McCain's America: Day Thirty-One

Yes, technically, the posts should stop at day 30, but my vacation didn't so I must press on.

Too tired to go into the annual Holloway Holiday Drama. Photos must suffice (although they don't really tell the story...).

McCain's America: Day Twenty-Two

Today, Jackson and his classmates had a little Mommy (or Daddy) and Me time decorating gingerbread houses (which turned out to be graham crackers cleverly glued to wee milk cartons). Being an old pro, I pitched in to help.

Afterwards, we took Jackson to a much-hyped visit to "The Real Santa." Supposedly, the place has been operating for something like 35 years. When we pulled up in the parking lot it occurred to me that they've been using the same sad DIY props (possibly hand-painted by prisoners) the whole time. Perhaps I'm spoiled having seen one too many Christmas Villages at hoity toity malls. But I digress.

How it supposedly works ********spoiler alert*********** is that the parent slips away to a secret booth and feeds pertinent info (kid's name, what they're getting from santa, etc.) to an intermediary who then passes this on to Santa who is wearing an earpiece. Thus, Santa KNOWS YOUR NAME (emphasis courtesy of Jenna).

Well, it was a pretty good idea in theory. But anyone who’s ever played the game “Telephone” will likely guess how this turned out.

Jackson and I are waiting our turn at the bottom of the steps as a couple of annoyingly skeptical kids try and trip Santa up. He seems to hold his own and eventually they leave. And then..."Jackson?" Santa calls. Jackson beams as we make our way up the steps. And then…

Jenna: Tell Jackson Santa gave him his DVD player early so he’ll have it when he goes to Pa Paw’s house.

Intermediary: He’s going to get a DVD player when he goes to his grandpa’s house.

Jenna: Pa Paw’s house! And Santa already gave him the DVD player.

Intermediary: Santa gave him the DVD player at his grandpa’s house.

Santa: There’s a DVD player at grandpa’s house.

Jackson: Stunned silence.

Then they try it again:

Jenna: Ask him about his cats, Tigger and Pooh.

Intermediary: Ask him about his cats, Tigger and Two.

Jenna: Pooh! Tigger and Pooh!

Intermediary: Tigger and Pooh.

Santa: I’m bringing cats to Grandpa’s house. Tigger and Two.

Jackson: Stunned silence.

I got the distinct impression Santa might be drunk. And not to judge on appearances, but he did look sorta creepy. I also did not find him particularly jolly.

I hurriedly snapped a few pictures, feeling fairly certain they would not end up on Jenna’s Christmas card (and I was right). As a parting gift, Jackson got an armadillo Beanie Baby. I have to admit that beats the candy cane I used to get back in the day.

McCain's America: Day Twenty-One

I’ve always loved my nephew Jackson, but I must admit that I love him more than ever now that he’s four and capable of carrying on an actual conversation. I warned Jenna before birth that I don’t talk to babies on the phone. However, since my mom adored listening to the googlings of a six month old, Jenna figured I should, too. Sigh.

These days, I love chatting with him and playing imaginary games. I love that he’s a fireman one minute, a cop the next, and a lion five seconds later. I had forgotten how easy it is to be whoever, whatever you want to be when you’re four.

Today I played “Mom” to his “Dad.” We have a five-year-old boy named “Buddy” and a new girl baby called (conveniently enough) “Baby.” We played (imaginary) basketball while Buddy cheered us on from the stands. If you’ve never heard a four year old imitating a five year old, it’s particularly hilarious.

He’s declared his bedroom the “Junk” room and likes to take me in there and show me all the toys he and I used to play with “when we were kids.”

By the time 3 o’clock “quiet time” comes, I am seriously ready for a nap.

Tonight he was less adorable while trying to decide what to have for dinner. Jenna ran through the options for him about ten times, interspersed with him running off to the bedroom to cry. But once he finally settled on a Kid’s Cuisine, he was back to normal again.

He popped into my room to chat with me at around 11:30 p.m. Not sure how he’ll manage to drag himself up in the morning to go to “school,” but at least he might get a decent nap tomorrow.

McCain's America: Day Twenty

Went to the mega-church again today. I was highly amused when I noticed this sign as the tram pulled up to the entrance.

Oddly, my sister does not think it strange to ride a tram to church. I asked if she didn’t find it just a little absurd and she got offended thinking I was mocking her church.

She goes on to tell me that her mother-in-law was offended by the fact that mega-church has a coffee bar. Especially when someone sitting near them got up in the middle of service for a refill.

Like I said, I’m glad my sister loves her church. It’s just not for me. I’m sure she would enjoy mocking the hideous décor of my church. Everybody does.

After church, Jackson got to play in the “Adventureland” playroom. I must say I would have LURVED to happen upon a place like that when I was four. Lots of stuff to climb on, etc. Think of McDonald’s playland on steroids. Jenna went inside to chat with her friend Tricia while Jackson played. I had to stay a fair distance away. I can’t tolerate too many children in public. Every time I think I might want to have a kid, I go to the mall and am immediately cured.

We had lunch with one of Jenna’s friends and then set off to deliver Christmas gifts for the family Jenna’s small group had adopted. We stopped to pick up Shawn from work so he could help Jenna’s friend Melanie navigate. After turning around about three or four times, we finally found the place.

We hauled a huge pile of presents in, met the mother and one of the kids, and after another false turn or two headed home.

At dinner Jenna brings up the fact that the family’s flat-screen was bigger than theirs, which eventually evolved into a conversation about income taxes. Shawn and I were saying that a lot of times it seems that people treat their income tax return as though it were free money. Jenna said she’d rather pay too much in and get a big return than end up with a bill in April. Shawn and I tried to explain the lunacy of giving an interest-free loan to the government, but she stuck to her guns. We had to call the argument a draw.
Though Shawn and I agree that we are right.

McCain's America: Day Eighteen

80's party.
Yes, I karaoked.

p.s. I got my entire outfit at goodwill for less than $25. Whee!

McCain's America: Day Seventeen

Had a project due by noon today (technically 2 p.m. since the time change gives me an automatic extension) so I figured I’d get an early start. About 10 minutes into the ad, Jackson shows up at the door wearing a pair of jeans over his new overalls. By way of explanation, he says that he has to have the jeans because the overalls don’t have a place to hold his tools. (His imaginary tools, I might add.)

He tells me he’s building a “goat run” for his goat named Giddy. (Also imaginary) We talk briefly about his various construction projects and he darts off to get me my very own hardhat (or makeshift hardhat. It’s actually a fireman’s hat from his Halloween costume).

I’m torn by my need to work and my desire to look at life from the perspective of a four year old. But Jenna beckons him for the long-awaited decorating of the Christmas tree and my work ethic once again kicks in.

Later, when Jenna and I are eating lunch (or some semblance thereof), we watch in horror as the Christmas tree makes a somewhat graceful descent to the floor. (I should note that her cat Tigger makes himself scarce, seeing as he accidentally knocked her tree over one year and has yet to live it down…)

She starts freaking out, especially when she notices that Jackson’s first ornament is broken. I do my best to calm her down and we commence to undecorating the tree and vacuuming pine needles with the shop vac since her oreck is on the blink.

Jackson emerged from his nap in a most foul mood. He and Jenna were in the living room and the conversation went something like this: Jenna: “Hand me that Target receipt. I need it.” Jackson: “I’m throwing this away. You don’t need it. I’m throwing it away. I’m throwing it away. You don’t need it.” Jenna: no response. Jackson: “I’m throwing this away. You don’t need it.” Jenna: no response. After about five minutes, I go in and try to lighten the mood by threatening to shoot him. A look of amusement crosses his face, but he decides he wants to stay grumpy and proceeds to hit me with the lid of the garbage can. Jenna sends him to time out.

Every few minutes he sneaks back in the room, but when Jenna tells him he has to apologize to me, he hightails it back to his room again. At some point he starts crying, very dramatically. If there was ever any doubt, which there wasn’t, he is absolutely my sister’s son. He hasn’t yet started crying more loudly every five minutes till somebody comes to fetch him, but I’m sure he will…

Tonight we started watching Law and Order at around 6:30 and finally made it to the end of the episode around 10:15. Sigh.

McCain's America: Day Sixteen

This was, by far, my best day in McCain’s America so far.

This morning, I helped Jenna finish preparing gift bags for her client luncheon. It’s always a good day when I can pretend to be crafty before noon.

Jenna left around 11:00 and Jackson and I had the whole afternoon to play. We played vampires/ghosts/zombies, blew bubbles, arrested some bad guys, took some (imaginary) coffee and donut breaks, and killed each other many times over.

We finally broke for lunch around 2:30 and watched a show called (I believe) Fairly Goodparents. I declare it far superior to Sponge Bob, which I can barely stomach.

Jenna came home and while she and Jackson napped, I had a chance to catch up on some work.

When Shawn came home, he told me that Jackson had said he had the BEST time with me today. Grin.

Tonight we got to talking about leaving Santa cookies and milk and how Jackson needed to make a list for Santa. Jackson said that if he didn’t make a list, Santa might bring him ashes. Shawn and I jumped in on it and started naming things Santa might bring, along the lines of 1. A can of green beans 2. One sock 3. A dead plant 4. A couple of rocks. It quickly degenerated into 1. A lunchbox full of moldy food 2. A pair of used underwear 3. A Kleenex that someone had already blown their nose in. We decided to declare Jackson a winner when he came up with “A dog that has four paws but only three legs.” Who could top that?

After Jackson and Shawn had gone to bed Jenna and I roundaboutly googled onto this interview with the “Mouth of the South” Jimmy Hart: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eqEap-HT2Wo Apparently, he’s some wrestling (or wrastling as he calls it) promoter. He rambles on and on and goes nowhere. At one point, he compares his upstart wrastling circuit with the WWF by saying “they’re that big ol outback steakhouse. We’re that lil ol bitty waffle house. But just remember the waffle house is open 24 hours a day!” WTF?

The best comment though is not by Jimmy Hart, but the interviewer Dameon Nelson. Jimmy waxes nostalgic on Andy Kaufman saying “he loved wrastling, and he loved talking about Elvis Presley.” And Dameon goes “uhonhuh.” (His interpretation of Elvis) Ok, it doesn’t really translate when I’m typing it. But click on the clip and scroll to 4:30 and you’ll see what I mean. We replayed it about ten times and doubled over laughing each time. Maybe it was late or maybe we just have a bizarro sense of humor, but we thought it hysterical. A fantabulous ending to a fantabulous day.

p.s. I can’t believe I almost forgot the best part. My sister’s lost about 30 pounds so all her clothes are super loose. Tonight she was walking into the kitchen and her pants fell down! I am still laughing.

McCain's America: Day Thirteen

It's my birthday and I have galloping consumption (ok, a bad cold).

Stayed in my PJs and helped Jackson build his "gingerman" house.

I think it turned out ok, despite the unruly frosting.

McCain's America: Day Six

Went to bed fairly early last night seeing as I had to get up at the crack of dawn (ok, 7:30) to leave for church by 9:00. In case you are unaware, people in Memphis love their churches, the bigger the better. Seriously, the city features the biggest bunch of big churches you'll ever see in one place. There's one with so many bells and whistles that my sister's husband calls it "Six Flags Over Jesus." However, after visiting their church, I note that they really don't have room to talk. First stop, the parking lot. There are parking directors (embarrasingly named "coneheads," don't ask me why) and trams. Yes, I said TRAMS. When we got on, I asked my nephew which ride he wanted to go on first.

The tram drops us off at the door and we walk about half a mile to Jackson's classroom. It is one of I don't even know how many 4-5 year olds classrooms. Then we start the trek to the new sanctuary. The new multi-million dollar sanctuary. We pass a lobby worthy of a fancy hotel. There are information booths. Coffee bars. A soup station. And then there's the sanctuary. I'll just say this: I've never seen a sanctuary with nose-bleed seats before. I have also never seen a church with its own map before, so I, of course, felt the need to include it.

As we're getting settled, I put my water bottle in some sort of complicated cupholder. Cupholder! And then we stand for the music, which I admit is impressive. Having grown up in the baptist church, I am always impressed when churches feature musicians besides organists and pianists. The saxaphone was an added bonus.

My sister loves her church, and I'm glad she does. But I just have a fondness for my smallish church which doesn't even own a building, much less a multi-million dollar one. I enjoy the thrill of making my own parking space each week and then walking a few steps to the door. There's the Pepto Bismol pink bathroom tile, the puke yellow carpet, the seventies-era artwork, and the crazy ass tracts of the Seventh Day Adventists whose building we lease on Sundays. It's homey, not to mention homely. But when I'm thousands of miles from my family, homey is good.

Something about the South makes me extremely nappish. After a bit of shut eye, I walked down to the "lake" in my sister's subdivision and did a few laps around it. Got my fix of "This American Life," and tried to avoid the "mean ducks" (aka geese). I was doing fine till the fourth lap when a couple of the geese hissed at me as I went by. I decided I was cold and wet enough as it was, so I headed back to Jenna's.

I played with Jackson a bit and then got in a few crosswords (yes, I realize I'm nerdy. my sister informed me years ago.). Jenna made Greek food for dinner. It was yummy. Best part was: it didn't involve turkey. Yay!!

McCain's America: Day Five

My sister and family met some friends for breakfast, and I slept in. My ulterior motive was to do some yoga in peace. I never imagined myself as someone who would be jonesing for the opportunity to do some yoga, but there it is.

After they got back, there was a brief ruckus over Jackson's missing Tigers t-shirt, but it was eventually located. Then Shawn and Jackson headed out for the Tigers game. (I'm not exactly sure what sport the Tigers play. Given the time of year, I suspect it's football.)

They brought me back a pumpkin muffin, which was super-yummy. Of course, the best part was the cream cheese icing. And, yes, I realize that the presence of cream cheese icing made it less of a muffin and more of a cupcake...

After Jenna had time to rest up from her breakfast, we decided to give Target another go. Thankfully, there was no line snaking around the store. However, there was also no Chi flat-iron or stand mixer that we'd come for. (I'd noticed that my sister had a flat iron on her vanity, and I asked her if it was a Chi. She said, "No, it's a cheeeee-ap.")

We did manage to load up on toys for Jackson. I opted for Play-Doh stuff since most of his current stash is an amalgam of a whole mess of colors. I realize the new stuff will probably look the same a few days after Christmas, but figured it was worth a shot anyhow.

Jenna got him a big box of Crayons, so the evening's activities included a coloring contest. Ok, it wasn't actually a contest, but I consider myself the winner anyhow. My Eeyore rocked!

More turkey for dinner. I am seriously beginning to understand my sister's distaste for the bird. I mean, I do like turkey, but it starts to get old after three days. Not to mention pretty dried out.

McCain's America: Day Four

At 3:00 a.m. my alarm goes off. I hit the snooze a couple of times before reluctantly dragging my ass out of bed. I throw on some clothes, brush the teeth, and put the hair in ponytails. Call me ready to go.

We pull into the Kohl's parking lot at about 5 til 4:00. Half of Memphis has arrived before us. The line snakes half-way around the building. There are Kohl's employees outside helping shoppers plan their strategies, i.e. Shopper: "Where are the mp3 players?" Kohl rep: "Go straight to the back of the store." Shopper: "Where are those down throws?" Kohl rep: "Turn left and they're about half-way back in the bedding area." Seriously.

Jenna and I split up immediately. She's racing to the mp3 players. I'm looking for cheap cashmere. Priorities.

I am dissapointed to note that the "cashmere blend" socks are 5% cashmere. But, hey, they're soft and 5 bucks for two, so I get them anyway. Next stop, cashmere sweaters. I snag three cardigans (black, purple, and aqua) for $34.99 each. Whee!! I grab some taupe suede ballet flats ($15), which I ultimately reject after carting them around the store for a while. Then I swoop in on the cute pink purse I saw in the flyer, and I'm done. I run into Jenna who is dragging around a very large Kohl's mesh bag filled with mp3 players, a portable DVD player, games, clothes, and who knows what all. Eventually, we make it to the back of the line, which is conveniently at the very back of the store. There are two lines actually. Each is equally long. We note the time: 5:05. Jenna continues to shop as I kick her bag forward while trying to balance my various purchases. Whenever she returns to the line for a few moments, she commences to chat with the folks around us. (Need I say these are women folks?) She's like our mom that way. She'll strike up a conversation with anyone, anywhere. Me, I zone out. I should add that she sits at any given opportunity. Her favorite part of the line was when we were in the bedding department.

If this is sounding pretty boring, that's because it was. I believe this is the longest line I've ever waited in that didn't have a ride at the end. As we were edging toward the front of the store, someone passed a box of doughnuts forward. Sadly, they were not Krispy Kreme, so I passed. Though I did appreciate the gesture. Even in Seattle, people are unlikely to hand out free doughnuts to strangers. Ah, the humanity. I should also add that this was the first time I had ever seen a whole mess of Southern women sans makeup. This just doesn't happen. However, I was even more floored by the fact that some women were in FULL makeup (and hair) at 4:00 a.m. Scary.

We finally made it out of Kohl's around 6:30. (Yep, that's an hour and a half in line.) So we promptly headed over to Target. We were due home at 8:00 so Jenna's husband could go to work. After Jenna almost ran over people angling for a parking space, we went in only to discover that Target also had a mega line. We followed the line around the store trying to gauge whether or not we could make it out in time. We made it to the back of the store and kept going and going (like the energizer bunny) but we never did see the end of the line. Needless to say, we bailed.

I can't recall too much of the rest of the day. It involved several naps. And leftovers. Lots of leftovers.

McCain's America: Day Three

Turkey Day arrives. Although if my sister had had her druthers, it would be Non-turkey Day. She called me several times before I left home saying things like, "Do we HAVE to have a turkey?" (um, yes.) and "What if we just had a turkey breast?" (um, no.) and "Kroger has bone-in turkey breasts. What if I got two of those? Does anybody eat dark meat anyway?" (no and no, but still...) My sister doesn't like turkey. She's more fond of the pig. But only when it's doctored up with honey, brown sugar, and coke. (Another half-dessert that I forgot to mention.) This year, she used orange juice in lieu of the coke. The ham was decidedly citrus-y. Thankfully, her mother-in-law brought over a bird.

Due to the prep work the night before, we were done with the cooking in record time. I actually had time to sit down and watch the parade. Thankfully, I'd recorded it, so it only took about 20 minutes to see the whole thing (fast forwarding through all the marching bands, high school musical-type acts, singing, commentary, etc.). In short, I watched the balloons, a handful of floats, and Santa. I now realize why I haven't watched the parade in years. It's one big commercial, which I find extremely annoying. I'm watching the Smurf balloon, (Smurf!!) and the commentators start rattling on about how there's going to be a Smurf movie. Another float promotes the return of Hair to Broadway, etc. etc. The highlight of the whole thing was the Fred Hill Briefcase Drill Team. Hi-larious.

Jenna's mother-in-law arrived around 1:00 with the ubiquitous crudité. This year it involved purple cauliflower, but sadly there was no dip. When Shawn asked where the dip was, his mom said, "We don't need that. It's bad for us." While this is undoubtedly true, it seemed rather a moot point seeing as our spread included 1. candied ham 2. sweet potato "casserole" 3. cranberry "salad" 4. cornbread dressing with duck 5. candied green beans with bacon 6. rolls with butter. suffice it to say, not a lot of purple cauliflower was eaten.

after the feast, pretty much everybody lapsed into a food coma.

a few hours later, we reconvened and started going through the sales flyers in the paper. every year, my sister and I swear we're not going to go shopping on Black Friday. And, yes, we're fighting the crowds every single year. so as we're perusing the flyers, my sister says, "These kind of make me want to get up and go shopping." (I should note, that while we do usually end up at the mall every year, we have long since given up the early-bird specials.)

Long story short, my sister asks, "If I went to Kohl's at 4 a.m., would you go with me?" Me: "Why not?" We retire early, hoping for some semblance of rest...

McCain's America: Day Two

My first morning in McCain's America starts with a migraine. Fitting. After a quick hit on the Imitrex pipe, I was feeling somewhat human by around 10:00. Human enough to recommence my newfound yoga routine, even.

It started out a bit awkwardly and quickly went downhill from there. My sister's DVD situation is a bit dicey at the moment, so I popped the dvd into my laptop and positioned it on the coffee table. So far, so good. As soon as I press play and get settled cross-legged on the floor, two things happen: 1. my sister commences to mock me and 2. she also turns up the volume on the TV. (I should mention that the base level of any TV my sister watches is LOUD. She turned it up to Almost Earsplitting.)

I'm following along best I can without the benefit of the soothing yogi's instructions (or the mellowing soundtrack), when my adorable four-year-old nephew joins in the routine. Apparently, four year olds don't have the best balance; he fell over a lot. But he put forth a valiant effort. Much more than my sister who was watching Intervention on the couch, eating pita chips and what I thought was cream cheese, but later found out was swiss cheese. Tomato, tomahto.

Oh, and whenever I attempted to lie on my back, my sister's cat, Tigger, amused himself by eating my hair. This is nothing new from Tigger. He always eats my hair. I'm just not usually attempting yoga at the time.

Halfway through my stretching routine, the cable guy shows up. I take a break and start unpacking. The bookshelves in my sister's guest bedroom are hopelessly cluttered with a vast array of picture frames and candles (about a third of which were given to her by yours truly, so I suppose I've little right to complain. However, I won't let that stop me.) My stuff is perched precariously on any inch of open space I can find, such that trying to locate any particular item is like playing Where's Waldo. While blindfolded.

The day was rather uneventful from there. I worked a few hours, watched Sponge Bob with Jackson (um, not recommended), had dinner, blah blah yadda.

So then I'm in the kitchen doing prep for tomorrow's feast when my sister starts watching Law and Order. I sit down when she's about half-way through the episode I've been half-way listening to from the kitchen. She says, "You can rewind it; I haven't been paying attention." (She is presently in the grip of an insidious Facebook addiction.) So I rewind it and get about half-way through when she says, "Do you mind rewinding it? I haven't been paying attention." Do I mind? Yes. Do I rewind it anyway? Yes. Right about the time I'm learning brand new plot points, Jenna's husband walks in. Graciously, he does not ask me to rewind it...

Later, my sister's in the kitchen attempting to put the top layer on her not-exactly-congealed cranberry salad. (As she pointed out, I'm not sure something can actually be called a salad if it contains cool whip, not to mention cream cheese and jello.) She's having quite a time trying to get the somewhat thick cream cheese/cool whip amalgamation spread across the liquidy jello bottom layer. I point out the various mountains, valleys, craters, and faults which comprise the topography of this particular side dish. Yes, I said side dish. Only in the South do you find desserts as a side dish, in lieu of vegetables. On Thanksgiving, we feature two and a half desserts as side dishes: The aforementioned cranberry "salad," the sweet potato "casserole," and the green bean bundles. Yes, green beans are technically a vegetable...until you douse them in bacon, butter, and brown sugar.

Until tomorrow...

Thirty Days in McCains America: Day One

At approximately 8:00 a.m. today, I left the comfort of my blue state and embarked on the social experiment I've dubbed "30 days in McCain's America." It's not exactly a Morgan Spurlock adventure, seeing as I grew up in McCain's America. Of course, back in the day it was Nixon/Ford's America. But I digress...

I figured the only way to embark on a journey to McCain's America was to go first class (seeing as how I haven't a Lear jet at my disposal.) I suppose I should mention that I lucked into said first class ticket by booking with a frequent flyer back in July.

Before I even boarded the plane, my attitude shifted. I caught myself thinking, "Isn't there a FIRST CLASS security line? I have to wait here with all these COACH people?" But it wasn't until I sunk into my big, plush leather seat–with more leg room than short people like me could ever need–that I thought, "As God is my witness, I will never fly coach again."

And then there was the food. Apparently it's still free in first class. Hot food even. How long has it been since I've seen that? I'm sad to say I had to pass on the food seeing as I'd gone with my coach instincts and bought a pre-flight muffin at Tully's.

Did I mention that my seat was stocked with 1. a pillow 2. a blanket 3. headphones 4. a wee bottle of water and 5. a masseuse? Ok, no masseuse, but there's an idea to pass along to Delta. How about some vibrating chair action? I mean it IS supposed to be first class!

In first class, one is trusted with actual glassware. You wouldn't think a plain old glass could be a perk (it wasn't even cute). But when you've suffered with plastic all these years and then are offered actual glass, Hoo Boy!

It may have been my imagination, but I believe there were two attendants assigned to first class. That 7:1 ratio sure beats the 582:1 in the seats behind the curtain.

Not to belabor the point (but I suppose it's too late), the lavatories had hardwood floors. Probably fake hardwood, but still. Which lead me to think, "What is that ruffian from COACH doing in the FIRST CLASS lavatory?" And yes, I actually thought "lavatory."

The nadir of the experience was realizing that first class luggage is delivered at the same baggage claim (and in the same slow-ass manner) as everyone else's. Although in the end I was delighted to discover that I'd made it through Atlanta without losing luggage. Another incredible first!

All this falls into my theory that you never quite understand how bad something is until something far better comes along. Don't get me wrong. I am well aware that coach sucks and manages to get worse every time I fly. But now that I've tasted the free margarita (in glass glass!), something tells me I will never again be excited by the windfall WHOLE CAN of coke again. Sigh.

p.s. Holy crap! I forgot to mention the hot towel service before the meal. Seriously.

p.s. #2: I apologize to readers who are already familiar with all the comforts of first class. You know, those of you who were wondering, "What is that girl in the stained Uggs doing up here with US?"

Caught with pants down redux.

for years, my sister has been making her own spanx by using an upsized pair of control top pantyhose with the legs cut off. (suddenly, i'm recalling that as a child my sister-in-law's sister – does that make us related? – used to wear her mom's old cut off pantyhose as sort of a sleeveless body suit. there is photographic evidence of this, but i'm reluctant to produce it as the photo also depicts me in a blond dolly parton wig wearing a KFC t-shirt with the chest stuffed with a beach towel or something.)

anyhow, my sister is in a store checking out the spanx display, wondering if it's time to upgrade. next thing she knows, her homemade spanx and her elastic waist pants have something of the reverse magnet effect and her pants end up around her ankles. she quickly a: looks around to see if anyone has noticed and b: pulls her pants back up. probably in that order. then she goes right back to looking at the spanx as if nothing had ever happened. (she claims she was too stunned to think of anything else to do.) me, i'd have hightailed it out of the store and might never have come back. (i'm picturing the staff replaying the security tapes over and over again, or worse: youtube …)

but i guess now that mom is gone, somebody has to keep up the tradition.

p.s. she did buy the spanx.