiz would be structured somewhere along the lines of:

A) Do you need your photo I.D. when entering the security line?

B) Do you need your boarding pass when passing through the metal detector?

C) Can the following items be worn through the metal detector without causing a line hold up? {Belt, jacket, shoes, wallet chain {wallet chains should be outlawed in general, but I will ignore it that fact for now}}

D) Is it permissable to send a laptop computer through the x-ray machine in a bucket with other items?

E) Can you enter the scanner prior to your bags being sent through the x-ray machine?



Then, if completed correctly, you must sign over your first born as a promise to abide by these rules. Till death do you part, except hopefully not brought about by a plane crash.



Other security categories would be determined based on flying history noted by previous check in times. If you continually arrive at the airport more than 2 hours prior to your scheduled departure (as noted by a time stamp at security) you are designated a liesure traveller and must pass through security in the leisure. (There may or may not be someone working the security line when you arrive, but you have plenty of time, feel free to hang out in the beach chairs provided in the liesure security line.) If you have never, rarely, or often fly but fail and continue to fail the high speed access quiz, you are sent through the remedial line. You are designated a helper who will ensure you get through security, but will likely yell at you until you either learn better or are further frightened of flying and decide to take only car trips and cruises from here on out.

And families of course get a line to themselves. I wouldn't leave you out, but seriously, you remember life before baby and how much easier it was to do things. In your own family line, it should be so much better! I think and I reserve the right to change my mind on this matter once I have children as well.

I think I have set forth a flawless plan to remedy the world from the complete aggravation of airport nightmares, on the human traveller side at least. I can say nothing about the airlines themselves other than they.all.have.problems.

Next month, I tackle steriods in sports and the BCS playoff issue. This congress doesn’t go on holiday.

I am officially running for President in 2020 assuming the whole end of the world 2012 debaucle blows over.

Two lies and a truth, or why you should never send texts or voicemails if trying to cheat on your spouse

My mother always said there were two sides to every story, and then there was the truth.



Take, for example, the recent headlines of married celebrities having affairs.

One side, the celebrity: I am so sorry, it was a mistake, I have an addiction, I never thought I would be exposed (pun intended), yada yada yada.

Then the other side, the mistress: He told me he loved me, he was divorcing his hot, rich and successful wife, I truly cared about him and thought our love was real *cough-BS-cough*!

And then there's the truth: Man meets hooker/porn star, Man sleeps with hooker/porn star, Hooker/porn star saves voicemails and texts, Hooker/porn star decides she wants to be famous and calls the Star to sell story. It is truly the American love story. {*edited to add: Also, really, Star Magazine? When did the Star become the place where people told the truth? It reminds me of a scene from one of my fav movies ever:
Charlie: Hey mom, I find it interesting you refer to the Weekly World News as *the paper*. The paper contains facts.
Mom: This paper contains facts. And, this paper has the eighth highest circulation in the whole wide world. Plenty of facts. 'Pregnant man gives birth.' Thats a fact.
Oh, and little did she know many years later, that too would be true. But still disturbing altogether. Name that movie anyone?}



Here is what annoys me. I am more than willing to watch an hour or so of coverage on your exposed affair for the pure entertainment value of creating an office pool of how many days apart mistress 4 and mistress 5 appear in the media. But, I am human, and a married woman, so I do feel bad for the wives you completely screw over. So I turn off Access Hollywood every time your name is mentioned on day 2. But the worst part, the absolute most horrible part to me, is that you think I am an idiot. This morning I read how the tatted up woman in the Jesse James scandal apparently thought she was an item with James until watching the Oscars. What? You did not you stupid wench. You knew you weren't an item way back at the Golden Globes when Sandy (Ok, that's weird, I prefer Sandra) was gushing about how hot he was from the podium upon accepting her award. You just waited until everyone was talking about how amazingly wonderful she was to completely crush her world by exposing your affair. Don't act like you were Blindsided (hehe) by this.

And the 2 dozen women with Tiger...saving text messages? You don't save text messages for a year when you are in love with someone. You save text messages because you know one day you will use them to your advantage to gain 15 minutes of fame. And saving voicemails? What a horrible thought. Each time you call to check your voicemail you hear "No unheard messages, 324 saved messages." You saved these to use as blackmail. Don't deny it. You were never in love.

The cheating men are just as dumb. If you text or leave a voicemail, of course it will be saved. You have money and fame, while they don't, remember? Stupid.

Don't try to make yourself the victim. No one believes it. And it insults my intelligence, which granted is continually deteriorating based on the hours of TV I watch weekly, but still.

Also, I need a new name, any thoughts?

Note to Self

Dear Me,

You are not 22 years old anymore. In fact, you haven't been 22 for quite some time. Even though you think you are still young and vibrant and resilient, you are not.

And so when your friends call you up to say "Would you like to play in a sand volleyball tournament on Sunday?" you have to remember the following things:

1. You have not played volleyball since middle school, which was 14 years ago. That's a shitload of years ago. And yes, you may have been the tallest of all the girls and therefore the best player back then, but that's because most of them were still going to puberty. You, on the other hand, had full grown knockers (yes, I said knockers) by the age of 11 and tried to hide them from your mom so that you wouldn't have to go through the embarrassing task of bra shopping and instead chose for them to flop around during gym class until they started hurting your back.

2. You should not under any circumstances dive for the ball. This is not negotiable. Not only will it take you weeks to get the sand out of your ass, your ankle has still not fully healed from the karaoke incident. Your team sucks anyway and diving for the ball will just cause you more pain the next day for no reason. I understand there is beer involved, but that only numbs the pain while you are drinking it and you cannot drink beer perpetually until your wounds heal because that is socially unacceptable.

3. You have not gotten off of your lazy ass in about a month and your diet consists exclusively of boxed mac and cheese. How you are winning your Biggest Loser contest is an effing mystery and has absolutely nothing to do with how in shape you are (or in this case how in shape you aren't).

Since you have failed to acknowledge the above, you will without a doubt be sore and tomorrow you will not be able to walk around like a normal human, but like one that does not have control of her bowel movements and just shat her pants. In fact, you know that throbbing you feel in forearms and groin? That, my friend, is early onset soreness reserved only for the laziest-ass-sittingest of people and is punishment for thinking you are some kind of volleyball all-star. Please remember these items for the next time you want to act like a competitive bitch.

Thank you,

Gina

Life rule #3 Never Assume Someone is Pregnant

We have all heard the stories of women just a few months post baby that are asked "when are you due?" The best part of these stories are when the accused woman is holding, carrying, nursing a tiny newborn. Life is not a soap opera, you can't be pregnant with one baby and get pregnant with another months later while still pregnant with the 1st. One pregnancy at a time. (If I am wrong, please God, don't ruin it for me.)

Anyway, this rule is not about identifying that you may be an idiot who says stupid things. If you are dumb enough to ask someone when they are due, you wont find help here. We can only do so much. This rule is for people who are observant enough to notice weight gain, a familiar motherly gesture, or a glow on another unsuspecting woman. I don't care if it is your daughter, your sister, or your friend. Never.Ask.If.Someone.Is.Pregnant.Ever. Unless maybe if you are an emergency technician who needs the information to perform emergency care. Then, I guess it's ok.

This has happened to me a lot lately. Yes world, I have gained some weight. And yes, sometimes I wear shirts that are loose around my stomach, and yes, sometimes I choose to order a club soda at the bar (normally because someone has to drive my drunken husband home). But I am NOT preggo. I will tell YOU when I am pregnant and want you to know.



Recently, crazy excel-genius client of mine looked me straight in the eye and said "Oh my gosh, are you pregnant?" I replied no, but she thought I was lying. When I repeated that I was definitely not pregnant she says, "Its the way you are standing. You look pregnant."

The F?



I am off to go spend some time with my treadmill. Apparently our relationship is suffering.

Life Rule #2 NEVER Steal Another Girl's Bouquet

I went to a wedding this weekend. It was probably one of the most fun weddings I had ever been to. There was nothing particularly extravagant about this wedding other than there was an open bar and great music.

Anyway, as all weddings go, it eventually came time for the bouquet toss. Now I am not one of those trample-over-my-own-mother-for-the-bouquet kind of girls. I am more like hey-if-it-comes-my-way-and-I-happen-to-catch-it-with-my-super-long-fingers-so-be-it kind of girls. So before my friend, let's call her Maggie, throws the bouquet she tells this story. Apparently she caught this very same bouquet at a wedding a year ago and two weeks later her boyfriend proposed to her so it has like special powers. So after Maggie tells this amazing story about this magic bouquet, she very obviously points the magic bouquet at me and winks like “I’m totally aiming for you” which was awesome b/c I have never in my life caught a bouquet, let alone a bouquet with special powers, and not even best frenemy aimed for me.

Then, as if in slow motion, without even bothering to fake throw it for the photog, Maggie tosses the enchanted magical special powers bouquet and its heading right toward me! As if in slow motion, I ready myself, so excited that she would bequeath this special gift unto me and thinking about how after five years I might finally actually get married and that it will happen before I turn 30 and how when I do get married I will toss this very same bouquet and tell the story of Maggie and her generous heart. Suddenly, out of nowhere, some "sturdy" {NB2 edit - this girl was NOT me} girl in a yellow dress jumps from the other side of the group of girls and totally boxes me out and steals my bouquet! WTF??!! She stole my magic powers, enchanted, superhero bouquet of all bouquets that was purposely tossed to me! I just stood there. Stunned that this girl would have the audacity to do such a thing. I felt like crying. Over a freaking bouquet of fake flowers. (I mentioned the open bar, right?) To make things even more appalling, she doesn't even have a boyfriend (yes, my classy friends went over and asked her).

All of my friends (and most other people at the wedding) agreed that I was totally robbed and tried to devise ways to steal it (grab it while she was dancing), win it (challenge her to an arm wrestling competition) or to get Maggie to do a do-over, but I told them it just wasnt meant to be. I just sincerely hope that if that bouquet-stealing, boyfriend-less sturdy wench gets married before me, she will invite me to her wedding so I can claim what is rightfully mine.

What not to say to a person on a diet

NB1 and I are 2 people in a much larger group participating in a "Biggest Loser" challenge (Larger as in number of people, not necessarily in pounds. Although we do have the lowest BMI's in the group. And we both lost the most during week 1. Being skinny is extra important to us.). Today marks day 7, and thus a weigh in is necessary.

This morning began like most other mornings, I was hit with the urge to stay in bed and face my true calling as a TV show critic, but unfortunately I remembered I had a real job and as I got out of bed, I noticed my stomach flattened out just a little bit more than usual. There may or may not have been a small but tasteful celebration in my mind which included a multicolored fireworks show. I tend to overreact. Then, I remembered it was weigh in day, and suddenly I felt as if my entire body expanded and I suddenly resembled the Fat oompa-loompa bridesmaid from hell I encountered this past weekend (story to come on this crazy bitch in a later post) and I realized today was probably not the day my scale and I became BFFs.

I moped to the bathroom, stripped myself of anything I thought could add extra weight (my watch could totally weight 0.5 pounds, its old and made out of like steel or something) and stepped on the scale praying the number at least didn't go up. I held my breath and looked down, and holy balls I lost 2.5 pounds. I totally could have lost 2.7, but my scale measures in 0.5 pounds, so I assume if I lost 2.7 pounds, it would round to 2.5. I am an accountant, I round numbers all day long.

Anyway, 2.5 pounds was like winning the lottery. I was so excited, I did a little happy dance and jumped in the shower.

Later, after Husband had finally woken up, I stood before him and proudly pronounced "I lost 2.5 pounds, Bitch! What do you think about that?"

Husband replied with a very confused stare, probably because he knows I am not a morning person and rarely even speak before I have a cup of coffee, or large Diet Coke. And then he said the words any wife wants to hear: "Good job, honey that's great. But I never thought you were fat."

Me (in my head) - God I love you. You are so sweet....wait, are you still talking?

He continues with "You are just sturdy." What. The. F. (I totally had to edit NB2. Insert curse words of your choosing here.)

Seriously men, stop when you are ahead. Your response to your girlfriend/wife/mother/any female acquaintance who is openly dieting should be "You look wonderful, why would you want to lose weight?" And when they tell you success stories "That's great, but careful, don't lose too much, you look fantastic as is."

Never. Ever. Use any synonym for fat, including sturdy.

Rule #1 - Never Share a Karaoke Stage with a Couch

Hi. V here. Let me tell you about my weekend.

On Saturday, my aunt decides she wants her b-day party at a karaoke bar that is in the non-classy side of town (I come from a long line of karaoke’ers from the non-classy side of town) and I’m like, yeah I’m down, whatever, and I entice a couple of friends to join me with promises of not staying very long. To our surprise two burly men drag a couch onto the stage and all of a sudden the karaoke bar turns into a strip club, complete with a stripper named Diamond. I could not make this up if I tried. Half of me is like, “woohoo! two bars in one!” because I love a good deal. The other half of me is like, uh, I hope this doesn’t cut into the karaoke rotation b/c I really want to sing.

Anywho, after the trainwreck named Diamond is over, a couple people sing and then its my turn. The joy and adrenaline of hearing your name called at a karaoke bar is like none other, by the way. So I go up and give it my all. I am in the midst of an extremely passionate version of “Total Eclipse of the Heart” when I engage my power stance. Yes, a power stance. Don’t act like you don’t know. So somehow, while in power stance initiation, I manage to catch my brand new Kim Kardashian Shoedazzle hotness on the stripper couch, which I guess Diamond was too lazy to haul off with her. I hobble a bit but power through the end of the song with not a hint of struggle in my voice. I felt like Kerri Strugg or whoever that Olympic gymnast was that broke her whatever and did the flips and won the gold. Go me.

Anyway, turns out I sprained my ankle. Badly. And here I am sentenced to wearing unflattering flats everyday to the office as if I have given up on life. I wish there was happy ending but no. There is however a Life rule: Never share a karaoke stage with a couch. And a stripper named Diamond. On the non-classy side of town.

P.S. I lied. I was singing “What’s Up” by 4 non-blondes was in the middle of the part where she says “Yeah yeah yeah! I said he-ey, what’s going on?!” Don’t judge.