Mile High Club Membership

Well, it's official.  Anyone flying on any airline is now a member of the Mile High Club because if you don't think we aren't getting screwed by the airlines, I have some beach front property in Oklahoma to sell you.  I am dumbfounded.  After the latest announcement that US Air is now charging $2 for a soda, tea or water in an effort to "defray" the cost of fuel, I have decided that the airlines must be run by the same asshat monkeys that run my insurance company. (Oh, more to come on their latest round of F-Ups - so stay tuned.)   

TWO DOLLARS!!!!  (Flash backs to scene from "Better Off Dead" where Jon Cusack gets chased by some black-hoodie wear 10 year old on a bike.  One of the BEST movies - ever.) 

Anyway, soda cost $2.50 for a 12 pack at my local grocery store.  So don't tell me that the over-head on soda is sooooo high that US Air needs to charge me for almost every can in the 12 pack. Plus, they don't give you the entire can to begin with - just a small plastic cup loaded with ice. Let me be the first to tell you, if some air waitress*(1) hands that little plastic cup to me and then tells me that I owe her $2.... You might just see the re-invention of the word Bitch.  Cause I am going to make "going airline" the new "going postal".  You can just call the Air Marshall now and tell him I'm-ah-comin'.

I can (kind of) comprehend the fee-f*cking they are giving us over luggage.  Some of us (who, moi?) simply do over-pack and the weight does affect the fuel.  But they have been carrying coke, tea and water on flights since day one and a 12 oz soda's weight hasn't changed. Hell with that logic, are you now going to start weighing us as we buy our tickets?  Anyone over the "average" weight of 150 pounds will now have to pay an "excess weight" fee?  Like I can just drop those extra 10 pounds at the gate if I don't want to pay the fee?  Hell, if that's all it took I would have been dieting at the airport instead of trying to over come my failed attempts at bulimia.  (I got the bingeing part down, it's the purging part that I haven't mastered.)

Which means they are now asking me to sit on a flight and die of thirst unless I bring my own drink.  And I can't bring from home since I can't take it past the Gestapo-wannbe-security check point.  Because GAWD forbid someone actually use that water-filled bottle for water instead of something like, oh say, a drive by wet t-shirt contest when those long flight delays get a little dull or a Zoolander Gas-Station-Wake-Me-Up-Before-You-GoGo inspired water bottle fight. So I am now forced to buy from the in-terminal vendors. Who by the way are just LOVING this little turn of events, since I am sure they are running out there and racking up the price of their drinks as we speak.  

What's next?  Are they going to charge me for the air they pump in? Pay toilets? Good thing they aren't serving in flight meals and charging me for drinks.  That will keep me from needing to use the lavatories the entire flight.  I mean, it's bad enough when I am in First Class and some "regular" person from coach comes up to use the First Class lavatory, but now I am going to have to pay for the after-smell as well?  (Cause you know that the toilet in First Class is Oh-So-Much-Better....yeah, whatever, you are still sh*ting in a space smaller than a broom closet.) 

OH!! I know, how about charging me for the tray tables and in flight magazine? Since I won't be getting a meal or drink to put on the tray, my using them should be a privilege and paid for along with my $2 non-alcoholic beverage. I mean seriously, why don't they just come out and announce that other than sitting in your seat and doing absolutely nothing the entire flight, they are going to charge you for it.  Want to get your carry-on from the over head bin?  $5 please.  Want to lean your seat back and stretch out?  $3 please.  Want to watch a movie (even if you brought your own headset)? $5, please.  Want the flight attendant to give you a kiss before the nickel and dime screwing you are getting? $20 please.

Thank you for joining the Frequently Screwed Flyer Mile High Program of the Airlines Industry.  We hope you enjoyed your flight and the @$$-raping we are giving your wallet.

*(except for my sister who is a FLIGHT ATTENDANT and not an Air Waitress, thank you very much!! Because in all honesty, their job is your safety ~ NOT to get you a freaking soda and some peanuts!)

Crazy Cat Lady Starter Kit

I swear I am so NOT going to become that weird ass teacher who lives in a little house at the end of the cul-de-sac with an overgrown lawn and 400 cats.  If only for the reason that I am not a house buying person. With that being said....

Introducing: SAMSON. 

Who joins my already two cat-infested apartment after being found abandoned with his little sister. (She has found a good home with another person.)  Toothless (aka Bud E Phat) is taking to him like the cat version of Foghorn Leghorn.  At times he is all "Go Away Kid, You're Botherin' Me" and others he is instructing Samson on the proper arts of cat life in my house:  2 hour power nap sessions, followed by 20 minute spurts of run and attack, repeat as necessary especially in the middle of the night. (Bud is also throwing his weight around. When Samson gets to be too much for him, Bud E. just lays right on top of him.  Then I hear these meews for help and have to go apply the jaws of life to lift 20 pounds of Phat-ass off a 2 pound kitten.)

Elsa the Lioness has decided that a new level of cat-bitchiness can be achieved through hissing and growling.  Since she is such the little attention-whore, she is a little miffed at not being the cutest thing in the house anymore and it has pushed her highness into a slightly anti-social mode.  She's also pissed that I have never put a picture of her on my blog and decided that she was going to hack up everything she ate until I did.  So here is the gratuitous picture of Ms. Lioness:

It's official:  I now have my crazy lady starter kit. I swear on my stack of Jen Lancaster books, that I am never fostering another homeless animal again.  I have SUCKER written all over my forehead.  

I'm off to go play some Stevie Knicks music, find a tie-dyed broom skirt and wear silk scarfs around my head and body.  

Secret Agent (Wo)Man

Warning this post might not be suitable for all readers...especially my Mom and Dad...

I have made it a point not to blog about the people I know unless they are forewarned and have given me the two thumbs up... or the middle finger (whichever the case may be).  So I asked Friend X if I could tell this story and she said it was OK as long as I left out any details that would lead back to her. Yeah whatever, I am totally ratting her out...

Friend X and I were at lunch a few months back.  Lunch usually consists of a little food and a lot more margarita.  We have it perfected to a nice ratio of food-to-margarita, but have decided to keep working on it for purely scientific reasons.  Since our lunches happen to involve some form of super-secret girl talk we just happen to be talking about Battery-Operated-Boyfriends or BOBs as they are so lovingly referred to in girl circles everywhere.

So friend X wants to get one, but is currently in a long time type relationship (married, living with, shacking, sleeping over every weekend... one of those) and doesn't want the significant other (SO) to know she has it.  Note:  Girls - they know.  It's like their porno collection.  We know about it.  We even know where they hide it.  Trust me, they know all about BOB.  

So, this is where the boundaries of friendship really gets tested.  You KNOW you are someone's BFF when you will go into the porn store and buy your friend a BOB so that she does not have to be seen in public doing it. But wait!!! It gets even better.

Off to the porn store I go.  Into the porn store I go.  I stand in front of the BIGGEST WALL OF BOBS I have ever seen.  (Insert 2001: A Space Odyssey music here.) Did you know that BOBs come in more choices than the Regularly-Operated-Boyfriends????  And more colors. And more sizes. This is not a decision I was going to make because there is no way on GAWD's green earth that I was going to return it if I made the wrong choice.  So I call friend X.  The conversation went something like this:

Me:  OMG!  Holy Crap!  Have you seen this selection?  Ok, what do you want?  Big?  Small? Pink?  Purple?  Some thing with one speed?  Wait, this one here says it has three speeds - slow, medium and who the f*ck needs a man? (giggles) Which one do you want?

Friend X:  UH, I don't know.  Does your phone have a camera?

(OMG!!!! Do YOU see where this is heading, because I totally didn't!!)

Me: Yeah.

Friend X:  OK, take a picture of them and then send it to me.

Me: ARE YOU F*CKING KIDDING ME??!?!?!?!  I am in a porn store! On SUNDAY!! I am already going to languish in at least one circle of hell for this! I am NOT taking a picture of the Great Wall of Vibrators and sending it over my phone!!!

The clerk at the store is now looking at me very intently and starting to wonder what kind of whack job she has in her store. After I lower my voice, friend X and I discuss the matter at hand and she finally decides on one. I make the purchase.  And by the way guys, BOBs are more expensive than a long night at the strip club! 

Now comes the hand off.  Friend X wants her new BOB like right now, but SO is at home.  To get him out of the house she sends him on a mindless errand that she knows he will take forever and a day to do (and I know he will F-up and have to call her 20 times to get right and will still bring back the wrong thing, but that's not the point).  In the mean time, I am to drive BOB over to her house and transfer custody.  Did I mention I had to stop and get batteries for BOB?  Yeah, I hold so many girlfriend credits right now, she will be owing me into 2015.

Insert Mission Impossible theme here

I get to her house and hand over BOB. To which she immediately turns and runs towards the back of the house. OMG KITTENS!!!  I swear to all that is Holy, I thought she was going back there to give BOB a test run!!  I start screaming like a mad-woman & telling her get her @$$ back into the living room RIGHT NOW!!  (I can't even begin to tell you how many Ho-Hos and xanaxs I was thinking I was going to need to get over this entire experience. Trust me, they don't make enough to cover this one.)  Friend X comes back with the non-discript-brown-paper-winno-beer-bottle-bag that BOB was wrapped in and quickly shoves it into my chest. So, now I am in charge of getting ride of the evidence as well.  Damn, do I have to do everything!?!?  (If she had asked me how to use it I was going to pimp slap her like a $2 hooker owing me change!)  I walked out the door and promptly deposited BOB's cover in the neighbor's trash can. Yeah, let them figure that one out. (Good thing Spike TV plays back to back CSI episodes and I am now an expert on all things evidence.)  

It has been a couple of months since the BOB incident and neither one of us has really spoken about it. Which is good since I don't think I could handle anything else without forever crossing the TMI barrier.  I do however intend to bring this incident up should I ever:

a) need to be bailed out of jail at 3 am, on a rainy middle of the work week night

b) need a pet-sitter for six months while I am in some other country and can't be reached

c) get really slossed at the next Chicka lunch

After all that, there really isn't a good way to end this post except to say "And They All Lived Happily Ever After".  And that I now have a buy-one-get-one-free card at the porn store that I have no intention of redeeming. And that even I am a little "shocked" that I posted this... (it may not stay up for long).

SCHOOL'S OUT FOR SUMMER

Ladies and Gentlemen:

A moment of respect for the best summer kick-off song EVER!!!  

Yes, School's Out for Summer and Alice Cooper is playing it loud & proud on my iPod ~ totally amped up by my cheap knock off Bose sound system, thank you very much....It goes to 11 (Bonus Bonus points if you get THAT movie quote correct).  Now to sit back, relax and kick it old school style at the pool...

At least until summer school starts and I have to try to make Kreb's Cycle more interesting than whatever is going on at the mall.  Which is where most of them were when I was trying to teach this sh*t in the first place, because GAWD forbid that they actually get an education instead of the five-finger-discount they were getting at Forever 21.  

Here's some interesting stuff I noticed/discovered this year:

I had kids who were on the free lunch program but apparently their parents could afford to shell out for fake nails and tattoos (YES!!! TATTOOS - in MIDDLE SCHOOL!!). Damn people, get some priorities straight.

Teaching "responsible decision making" at the end of the school year is a little bit behind the power curve (three of my students were knocked up this year).  Hey Mom & Dad! Time to pony up and have that discussion about how babies are made, because if you don't, your baby will be bringing home another baby to feed.  And since you can't take care of the first one you got, this might be the time for that little talk... Just a thought.

Kids will say what they read and hear.  If you happen to say "slap my bitch" out loud to your friend/spouse/anyone you think that phrase is oh-so-appropriate to say to ~ your kid is going to repeat it at school.  Don't ask me where he learned it when I call to tell you Little Johnny just told me to "suck it" when I asked for his home work. Trust me, that phrase is not on the language arts curriculum. Again with the stepping up on the parenting skills.

Since we are on the parenting skills... Some of you all need to get some!  I don't know what your parents let you get away with when you were a kid, but if I had even THOUGHT about doing half the sh*t these kids do.... OOOOHHHHH, I would have been knocked into next week and spanked again on Friday!!  It is NOT my job to parent your kid.  It is my job to teach Little Johnny to read, blow up the science lab, understand history and develop whatever critical thinking skills he will need for the future if he ever wants to do anything more than deliver for Double Dave's pizza. Not to instill the basics tenants of appropriate bathroom behavior. Since when is writing your name on the wall of the bathroom with urine acceptable? Writing it in the snow...maybe.  On the wall in the middle of the school day in the Texas heat...not so much.  

School's out and I have time to regain my sanity and dignity. (Really, seeing an almost XX-year-old woman cry like a baby at the last bell of the year ~ not a pretty sight and dignity was nowhere to be found.)  Also to reflect on why I chose to teach.  (It chose me really.) The moments are small and few, but when they do happen and the light goes on in a child's mind, it is the most wonderful feeling to know that you helped flip the switch.

Walk it off

I am going to say this and somebody, somewhere is going to get pissed, so yeah, just get over it.

If you are going to the gym....TO WORK OUT... which is what you usually do when you go to the gym. Don't freaking ride in your car for 30 minutes, looking for the CLOSEST parking spot you can find, pissing off those of us who are stuck behind your Hummer driving ass. Park the bloody car in the first spot you see and ~ here's where this becomes a truely novel idea ~ WALK TO THE DOOR!!!  I am not joking: WALK!! 

For those of you who have recently only walked from the couch to the tub of Ben & Jerry's, I can see how this would be a truly scary situation and maybe it is why you are at the gym in the first place. Holy crap people, your legs are not going to fall off if you have to walk a few extra yards to get to the front door. From what I have seen of the buzzard-death-circle-driving-fat-asses who make these repeated rounds, a few extra steps are not going to kill you. And I'm not seeing any of the skinny b*tches circling the parking lot like their life depended on them getting the spot RIGHT NEXT TO THE DOOR, so maybe there is something to this idea?!?!?!

OK, one caveate: if it is pissing rain outside and you will mush up into a icky pile of matted clothes and hair by walking those few extra feet...then by all means, circle to your heart's content ~ cause I'll be right there with ya.  I'm not messing up $35 worth of perfectly applied Bobbi Brown make-up just so I look like a drowned cat on the treadmill.  I'm sure at $3.85 a gallon you can afford to suck up the gas instead of using the club blow dyer to fix your hair. You do get bonus points for hauling your ass out in the rain to go work out. My lumpy rear-end would have been at home "walkin' it" to the Ben & Jerry's container. So snaps for that. 

But if the couple of calories you might burn off doesn't motivate you then think about the gas you can conserve. My gas tank is guzzling more than me and the chickas at the last happy hour and the cost is burning a hole through my budget faster than the Coach summer sale! So you can rationalize the Bataan-Health-Club-Death-March that way if it helps. But for crying out loud people don't make the rest of us slowly queue up around you while you try to beat Bambi to the perfect spot ~ just park the damn car and walk.

Pack Off American Airlines!!

Dear American Airlines:

It's official.  You suck.  At first I thought you were only mildly annoying when you could not manage to get me from Point A to Point B without first going to Point C.  Seriously people, get a map.  That whole spoke-and-hub thing is soooo 1950's.  Move on.  Hey, maybe you will save some money and then not have to fee-f*ck your customers to death to pay for fuel.  

Then, I was a little miffed when you decided to charge me $5 for a blanket.  Blankets used to be on the plane and it was great fun seeing grown people act like asshats trying to horde them before the last unlucky bastard got to board.  Then you decided they WEIGHED too much and you could save fuel by lightening your loads....so you dumped the blankets and pillows???  I'm sure that cut back in poundage really helped save you thousands.  The kicker was when you made me pay $5 for a blanket AFTER I had payed a FULL FAIR FIRST CLASS ticket to the tune of around $1,500. For $1,500 you should have found a hot flight attendant and had him snuggle around me using his body heat for warmth (hell, at that point, I was so cold I would not have cared if he was not "interested" in high-maintenance-oh-so-cute-kitten-heel-wearing-passengers) - Not make me pay more money.  Shit, for $1,5000 I would have sat on someone's lap and kept him warm!!  The insult to injury was when you told me you had actually asked your customers if they WANTED to pay for the blankets and reported they had said yes!!  I call BULLSHIT on this one because I know I wasn't asked and I was flying on your planes weekly.  

Now the news has announced that you have decided to charge people $15 for the first bag and $25 for the second.  So in addition to the @$$-raping you give us for our fare, you are now providing the ultimate bitch-slap and are charging us to get our clean underwear to the destination of choice!!!  Seriously, you now SUCK.  Since I can't carry more than 3 ounces of a liquid (or a gel) on the plane and my carry-on bag must fit in the over head bin or under the seat in front of me, how do you expect me to get my necessities there?  Magic carpet?  Wear everything at once and go for the layered look?  I'm sorry you are getting as screwed at the fuel pump as the rest of the country, but someone at your marketing department needs to get canned.  Because who ever thought up this BRILLIANT idea is flat out a jackass.  Just freakin hide the fuel costs in the ticket fee like everyone else; don't tell me I now have to pay extra to take my jeans and oh-so-cute-flippies on my vacation with me.  Dumabass.

So, from now on I will be putting on my big-girl-britches, swallowing my high-maintenance-pride and flying Southwest.  They are apparently run by someone with a better head for business since they could foresee that fuel would go up (HELLO??? Can anyone say non-renewable resource?  That sh*t was bound to run out/low/cost more eventually) and they was smart enough to hedge their bets.  At least I know what I am getting with them: A cattle-car-free-for-all seating plan and a $2 in-flight coke.  Plus I won't be told to pay $5 for a blanket that has been on that plane since the day it rolled off the assembly line!  I'm betting with your brave new marketing plan you will be planning another date to the courts to declare bankruptcy or whatever it is airlines do with they get stupid and can't pay their bills.  So, please put you tray tables and seat backs in their upright and lock positions in preparation for your final flight. And as always thank you for screwing the American traveler this season.

Formerly AAdvantage Platinum Member

Lisa-tastrophies

Motivate This

It's Friday.

I have an @$$ load of stuff to do.

I have a packet of graham crackers and a tub of vanilla frosting.

What do you think is going to happen ?

The Holy Trinity or I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends

I can smell it.  Summer is just around the corner... If the 80 degree Texas weather doesn't have you convinced, then the antics of Jr. High Schoolers everywhere should change your mine.  I don't know if it's the increase in the pollen or daylight savings catching up, but there are 6-8th graders acting the fool all Texas this week.  It's days like these that I have to turn to the holy trinity of little helpers: xanax, Ho-ho's and THE GIRLS NEXT DOOR!!!!

Hello Ladies

Cause nothing beats zoning out on a dose of the old xan, while cramming in a double whammy of the Ho-ho and watching a three-some of blond, big-hootered women who have found the Mac-Daddy of all Sugar Daddies and are workin' it like there is no tomorrow.  Can I get an Amen???  Oh sorry, got myself worked up on that sugar high for a second.  

New guy swears that my IQ drops 20 points every time I watch this show, so right now I am working in the negative with regards to any Mensa scores.  I can't help it.  They are so much fun to watch.  I think I am a rocket scientist after any episode where Kendra speaks. Which is pretty much every episode, so get me a pen I have to start filling out job applications with NASA. 

Speaking of Kendra, I am so thankful that Hugh found her cause if ever someone was headed for a life made up of clear heels and a pole, it was her.  Much to the chagrin of Gentlemen's establishments everywhere.  And deep down inside my big boobed chest, I have to admit I secretly wish I could be one of them... for maybe a day or two... without the having to sleep with Heff stuff  ~ 'cause 80 year old ass is still 80 year old ass, no matter HOW much money you have ~eeewwwww.  

So after a hard day of kids telling me that I'm not the "real" teacher* (I'm working on that) and that they don't have to do what I say, I need a little afternoon of mindless bliss.  Now that I have explained how to convert a decimal to a fraction for the umptenth hundred time, I need some time with my girls. So what if I have to lower the blinds and close the shades? I think I can manage the loss of IQ points. And seriously kids, you will need to know how to do those damn conversions!  How else are you going to know how to spend your hard earned McDonald's paycheck if you can't figure out that even though that Coach bag is 25% off it is still going to cost you 3/4 of your yearly income?  

Got Nuts?

Hey Mister, got some nuts?

This piece of trivia is brought to you by my sister.  (She says her husband told her this and is passing the buck of responsibility on to him.)  So blame it, it's accuracy, and the fact that you are never going to look at another squirrel in the same way again on her.  I am taking no responsibility here what-so-ever; not even for the fact that I am passing this juicy tid bit of info on to everyone or the fact that you will be haunted by this knowledge and just HAVE to pass it on to everyone you know. Read it at your own discretion.

Somebody, somewhere apparently didn't have enough work to do one day or maybe was inspired by the statistics on Barbie and what she would look like if she was to be inflated into "real life" size, because he/she sat down and figured this out. (Personally, my hat is off to the person who could waste THIS much time at work and not get nailed for it because the most I ever got away with was sending personal e-mails and shopping for clothes at Victoria's Secret while not letting my Nazi boss see me.) If you took the average, common gray squirrel and "blew" him up to be the size of an average common man... Apparently you would have the world's best "hung" mammal.  Because the average common gray squirrel's nuts would no longer be "average".  They would each be the size of a Goodyear tire! No I have no idea what make and model tire so don't ask. At this point it would be mute, because no one I know wants anything with Goodyear written across it coming at them with any amount of force.

Which means Mr. Squirrel is the Sciurus carolinensis equivalent of John Holmes in the balls department and I now have a strange fascination with "checking out" my local flying rodent neighbors. It's sick people.  Really.  I sit and wait for them to bend over to pick up an acorn or something. Hell, I have even tried dropping a few sunflower seeds just to see what was under that bushy tail a time or two. I think the park rangers are convinced that I have lost it and that I am trying to make my own squirrel fur coat or that crazy lady must REALLY like squirrels. Either way, they watch me very closely now. 

If you think I am the twisted sister on this one; just you wait. You are squirrel-nut infected now. The next time Mr. Holy-Crap-Where-Did-You-Get-Those-Bad-Boys comes scampering across your lawn; you'll be checkin' him out as well, so don't say I didn't warn you. Feel free to blame this one on my sister.  

Monkey Screwing

AHHHHH sweet revenge.  The taste of pure joy at knowing the Monkeys are getting a little "what-goes-around-comes-around" action.  The dumb-ass Monkeys at Big Clueless and Big Heartache apparently have paid me twice for my last set of claims.  And I am just tripping over myself to get to the phone to tell them this.  Oh yeah, not so much.  I think I am going to pretend that I didn't notice.  In fact, I didn't notice all the way to the bank to deposit that check. 

I think turn about is fair play.  I mean, why should I be in such an all fired rush to send them their money, when they weren't exactly bending over backwards to get me mine in the first place.  Let that money earn a little interest in MY account for a while. (Whatever. You know I spent every penny of that second check the minute I got it. I am a one person economic stimulus package.) They can wait for the refund and I will be sure to extend them EVERY courtesy they gave me. I will gladly let my voice mail take a message for me with the promise that I will return the call within a 24-48 hour time frame... only after they have left the 16th message and have threatened to physically walk into their office and meet with me face-to-face. 

I am more than happy to process a refund within a 30-60 day turn-around time frame provided I have the correct address on file. This is the St. Louis office and not the Dallas office I am sending it to, right?  Oh, it's the Dallas office.  I'm sorry. Would you send me that address again, I don't have it in my system.  Once I get it I will process the request for return of funds:

"Dear Big Clueless:  

I am unable to process your request for a refund at this location.  I am forwarding your claim to my summer cottage in Borra Borra for it to be handled there. Thank you and have a nice day." 

Oh yeah, I am going to have the correct claim amount that this return of funds corresponds to. Are you sure it was the fourth claim set?  I don't seem to have that on my computer.  Maybe imaging has it.  Oh wait, I AM imaging.  Well, it takes me about 72 hours to scan a claim into the system before I can access it.  Right now my Big Chief Notepad and Pencil is down for repairs, so it might take me a few more days to get the image into the system. 

Then the request will go to me for processing. Which if I added correctly means you should be seeing your refund sometime right before hell freezes over.  (With global warming that might be sooner than you think.)  Until then, might I suggest a few xanax and Ho-ho's to help get you through the waiting.  If your lucky, you can submit the prescription for reimbursement through your claims department.  I'm sure they will be all over that like a fat kid on a twinkey.  Reap the turn-around Big Monkey.  

Oh, I am sooooo loving this.  Karma can be so cool when she isn't kicking my @$$. 

P.s.  I am so far behind on all my correspondence.  I promise to get caught up by the end of the week.  Thank you everyone for the support.  Happy blogging