Now Boarding Zone You're Screwed

The other day I was cleaning at work when I discovered some particularly stubborn substance cemented to a tabletop.  Without thinking, I started working at it with my fingernail, with some pathetically proud “Ha! I’ve got you now!” thoughts running through my mind.  After a few seconds of this, I removed myself (mentally) from the situation, and it slowly dawned on me that I had no idea what the hell this hardened goop was nor did I have any clue how long it had been there. Gross.

I am currently blogging from Hartfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport, where Kayla and I are waiting for our connecting flight to Denver, which is delayed due to snowstorm of doom.  After leaving Land of Sunshine, Warmth, and Everything Nice this morning, it is safe to say that I am not looking forward to stepping out of DIA into eight inches of snow in my (slightly tanned!) flip-flop clad feet.

I know everyone has their own air travel horror stories, and there’s only so much one wants to hear about how sucky airports can be, but I feel the need to tell our tale:

Kayla and I decided we were kicking off our spring break right when we ordered screwdrivers at an airport bar Monday morning before our flight.  We were in good spirits, elated by how ridiculously smooth things can go when you don’t have to check any bags.  Needless to say, we had time to kill, which we did by throwing back a few cocktails before our flight.  We were not drunk, but did find ourselves awkwardly tipsy for it being 10 AM and all.   So we’re sitting at our gate, giving ourselves big pats on the back for being so balla, and they start boarding.  “Zone one,” drones the evil gate-guarder, as they do, and at this point we decide to check our tickets in order to adequately prepare ourselves for our own boarding order fate.  I did a double, no, triple-take at my boarding pass. Zone 99, it read. ZONE 99.  In my liquored up state, I peered around to the passengers around me, who were calmly packing their books, magazines, computers into their carry-ons.  At mothers folding up their strollers, leisurely making their way to the gate.  And I thought, “whaaaat..?”  Slowly, they move through them-  Two…. Three…. Four…. the minutes between each “zone” seemed like hours, days .  Ninety-nine, I thought to myself,  NINETY-NINE.  And before we knew it, we were the only ones sitting on those all-attached-to-each-other, blue chairs.  Which, of course, is when we gathered the sense to board the plane, zones be damned!!  The subject came up while we were chatting with a flight attendant later:  “Were you stand-by??” she asks, her perfectly penciled brow furrowed in confusion.  Nope, not stand-by.  Yes, checked in at a pathetically early time.  Yes, our tickets read “Zone 99”

Normally I wouldn’t give a flying frickity what order we board.  I always get so annoyed by those people that stand not-technically-in-line but right by it, so that they can jump in as soon as humanly possible. I never understood what the big rush was to go from sitting to… sitting. In an incredibly claustrophobic space.   But Zone 99 taught me about overhead bins.  See, it seems they get all full of other people’s stuff.  When we finally board, the flight attendant sees Kayla with her bag and literally lunges for it.  “We’re going to have to check this!!!” she barks.  I always thought that flight attendants were trained to remain calm in almost any situation, but this crazy defined the term “high-strung.” When Kayla is panicked, when she is thrown into any stressful situation, her usual reaction is fight.  And I mean FIGHT.  While my stupid “flight” personality would have probably said “oh ummm okay, maam,” Kayla jerked her bag back towards her, you know, kung-fu grip.  Okay at this point I’m going to stop telling this story, because it was basically that scene from “Meet the Parents,” just played out right in front of me.  I saw in my mind the headlines, “College students kicked off AirTran flight.”  The law suit. The counter-law suit.  The “how was your spring break?” “ohhh… well, we never actually made it… see…” explanations.

But despite my worries I soon found myself on my way to beautiful Florida, slight hangover headache and light sensitivity all before noon.   We rock. 

The moral of this story was going to be “Don’t Fly AirTran,” but I’m pretty sure it’s just “Don’t Fly.”  Which shouldn’t be a problem because I’m just going to date a vampire and then he’ll just carry me wherever I want to go really quickly.  Suck it, Zone 99.

Our trip was beautiful; I successfully finished three novels pool side, burning pretty much every surface of my body in the process.  But it’s totally fine because now I’m a big peeling ball of freckles.  Sexy.  But seriously, doing absolutely nothing but lounging in the sunshine is my type of vacay.

There were a few incidents throughout the week of people thinking we were much younger than we actually were, accompanied by some all around, general smarminess (holy balls that word is actually in the spell check dictionary):

Incident #1:

Shop Owner (orange, 50 year old man): Hello, how are you today?

Kay&Jan: Great, how are you?

Shop Owner:  Well, I would be a lot better if I were a teenage girl like you.

Kay&Jan: (stunned silence)

Shop Owner: If I were a teenage girl I’d be spending my day on the beach, though, not at the shops.

Kay&Jan: (horrified, stunned silence)

Shop Owner: And I would be a lot better if I were rich like you.

Kay&Jan: (confused, stunned silence- when I relayed this story to my Aunt later, she asked, “were you wearing any blinged-out giant diamonds that you were somehow unaware of?” I checked. We weren’t.)

I should have walked out right then and there, but I saw this really cute bracelet I absolutely needed, and it was only 3 dollars.  God, I’m so frickin rich.

Incident #2:

Edward:  Hello, thank you for calling Comcast, this is Edward speaking, how can I help you?

Me: Hi, um, we’re trying to order a movie On Demand, and it’s not working.

Edward: Okay, can I get a phone number to identify the account?

Me: Yeah, umm, hold on… Sorry I’m just at my aunt’s house so I don’t know the number… (As I’m walking to the other room to ask my aunt)

Edward: Ohhhh… you’re at your aunt’s house.  That’s probably why.  Your parents probably set it up so you couldn’t watch a movie because it’s past your bedtime. 

Me: Ummm…. What??

Edward:  Heh heh, you know they can do that, they probably didn’t trust your aunt to do a good job watching you.

Me: (stunned silence, per usual.  Mostly caused by mentally calculating how far off his guess-timation of my age is seeing that he thinks I require a babysitter)

My Aunt (reading my face):  Do you need me to talk to him??

Me (in my head): Christ, I am a child.

Me (to Edward): blah blah phone number account information

Edward:  Okay, just hang on a second. 

TLC:  Don’t go chasing waterfalls… (On hold)

Edward: Okay, Jayyyy-na (at some point I told him my name), I just talked to your parents and they said it was okay for you to watch it.  Heh heh heh.

Me: Errrr okay, thanks.

I hate when people “tease” you when all you want them to do is their job.  No, I don’t want jokingly pretend your company’s software glitch was somehow orchestrated by my parents.  That’s retarded.  Not to mention absolutely impossible. And I'm 21 years old.  

 Comcast should start outsourcing. 

Jan

Kiss Me, I Live at 911 Penn

I'm way excited for St. Patrick's Day this year, lots more than usual, which I think can mostly be attributed to three things:

First, it's supposed to be a beautiful, perfect 70 degrees in Boulder tomorrow, which puts me in the mood to celebrate anything, really.  I would celebrate Tori Spelling's new book release if it meant I could drink in the sunshine (April 14th, in case you wondering, and yes, weather permitting, I'll totally be down).

Second, with Spring Break fast approaching, I am fast approaching a mental breakdown.  I know that doing absolutely nothing for the entirety of next week should constitute some hard work this week, but somehow it never seems to work that way.  I'm antsy in my pantsy for some Florida awesomeness. 

Third, all of us  911 Penn-ers are totally DTP (Down to Party, fools) tomorrow, which doesn't happen very often.  Or I guess it happens, but usually one of us (ahem) is totally Down to Party Without Leaving the House (DTPWLTH??).  But I digress.  All three of us actually want to leave our couch tomorrow, so watch out world. 

Mmmkay so we've established that we're pumped for tomorrow.  But I feel as though some days like this we can get lost in the moment and we don't do the things we originally set out to accomplish.  Which is why we are making a list of THE OFFICIAL 911 PENN GOALS FOR ST. PATRICK'S DAY.  You know, so we don't lose focus:

1) Drink green beer.  Lots (?) of green beer.

2) Make it to classes/meetings we need to attend, beer buzz be damned

3) Play lots of fun games in our yard, on Casey's stupid table that he is insisting on bringing over (and by bringing over i mean making me come pick up).

4) Find a leprechaun, catch him, get gold.  Easy Schmeazy. 

5) Hit up some awesome outdoor/rooftop bars, taking advantage of what are sure to be awesome St. Patty's Day specials.

6) Do a car bomb. Probably just one, you know, so nobody gets a tummy ache. 

7) Get some digits that are not from boys named  "Zach the DJ," the new contact I found in my phone this weekend.

8) Eat green eggs and regular colored ham.

9) Not eat corned beef and cabbage (barf)

10) Goose it, Conor O'Neal's it, celebrate with all our hearts and kiss lots of Irish people (also could be 4 separate goals, I'm aware, it's just that I don't care)

If you want to join us for some daytime beer ponging, flip cupping, sun worshipping, stop on by!! (Or, you know, call first)  

Jan

"nice!" (or "casey is the opposite of nice")

Okay. Pretty confident Ryan's birthday got the celebration it deserved. I was going to preface this with a back story, but I kind of think it's funner (yes, funner) reading it cold. I woke up this morning, turned on my computer, and was greeted by this beautfiul casey/kayla facebook conversation:

2:28amKayla

hi

i'm totally fine

sam king accidentally slammed me into a legde

and it cut my lip open

and i thought it wa stottally fine

but then i saw it in the mirror and got scared b/c the cut was bigger and deeper than i thought it would be so i freaked out and talked to mj online

but cole siad it's fine

slash he is wastedand was like "it's on the lip, it's cool"

which i think is mostye true

2:36amJana

huh?

2:37amKayla

hi

cole came over

thank yo

u

i'm just nervous b/c my lip is kind of split

but i think it's fine

i think i might go show my neighbor friend

2:38amJana

neat this is casey]

2:38amKayla

but i think he's wasted

2:38amJana

super neat

2:38amKayla

CASEY

i think i'm just being a baby

2:38am

2:38amJana

you are such a freakin baby

i'm tired

2:39amKayla

you're going to feel like such an asshole if i really do need sttiches

go to bed you fuckwad

2:39amJana

no i won't. i fully support whatever you need

we're very worried

2:40amKayla

haha

k my neighbor friend just said his roomie is sober

i just want one sober person to say i'm fien

2:40amJana

that's neat

you are fine. i'm crazy sober

2:40amKayla

everything i google says to go to get stitches

that's a lie

how were the bars?

2:41amJana

awesome, what'd you do'

2:41amKayla

walked almost to the bars

realized my phone was lost

walked back with scott

talked to sam king, then he slammed my face into a lege

*ledge

2:41am

2:41amKayla

accidentally

2:41am

2:41am

then i bled everywhere

2:41amJana

i hope your face is ok

nice!

2:41amKayla

then i looked for my phone more

then i made him walk me home

2:41amJana

nice!

nice!

2:42amKayla

now i'm still bleeding

and freaking out abut tomorrow

2:42amJana

nice!

2:42amKayla

and wishing ihad my phone

2:42amJana

nice!

2:42amKayla

okay

stay online

2:43amJana

k

not going nowhere

. . .

2:43amKayla

really?

you rock

be back sooooon

2:43amJana

iknow right

where you going

2:45amJana

...............

2:46amJana

where'd you go?

2:56amKayla

hey

i went to my neighbors

the sober kid looked at it and was like "yeahhhhh you should probably get stitches"

but i think that the choices are get stictches - no scar, or no stitches - scar

and im fine with a baby scar

So I read this and I laughed. Then Mike sent me this conversation from an hour earlier, and I laughed some more:

the pure awesomeness that is my life

I haven't been blogging as often, and I know it's hard on all of you who count on this forum to keep track of my class-act, bling-blinging, party-like-a-rockstar lifestyle (read: there's only so much I can say about our couch and smarmy bartenders at The Sink). So I thought I would catch everyone up on some quotes from the past few days, so everyone can realize just how amazing my life is (you're welcome).

"Next time, don't come through my line if you have this much food" - Cashier at Safeway 

Okay, quick defense, I hadn't been to the store in a good two, maybe three weeks. You get to the point where you are eating pretzels and peanut butter for dinner and you suddenly look at your life from an outsiders perspective and realize that you should probably just go to the damn grocery store.  Also, I wanted to get enough food to last me two weeks, until Spring Break, in order to optimize my food purchasing trips.  If you haven't gathered already, grocery shopping, to me, is like "Hey! Let's go be on the verge of a panic attack for a while!"  As my dear roommates know, I usually require accompaniment to the store, in order to have someone to guide me through such things as bread selection or price comparisons.  I find it all very overwhelming.  I still have no idea how to shop for one person without having everything you buy go bad, I have no idea where to start or what's good or what's good for you or what's too much or what's too little or what's too expensive, and above it all, there's the constant "am i forgetting anything?  what else do i need?" because god forbid I should have to go back.  So yes, I am a freak who can't do normal, real life activities. 

 Needless to say, the last thing I need is some asshole "teasing" me about the amount of food I am buying.  In what world is that funny??  In this world, it causes eating disorders.  I just sat there glaring at his snarly teeth exposed by his white trash smile, and his dumb face that was all "gotcha!!  aren't i funny??" and in one swift moment I saw myself jumping over the counter, grabbing him by his STUPID nametag, slamming his face into the scanner and screaming "NEXT TIME?? YOU BETTER PRAY TO GOD THERE IS A NEXT TIME, BITCH!!!!" But instead I just awkwardly "heh"-ed and gave Lauren a "did he actually just say that?" look, of which she was completely oblivious, because tabloids need attention too.  

"Did someone just fall down the stairs?" 

-Fellow Party Attendee

After I fell down an entire flight of stairs.  This was immediately after I dropped my phone in the toilet.  I was coming out of the bathroom, sadly examining the little dot (turned red) on the back on my battery, contemplating how pathetic my life was, when WHOOMP!  Literally tumbled down the stairs.  I wish I could show you all the absolutely insane bruise that resulted from this fall, but it would involve nudity, which personally I don't think the readers of this blog are ready for (too much booty for one blog to handle).  And yes, my phone is fine, after one awkward day of it calling pretty much everyone in my phonebook while innocently sitting on my coffee table.  So everything worked out, but it is nights like those that cause you to step back and re-examine your life, you know, just a little bit. 

"I don't think Dad will care unless he sees naked pix of you or something outrageous" 

-My mother

Over gchat, in response to my hesitation to accept my dad's friend request on Facebook, thus allowing him to see all my drunken pictures.  Oh yes, social networking.  My dad.  Also my mom using the word "pix."  Don't worry, I set her straight. I informed her that Facebook doesn't allow nudity, so all those naked pictures of me out there are all posted elsewhere on the innernets.  

"Thanks, it's nice to know I have at least one friend in the world..."

-My dad

This is an email, with the subject "facebook" that I recieved from my dad a few days after accepting his fbook friend request.  Bless him. 

Anonymous email forward composers: WTF?!?

I receive an email every few days from my Grandpa informing me of a new thing to be afraid of: flyers on your back windshield, pay at the pump credit card scams, yada yada, blah blah.  Today I got a "how to not be raped" email, which I found extremely offensive, for reasons I will explain, but also extremely familiar.  So I did a quick search (thanks, gmail!) and found that I have been sent this email no less than 5 times in the past few weeks.  FIVE TIMES.  Maybe I woke up on the wrong side of the mini-bed (or the wrong side of the month) but EVERYONE STOP SENDING ME THIS MOTHERFRICKING EMAIL: 

Through a Rapist's Eyes (No Joke)

So the way this works is- the original context of the email, shoddy writing and all, gunna be in regular and any snarky comments I have gunna be in italics (in case you couldn't figure it out).  I love that the subject of this email has to literally specify "no joke."  Except it is a joke (of an email).

When this was sent to me, I was told to forward it to my lady friends, but I forwarded it to most everyone in my address book. My men friends have female friends and this Information is too important to miss someone. Please pass it along and share it with your children. A group of rapists and date rapists in prison were interviewed on what they look for in a potential victim and here are some interesting facts:

I'm going to start referring to my male friends as my "men friends"

1) The first thing men look for in a potential victim is hairstyle. They are most likely to go after a woman with a ponytail, bun, braid or other hairstyle that can easily be grabbed . They are also likely to go after a woman with long hair . Women with short hair are not common targets.

Those long-haired girls are so asking for it!! Except, wait, rape victims are all shapes, sizes, (hairstyles) ages, etc.  Nice try you stupid email. 

2) The second thing men look for is clothing. They will look for women who's clothing is easy to remove quickly. Many of them carry scissors around specifically to cut clothing. 

Shirt & pants over a onesie followed by another onesie followed by a second shirtpants combo.  Then overalls. I'm just in shock that more women don't take this preventative measure when truckin to the bars. But seriously, rape is not always about getting sex quickly, and to think it is is pretty naive.

3) They also look for women on their cell phone,searching through their purse, or doing other activities while walking because they are off-guard and can be easily overpowered.

4) Men are most likely to attack & rape in the early morning, between 5: 00a.m. and 8 :30a.m. 

God forbid you take that 8am. The Department of Justice gives us the vague "2/3 of all sexual assaults happen between the hours of 6 pm and 6 am"  Nighttime (who knew?) 

5) The number one place women are abducted from/attacked is grocery store parking lots. The number two: office parking lots/garages. Number three: public restrooms.  

Don't get groceries, don't go to the office, don't go pee. I understand that being more aware of your surroundings when you're in a parking garage or whatever is a valid point, and the one I think they are trying to make. (Any badly lit, less frequented place is actually the most common place for an attack.) 

6) The thing about these men is that they arelooking to grab a woman and quickly move her to another location where they don't have to worry about getting caught.

7) Only 2% said they carried weapons because rape carries a 3-5 year sentence but rape with a weapon is 15-20 years. 

I love how throwing out a random statistics somehow makes it valid.  Department of Justice says it's about 30%, so take that, email.

8) If you put up any kind of a fight at all,  they get discouraged because it only takes a minute or two for them to realize that going after you i sn't worth it because it will be time-consuming. 

Barbara Mikkelson, a writer for snopes.com says, "That's great advice, provided you get the right rapist. And you've no way of knowing until it's too late." 

9) These men said they would not pick on women who have umbrellas, or other similar objects thatcan be used from a distance, in their hands. 

Rihanna had an umbrella (ella ella); things didn't seem to work out so good for her. 

(too soon for Rihanna jokes?  probably too soon) 

10) Several defense mechanisms he taught us are: If someone is following behind you on a street or in a garage or with you in an elevator or stairwell, look them in the face and ask them a question , likewhat time is it?, or make general small talk: 'I can't believe it is so cold out here,' 'We're in for a bad winter.' Now you've seen their face and could identify them in a line-up; you lose appeal as a target.

11) If someone is coming toward you, hold out your hands in front of you and yell STOP! or STAY BACK! Most of the rapists this man talked to said they'd leave a woman alone if she yelled or showed that she would not be afraid to fight back. Again, they are looking for an EASY target. 

12) If you carry pepper spray (this instructor was a huge advocate of it and carries it with him wherever he goes), yell I HAVE PEPPER SPRAY and holding it out will be a deterrent.

Instructor?  What instructor?  Ohhhh, do you mean the instructor from the other version of this email  that claims all these "tips" are from a (i kid you not) black belt in karate who trains with Steven Segal?? Wait, does this mean no rapists were actually interviewed?  I'm shocked. FAIL, major chain junk email FAIL.

The email goes on, mostly about those self defense moves you've heard before (go for the groin!) and mentions this "instructor" man roughly a bajillion times.  I know it's important to be aware, and being prepared definitely gives you an advantage. I guess my major problem is that, even if the email held any truth,  it sets up victims of rape for an incredible amount of self-blame.  If you do get attacked, it's because your hair was too long or your clothes looked like they could just come right off you.  And if you do get raped, it's because you didn't fight hard enough ("gosh, didn't you know he didn't have a weapon?? only like 2% of them do" or "didn't you know to use your elbow??")  Bottom line is that you could be frickin Rapunzel trolling around a grocery store parking lot at at 7 in the morning wearing tear away pants, and you should still be considered a completely innocent and undeserving victim of an unspeakable crime.  

Stop sending me this email. 

we've had our fun...

with our cupcake/I'm-five-years-old-and-want-a-princess-party blog motif.  We decided to settle down to a more subdued, but still oh-so-girly format.  Just think of it as nesting to the white picket fence in the suburbs after a few coke addled years in the city.  Because our blog seriously made us look like we were on coke.  Or possibly molly (oooo preeetttyyy).  But I digress.  Point is: new format, same blog.  You're welcome. 

Pamela Anderson: WTF?

Dear Pamela Anderson,

We get it. You're famous. Your boobs are enormous. But also, you're getting older...not "old lady" old, but perhaps "too old to wear bedazzled gold lame thong swimsuits" old. Please. No more.



Ten years ago (and also in Tacky Land), this would have been ok. But now it's just sad.



So WTF, Pam?! You're making everyone uncomfortable. Please stop molesting our eyes. Put the hot pants and platforms back on and shake it like the 41 year-old sexpot that you are ("sexpot" not "skank"). You can thank me later.

love,
Victoria