I want to be the girl in this video….travelling across the world, uninhibited, throwing caution to the wind. Chances are, the likelihood of this happening is akin to a camel poking its head through a needle, and then realizing he still has to get his body through it.
I love, love, love to travel. It’s just that we have no extra moolah, and what we do have goes to silly things like food, vet visits and electric bills. I don’t have a bucket list in all actuality, but here is a sampling of things I would like to do before I leave this planet:
I would love to go to Ireland, in search of my ancestors. If I do go to Ireland, I will be tempted to drink an ale with the kin folk-you know, raise up a glass to the country that turned us out-I hear they’re very folksy and welcoming, but let’s face the facts, I would want to live there, or perhaps petrify in one place, sitting at the pub, drinking Guiness, and singing the songs of my people.
Big Sur was a big draw, until I read about Bohemian Grove. With our luck, we would find the wrong place at the wrong time, and I apologize, but becoming a blood sacrifice for the elite in this world? Let’s just say I have no time for the big, wooden statue of Baphomet, and I don’t like people telling me what to do.
Hawaii was big on my “list” at one point, and now I see the error of my ways. The fat faced dictator from HELL has threatened their peace, and I don’t want to spend my whole vacation in an underground bunker.
And lastly, there was Sea World. Yes, I wanted to ride the dolphins with abandon, you know, be that girl: the one who never stops talking about her relationship with a fifty year old she met out in California, and then you come to find out it was a sea mammal. No thanks.
So for now? I’ll stay in this sleepy little town of horse and buggies, biting flies the size of Texas, and more cow manure than you can shake a stick at.
Oh my God, for as long as I can remember, my brother and I have been subject to the most incredible indiscretions, abnormalities and absurdities. Actually, it doesn’t happen that much to my husband and myself anymore (kind of a drag, we had some damn good inappropriate laughter in our day, but lately……….slim pickings.)
That was before my brother came for a visit and regaled us with his hilarious reenactment of a flight he took last Summer on Spirit Airlines. Of course, my husband interrupted him with a little ditty I like to call, For Christ’s sake shut your mouth. I just sat there, smiling uncomfortably, while Dwain told Craig the story of my getting flagged by the stewardesses on our flight out to LA. Apparently……..one of the gals flagged me so I went to the next stewardess and was served a glass of wine, drama ensued and the two of them almost came to fists and cuffs….don’t remember it, but I do remember the lovely woman I sat next to all the way to LAX was most definitely not my amigo by the end of the flight. For all I know I could have thrown up on, cursed out or told the same story 252 times for 6 hours to the poor woman. I digress. The following is my brother’s story, told in Michelespeak.
Apparently, last Summer, my brother wanted to save fifty, umm, yes that is $50, by travelling Spirit Airlines. He brought his daughter and wife across the country, from LA to PA, on what could have been a “pretend” plane. I am terrified to fly. I have never flown sober, and as I no longer drink, I will take care of that little problem with a joint and two Ativan. Trust me. So, they are at LAX, waiting, as not just once, but myriads of times-they keep delaying the flight and switching gates. He said it was a harrowing experience, you actually have to go through a security check and there are NO FRILLS. He and his family were so unhinged, that they trauma bonded with fellow travelers.
So, they finally get to the final gate (at this point, they are taking a red eye and they have been running back and forth to different gates at different parts of the airport. If you have been to LAX, you know that’s a shit ton of running.) They are getting ready to board. There is no gate, only steps down to the tarmac. My brother could not believe what he was seeing. Feeling more and more anxiety, he notices a police car by the plane, but gets distracted by the 1930’s Russian version of a prison air craft. No lie. The seats didn’t recline. Everything was metal. He said he sighed a huge sigh of relief when he noticed that the flight attendants appeared to be normal people who obviously got trough at least a few of their flights.
And, as my brother begins to calm down, the captain speaks to the passengers:
Good evening ladies and gentlemen, sorry for all of the delay. I have been sitting in this airport for over two hours. It appears the safety hatch on the left side of the plane was open, and by the time the authorities checked it out, well, my apologies. We think we should be okay for the duration……………..”
My brother came up to visit yesterday, and it was a gas, man. We laughed until our stomachs hurt, ate gimongous cheeseburgers and red velvet cupcakes, and had real, quality time together.
I don’t do well with saying goodbye, and I spent most of the day, repeating, Please don’t leave me yet, over and over again in my head. He stayed for a long time, and when he got ready to leave? My heart stuck in my throat………….I am sick and tired of goodbyes. The better your experience, the worse the downer when it’s over.
We walked down to the driveway, and he said, I don’t know what’s going to happen to the family………it broke me. I don’t have the answers, dear brother. But this I do know, I will love you with an everlasting love…….it’s hard to put your finger on the emotions you feel, when what’s left of your family drives down the street, on their way to Philadelphia, then LA……..but one of the hardest things? Learning to let go, and not feel alone, forsaken, misunderstood.
So for now, let’s just say, “see you next time around.”
Ladies and gentleman, I am in loveeeee……………………and I owe it all to my brand new, Shark Rocket Ultra-Light Upright. Sweet baby Jesus I am over the moon and I doubt if I’ll come down from the clouds any time soon.
We are country mice, and we have no squares to spare for things like vacuum cleaners. However, I have had the same burber carpet for 15 years-and as I’ve been using my in-laws twenty year old Oreck vacuum, complete with holes in the outer bag-for longer than I care to admit-well, I grabbed that Kohl’s 30% off coupon and ran for the jeep before anyone could stop me. I was a woman on a mission, and nothing, NOTHING I TELL YOU, WOULD GET IN MY WAY.
You want to know about pure hell on earth? Try living in a small farm house with 6 cats and a golden retriever without a workable vacuum. If you’re lucky, you won’t lose your freaking mind, and if you’re really lucky? Well, you won’t be seen cursing a blue streak whilst kicking the shit out of said crap vacuum on your front porch in your skivvies. True story. I hate that piece of shit like I hate poison, and I can finally say adios!!!!!!!! you mother effer, you are banned to the land of failed household appliances, forever.
My husband just laid mouse traps, that’s right, mouse traps under my settee and behind my wood stove, as the cats were so afraid of that monstrosity? They would literally crap their pants-or, crap my floor is more like it.
I have become such a germ phobe that I wear flip flops in my own shower, for crying out loud, after I have scoured it with Clorox. And God forbid the shower curtain touches me, I wince in disbelief each and every time it happens.
Did I tell you my brother, mon frere, my amigo is coming tomorrow? I may be a withered nub of nothing when he arrives, but you can bet your sweet ass my house will be clean.
Kool For Katz…………………
The Indians send signals from the rocks above the pass, the Cowboys take position in the bushes and the grass…….
Blame it on my Irish blood, but I have been known to give the evil eye, and judging from what friends and family alike have noticed, it will kill you dead. My husband has tried to break me of the habit of staring at people, and for the most part? I don’t believe it is as much of a habit any longer. But looking back, I believe that my temper has down right terrified those who have been the subject of my ire.
As a teenager, I suffered from anorexia nervosa. I still have an eating disorder, and it is on my bucket list to have it addressed at some point. Don’t get me wrong, I eat, and no longer suffer from bulimia, but I will only eat one meal a day, and this has led to some pretty awkward situations, let me tell you. Give my mother in law a call, and ask her about holidays with me, I am sure she’d be thrilled to get some things off her chest. Sadly, I don’t even give myself a break during holidays, and she has glared at me more than once. I don’t blame her, anymore anyways.
The point is my anorexia made me mean. I didn’t know it until years of therapy and research later, but I was starving to death so my emotions and electrolytes were off. My sister and I shared a bedroom phone. It is legend in the suburbs of Philadelphia that I scared the absolute life force out of her friends. They would hang up if I answered. Looking back, I can’t even believe it was me.
I come in a small, 5 feet, 0 inches and weigh about 135 pounds. But hell hath no fury, and I mean no fury like that of a daddy’s girl who doesn’t get her way, or who has been treated unjustly, or even worse-seen other vulnerable people be taken advantage of. I have fought for what I believe in since I can remember. I remember, in sixth grade? A little snot named Kim Something was the Crossing Guard. She had a chip on her shoulder that manifested in all of it’s glory on poor, unsuspecting, why does this shit always happen to me? girls and boys. I remember one day I spit out my gum and she wrote me a ticket. And there I am, at Belmont Elementary, in her face screaming “IT’S BIODEGRADABLE YOU ASSHOLE!!!!!!”
Another incident comes to mind: I was a waitress through my twenties at a Houlihan’s in King of Prussia. I loved the people I worked with, but there were a few exceptions. One afternoon, hung over and praying my station would close, another waitress butted in line for the computer. I snapped.
“Why don’t you do another line, Sady? Go do another line so you can be faster at doing nothing but getting in my fucking way.” Yeppers. Yelled it right out into the dining room. My boss was literally speechless.
I pushed Mark Folsom down the church steps after he picked on my brother one Monday evening, after CCD. He broke his front teeth out, and I couldn’t have been more pleased. He didn’t try that again for a long while, not until High School-where my brother surprised the crapola out of him by knocking him out in the hallway.
As Christians we often presume that we are to be as meek as church mice. Jesus overturned a table or two at the Temple, and standing for something means not falling for anybody else’s bullshit. God made me to roar like a lion when something is evil, and I pity the fool who mistakes my kindness for meekness.
Don’t let anyone take you out of your integrity. Fight hard for what is just, and remember-you didn’t really do it if you didn’t get caught. 🙂