An Honest Look

June 25th, 2010

For the first time here, I am going to post some pictures. Not just any pictures, but pictures of myself. This is the only weekly entry I will be making that is not funny. I will resume posting funny entries weekly, along with this. This is a very personal thing to me, and since everything else about me is online, why the fuck not?

A little update here. I recently got engaged to Codec, and I could not be happier. Our wedding is set for 4 July 2011. This is a life changing event for me in every way.

As a disclaimer, I will make many generalized statements, so before your panties get into a bunch, you’ve been warned. Also, I don’t give a fuck what you think about this entry. It’s more for me than it is for any of you.

I’m sure it just shocks you to know that every woman, myself included, lies about their weight. Even if you do not lie about your weight now, chicas, I know you may have at some point (subtracting 1 or 2lbs is still lying). I have been lying about my weight for years, and it is time for me to come clean. If not for myself, then for all the people whom I have lied to about it. I am documenting my weight loss as of today.

Here’s what’s going to happen. Every morning I will be getting up at 5:25 am to go for a run; I have fitness and weight goals set, which I will get into in a minute. Since this is all about being honest, I will be keeping myself in check with weekly pics of my scale – with my ass on it. I will post a new pic of myself on a monthly basis.

A little background, my weight has yo-yoed all of my life. Not dramatically, but it’s not healthy, either. This ends today. I intend to look every bit like the person I feel on the inside by the time my wedding rolls around. Once my goal weight is achieved, I am going to hire a photographer to take professional pictures of me as a nice little reward for doing this.

There’s a big shit of a mess to being female and fat. When you’re as big as I am, your ankles will swell from inactivity. This is called Adema, and it is water retention, that, if not taken care of, can be toxic. I suffer from this when I am not active during the day. At a certain point of obesity (because, let’s face it, I am obese and fucking owning that shit. THAT’S RIGHT, I’M OBESE. I am 150 lbs (68 Kg) over what I should weigh. Startling and disgusting, even for me.) there is an excessive amount of unwanted hair growth. By heritage, I am naturally kind of hairy, but because I am obese, the testosterone levels in my body are raised and to an excess, which causes things like upper lip hair, chin hair, and “man arms” (very dark hair on my arms). Yes, I have all of these. I pluck the hair from my chin and wax my upper lip. I pay roughly $30 every two weeks to wax my eyebrows and upper lip.  That’s $60 / month and $720 / year.  If I lose weight, then I would save 50% on my waxing because the upper lip hair (and not to mention chin hair) would be gone. Also, I have terrible knee problems that cause me to suffer excruciating pain in both knees, which is only worsened by my weight. Every pound I am overweight is about 4 extra pounds on my knees (or so I have been told). Do the math. Insane, huh?  This is the harsh reality, and a reality that I have covered up with my own deceit.  Unfortunately, this deceit hurts me the most, and only enables me to stay obese.

Not anymore. I’m coming clean and taking an honest look at myself once an for all. I need to help myself, and hopefully help others along the way. Being as big as I am at my height, isn’t just unhealthy, but doesn’t look good on me, and though I try to pretend there’s not an ounce of vanity in me, I am all about looking good. We all are, it’s why we get up, shower, blow dry our hair, and slap a little (or a lot) of make up on. The fact of life is that we are judged by our appearances daily and strive to put our best faces forward. I feel that I cannot do this at my weight, and tend to hide behind the safety of my computer. As a gamer this is very easy to do, but since I naturally tend to make friends, a few people from my guild are on my facebook, myspace, and twitter. There are some pics of myself on there and it bugs me to know that they know they’re talking to some fat chick. I am not some fat chick, but that’s what they get to see, and while they’re my friends, I get exceedingly nervous when it comes down to seeing these people face to face, because they’re not going to see someone radically different from her pictures.

Here’s the nitty-gritty. I am 5′6″ (168 cm) and 280lbs (127 Kg). I am obese by any standard. My goal weight is to be 130 lbs (59 Kg). My goal, which is an attainable, healthy goal, is to lose 20lbs (9Kg) / mo which is 5lbs (2Kg) /week. (Note, I am using a converter so if it’s off, please let me know, as I suck balls at doing my own conversions.) I will be using a combination of running and my wii fit, and some capoeira basics. These are things that I consider fun. I am doing this without diet pills and without going for surgery. I know I can do this naturally, and I feel, for me, that these would be cop outs. I personally do not need the surgery, my legs work fine to carry my ass from point A to point B, and I feel that surgery like that is best left for patients who do truly need it. The only supplement I will be taking is a multivitamin. Anything more is too much. My meals will be balanced and healthy, with smaller portions. I will not count calories, because I am crazy enough on my own and do not need anything else to make me crazier. This is why I am not doing weight watchers. Numbers drive me up a wall.

This is not going to be easy, but nothing ever is. Doing this publicly isn’t making it any easier, either. It is what it is, and I make no attempts to hide or excuse it. On the thought of not hiding anything, I might as well come clean about my eating habits. I do not emotionally eat. I used to long ago, but it was a destructive behavior (one of many that I have). I eat out of boredom. This is also not healthy. I also will bury excessive eating memories, which only enables me to eat excessively more often. The other destructive thing I do is beat myself up when I’ve eaten excessively or out of boredom. This all ends today. I’m not going to stop enjoying eating, but I am going to stop using food as a means to my own destruction. I will also not make excuses to not exercise. It took a fuckton of willpower for me to get out of bed at 5:25 this morning and go for a run. Before I even set foot outside of my house, I stepped on the scale, and took a picture. I then had Codec take a full body picture of me – something you may not find on my social networking sites.

I can’t stand to look at the picture, but I made myself. For the first time in a very long time, I met myself as the world really sees me. Honesty can be a real bitch, but she’s the wake – up call I needed. For all of this, I am proud that I am being honest with myself, and with the world. It’s a weight off my shoulders, this is who I am, and I am mortified of it, because this is not how I see myself. This can only get better from here.

Without further ado, world, meet the blogger:

the blogger

World, meet her weight:

the scale

Posted in How Did I Get Myself Into This?! | 4 Comments »

Charity Scandals

November 4th, 2009

This little exerpt is just one in  a long line of stories about Queen. A friendship that no longer exists, and possibly one of the weirdest and most toxic ones I’ve ever had.  Queen is the sister of my best friend, RedVelvet. Naturally, I befriended her, too. We’d been friends for about a year at that point and had both been looking for work when she got a “modeling deal”. (More on that in anther story.) This seemed to lead to charity events that she said she had to attend. I know, I know, just bear with me.  Queen is what I would call a known liar, and not a very good one. I’d caught her in a few white lies and let them go, and it seems like when I did that, I let go of any common sense I might of had, but then again, that could have been the weed affecting my memory, since I had just ‘quit’. (Another story.) Long story short, Queen got this “mandatory invite” to go to this charity event, for One Voice. One Voice is driven to end the wars raging in the Congo and Sudan. This is a great cause.

Queen asks me if I would go along with her. She begins to tell me that  a big name in fashion/photography/modeling will be there. I can’t even remember which category this person was in, nor can I remember the name rattled off. Not a promising sign. Almost immediately, she begins telling me how celebrities might be there, like my favorite band. I salivate to think. I follow the bassist on Twitter and figure if he’ll be there, he’ll be posting about it. I figure that the rest of the band still probably lives in Northern Cali (where they started from) and will likely, not be there. When I bring it up again, Queen changes her story and says that it will be all indie people. Like a retard, I say that the bassist goes to indie concerts and such, and may hear about it through them. She feeds into this line of thinking. Not once did I think, if only indie people are showing up, why the fuck is a big name in fashion/photography/modeling going to be there?! Behold, the power of good salesmanship.

On the night of the event, I get into my best clothes (as suggested ordered by Queen.) I do my make up and hair and we leave fo’ Hollyhood! Yay! At this point, I’d lived in Cali for 4 years and had NEVER been to Hollywood, so I’m pretty fuckin excited. We sing and do other retarded things that girls do together in the car (really, it’s fun.) and soon enough we’re in Hollywood. We see the stars on the Walk of Fame and I take a picture of  Harry Houdini’s star, because I’m a big fan. Yes, I’m a big fan of a dead magician. Google him. I’ll wait. Michael Jackson’s star was decorated with flowers and candles, with street vendors not 10 feet away selling his overpriced merchandise. Dying is good business when you’re loved world wide. (Yes, I was sad when he died, but that doesn’t make that statement any less true.) The charity event is at the Roosevelt Hotel. This excites me. As per Queen’s usual, we park roughly 10 years away and walk at a breakneck pace. I don’t like this as my dress shoes hurt my feet when practically running. For whatever reason we had to be there an hour before. I figured she might be helping with the set up, or that F/P/M person will be there and she’ll introduce us as promised.

We arrive, and I’m totally blown away by the Roosevelt. It’s the most beautiful and elegant hotel I’ve ever seen. I mean, I’m po, so I don’t travel much.  I’m also easily impressed, but that did raise my standards a bit. The event is in the pool area, and that’s just as nice. I then find out that the event is a pool party. I’m overdressed. I cannot see how this could be an oversight. Queen drove, and I expected her to drive back. I start to worry when she starts ordering drinks. I’m trying to go straight edge at this time, so I stick with water and lemon and am on Twitter tweeting like nobody’s business. Queen leaves to “validate parking” – whatever the fuck that is. Apparently it makes parking in a parking garage with a set rate cheaper. She leaves her phone, so when seven years have passed, I can’t text her and ask what the fuck is taking so long. I am nervous and no one is talking to me. What kind of charity event is this? I was told I’d be able to network and share my writings with others. I recognize no faces from the indie scene, probably  because there were none there, because this charity is so unheard of. 15 years later, Queen returns and orders wine and has some snack for us, and proceeds to tell me a few tourists asked what movie she was in and wanted her autograph. I play along, though I’m thinking, Well, I guess it’s something to look like you star in Bollywood, and not look Indian.

I’ve been religiously checking Twitter, and no posts from bassist boy that he is in Hollyhood. We move to the pool. Queen says she’s going to talk to F/P/M lady and to watch her stuff. I’m bored and losing patience with her. This event is boring, everyone is in their own cliques, and this icon whom she promised to introduce me to is most likely either not here, or non existent. The waitresses are so retarded, that they leave the lemon peel in my water glass and don’t bring me a fresh one, as I ate the last one. The one by the pool seems to get it right, since the other one was too busy slutting it up for a guest. Maybe it was Tucker Max, and if so, it’s forgivable, but he didn’t look like Tucker Max, and I doubt he’d ever go to a charity event. I’m tweeting about how bored I am. I begin to wonder if all events suck this bad, and if Hollyhood lies about them in movies. (I know, I’m pathetic to let them fill my head.)

Queen is gone for another 6 years before finally returning. When we got there, she told me it was mandatory to donate, and I freaked. I’m unemployed and broke. How am I supposed to donate?! I know, I’m laughing, too. The event was “invitation only”, yet no one took our names at the front or when entering the pool area. It was all a sales pitch. She claimed she donated money for me and I thanked her, and we’d be getting t-shirts. Awesome. We left shortly after as we were both bored and I didn’t want to be in the hood til 2 am. She claimed sobriety, and for the most part, drove ok. We get back to her and RedVelvet’s apartment, and RedVelvet is there. She tells me that we should play a joke on her and say John Mayer was there – her favorite musician. I object at first, but soon begrudgingly go along with it. RedVelvet doesn’t give two squats. I eventually break it to her that we were kidding, which I’m sure she’d figure, because I didn’t say much.

I tell RedVelvet that the event was boring, and Queen defends them by telling us it was their first event. No shit. No fucking wonder no one of importance was there. It was an open event and they were probably asking for $5 donations, not the $35 donations as I was led to believe.  Then Queen says all the celebrities were having a private dinner above the pool party. I thought, sure, in your mind they were. It was one of those light bulb moments, where I realized that everything about this event was a lie. I was kind of pissed to say in the least. I didn’t need to be sold. I would have gone with her anyway because I know she’s passionate about the situation in Africa. I was slightly pissed that she defended the event when the entire ride back, we bitched about how boring it was. Whatever. RedVelvet and I went in her room and compared stories. Turns out, Queen invited her to the event and promised John Mayer would be there. I rolled my eyes at the source of the “joke”.  I eventually went home, pissed and disappointed with myself.

I never got a t-shirt.

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Posted in How Did I Get Myself Into This?!, WTF? | 34 Comments »

Gankaholics Anonymous

October 27th, 2009

I am starting a 12 step program for you. You fuckers know who you are. So a lil stizz: I had a max level character and then sold my account to pay for bills. Fine and Dandy. One of the cons of being unemployeed. Now, I am back to playing my MMORPG, and I have to start from the bottom up. This time isn’t so bad, and I’m not so noobalicious. My only qualm is ganking. Is it really necessary to stalk me while I quest?

Look, Allies, you guys know you can’t pvp with someone your own level, so you feel the need to corpse camp a lvl 24 Hunter? Go fuck yourself, you ganking homo son of a bitch. I was in the middle of killing four mobs when you decided to fuck with me. Not only do I have no chance in hell of defending myself against you, but you have to get me while I’m trying to concentrate on leveling. Fuck you. If you want to pvp, go to the goddamned arena.

Well, you would, if a lvl 80 priest wasn’t ass raping you with Holy Novas. Or maybe you were being leg humped by a healing spec’ed shammy or druid. Maybe a squishy mage made you QQ when he spammed his AOE on your group. Were you killed by a warlock’s demon while waiting for your summon? The fact of the matter is you have no talent in your class, because you bought your account off of e-bay and want to get revenge for getting butt raped. It must be a hard pill to swallow when you get killed by someone who’s ten levels lower than you and squishy.

Yeah, I know, this is part of the game and I wouldn’t be on a pvp server if I didn’t have friends on it. The point is, if you want to pvp, come down to my level. I will happily kill you within my abilities – I just don’t like an unfair fight. killing an Ally town is different, and I will maintain that, as you generally don’t kill mobs and such within town, and you have a bunch of guards to protect you.

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Posted in Gaming Pros and Blows | 1 Comment »

Fuck Beer, I Hope They Serve Mead In Hell.

October 21st, 2009

Sometimes, I don’t know how I get myself into things. Other times, the events of my own stupidity never leave me. This is the latter. Like I said, I’m not much of a drinker, and while I was in Austin, Texas, I was set to go to the Renaissance  Festival with our mutual friend, Windsong. Codec was busy trying to win a $5000 PC in a tournament, so Windsong, myself, his friend Talker, headed off to the Ren Fest. We met Talker’s son, LocoRio, there. Windsong’s knee was bum, so I walked with him to the bar, since the nearest bathroom was there. I get out and meet Windsong at the bar where he’s buying mead.

You need two people to buy a bottle because there is an 11% alcohol concentration in it. If you’re not sure what it is, it’s a honey wine. Windsong asked me if I’d like to try some. I said sure. What could harm could come from a 3-4 oz cup? From one cup, probably not much. It tasted so sweet and mild, that I went and had another cup. Then another. Another. It kept going until I’d had 5 or 6 cups of mead. I was feeling fine. I stopped and got a hair piece, and we watched Iris and Rose: Wild and Thorny perform. We went through 3 bottles, if memory serves, with just Windsong and I drinking it. Somewhere between the hairpiece and looking at skimpy chainmail chicks, I was drunk. Do not be fooled! This shit hits you when you least expect it.

We’d stopped and were looking at armor and watching men fence, when I noticed some chicks dancing in the distance. Knowing that LocoRio had wanted to see belly dancers and such, I figure this will appeal to him. I tell him there are chicks dancing over there. He’s stoked and goes over in all his horny eagerness. I turn and focus my attention to the armor and try to stand straight, but the earth keeps moving under my feet. I’m in my own world when LocoRio comes back and taps my shoulder. I am confused by this. Shouldn’t he be watching hot chicks dance?

“WHAT THE HELL?! THOSE GIRLS ARE DUDES!” he rants. I am laughing too hard to speak right away. How was I supposed to know from 50 feet away? I’m pretty sure he thought I was playing some sort of cruel joke on him and successfully placated him by apologizing and telling him I didn’t know. I’m not sure if he ever believed me. It was still fucking funny. The look on his face was priceless. Too bad I didn’t take a picture. I wish I would have known they were drag queens. That would have been down right hilarious.  Oh well.

We came to the area of the King’s Feast, where we were to attend, and I realize that I need food. I need carbs or a vegetable. I looked for the pickle carts I’d been seeing around. No such luck. I see a sign for corn. I head for the counter. I wait in line. There’s one guy ahead of me who’s taking his sweet ass time. I consider kicking him to make him move. He eventually moves and I walk up to the counter. The girl asks me what I want.

“Do you have corn?” I slurr.

“Yes, my lady, we do,” She answers in he faux Brittish accent.

All I can answer is,”CORN!” as I slap money on the counter. My mother would be so proud. She brings back the corn and I make off with it and eat it as fast as possible. I have just saved myself from heaving up my mead in the Ye Olde Privy. I’ve been down that road a few times and don’t want to go back. I head back over to Talker and LocoRio, and their talking up a “German” lady. She’s asking if we yodel. Golden. I start saying that the others are excellent yodelers. She begins to lose interest. I tell YeGerman lady that Windsong is the best yodeler of us all. She tells me I’m trouble. I grin, and keep bragging that Windsong is an awesome yodeler. I wanna hear some Goddamned yodeling, and I will hear it.

Before too long Talker shouts, “THERE’S THE GIMP!” Sure enough, Windsong is hobbling over to our post. I’m stoked and full of delicious, boiled corn. I really lay it on for YeGerman about Windsong’s awesomely nonexistent yodeling skills. She asks Windsong if he can yodel. LocoRio and I are laughing. Windsong, realizing we threw him under the bus, gives us all a dirty look. I just know this is going to be golden.  Then he turns it around and tells the YeGerman he’ll yodel for her in private. Fuck! He’s hitting on the bitch! After all my hard work, Windsong undid it in a matter of minutes and did not, in fact, yodel. I am pissed, but it’s time to eat so we go to the King’s Feast. I am not even remotely sober.

The King’s Feast is like dinner theater with rules. Normally I don’t slouch or put my elbows on the table, but I am drunk and need to support myself, so I break the elbows on the table rule immediately. There a seven courses. I’ve never had more than three courses at a meal. The portions weren’t small either. I figure I can sober up. That plan went out the window when a waitress brought some wine. I don’t have the best train of though when drunk. I always figure I could use one more drink. At sometime I also found myself with a beer. I hate Newcastle and will never drink it again. It was like shit sloshed with carbonation. I kid you not. After I got my beer, the lady at the table behind us spilled wine on Windsong. She seemed to think she spilled on me. I couldn’t find any stains, and assumed she did not. She offered to buy Windsong and I a beer after the feast.

Right after the feast a guy from that table asked me if I wanted to see Windsong get beat. In my drunk mind, this is excellent revenge for Windsong not making an ass out of himself by yodeling. I thought, you’ll yodel now, bitch. We go to the bar next door and I get an Amber ale because Monty Python’s Holy Grail Ale was sold out. Bullshit. Turns out the guy with WineLady is her husband. I watch Windsong get beaten on his ass with a whip, and I have the video to post, with my drunk ass egging the beating giver on. It is then her husband begins to hit on me. I’m ok with this, but SirCreepsMeOut has a wife that’s pretty smoking for 50, and that’s a lot coming from me. Then, SirCreepsMeOut starts putting his arm around me over and over. I do not take well to strangers touching me, especially not when they creep me out. Winelady, I assume, did not see, because Windsong was busy chatting it up with her. I leave and buy a cigar and come back. SirCreepsMeOut has left. I don’t smoke. I used to enjoy cigars on occasion, but do not anymore. I still can’t figure out this purchase, only that I needed enough time for him to go away. Had I been sober, I’d would have said something, but I was having a difficult time forming sentences.

With all that said and done we left. The only other thing I did that was remotely significant was hug the lizard man and get my hand stamped. I will be better prepared for my next encounter with mead.

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Posted in How Did I Get Myself Into This?! | 27 Comments »

I Was Officially Molested By A Pirate.

October 21st, 2009

I’m not saying this is a bad thing. I mean, I like pirates. A lot. She took this to a whole new level. I was visiting Idaho for the first time to see my friend Codec (whom I am now dating), and a mutual friend of ours, Gorilla. We were all going to a nerd con. We’re nerds, this is what we do. Naturally, I stopped at the band tables, and so did Gorilla. On the second day there, I was at The S1nd1cate’s table buying a shirt. While I was standing around discussing things with Screamer, he informed me I need to dance. I don’t know if you know anything about Jewish geeks, but we have two left feet. I am mortified by his request, and I realize I can get out of this – no biggie.

“I can’t dance,” I say in my defense, hoping he’d drop it. I’d hoped wrong. This only caused him to pursue this more.

“You have to dance if you’re at this table,” he responded without missing a beat. I hate him right now.

I think quick,” Fine, I’ll dance if you dance with me and show me some moves.” I was positive he’d back off. I really don’t like dancing in public. I shake my ass at home, thank you very much. I detest my response as he makes his was around the table to dance with the Jew geek. Great. just what I need. We’re dancing and he shows me some moves and I’m feeling ridiculous at this point, and I’m sure I look like a reject. He tells a few people who join us that I can’t dance. Thanks, dick face. That wasn’t the last I hear. I start forgetting some of the people are there so I can get the redness that I’m sure is creeping up in my face to go away. That’s when she shows up.

The female Jack Sparrow comes to join us. Screamer tells her I can’t dance. PirateGirl tells me I’m doing a great job. I refuse to believe her. I’m fully convinced that if Gorilla or Codec came by, I’d never hear the end of it. I know I looked that sad dancing with people when I can’t dance. Keep rhythm, yes, just not dance.  I reiterate to PirateGirl that I can’t dance, and probably threw in that I suck, now hoping to get out of the situation.

She would have none of my disbelief, “That’s it, you’re coming with me.” She grabbed my hand and led me away. I was being kidnapped by a pirate. We entered a dancing room where the techno was poppin’. Hell yeah, techno. I get pulled up on stage by PirateGirl and we’re dancing. I want to die. I can’t think of how to get out of this. She or someone else (I’m saying she did) dances super close and grinds me a bit after being on stage for a while. I’m done now. It’s not that I don’t like being molested or anything, but I’d rather be the one making the awesome moves and not in front of a shit ton of people. Fuck that. I know what it’s like being seen at the club and having to come up with a cover story and shit.

I call Codec’s cell, since I don’t know Gorilla’s. No answer. I tell PirateGirl thanks and all, and leave. Trying to find my friends. I avoid The S1nd1cate’s table. I eventually find both Codec and Gorilla playing Left 4 Dead. I disclose my molestation, and they were sorry they missed it. I wasn’t. I told them never to leave me again. I learned that I will just walk away next time.  I can’t say I was mad, but I was relieved to not be dancing. Their reactions were pretty funny, too. I mean, you should have seen the way their faces lit up.

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Posted in How Did I Get Myself Into This?!, It Wasn't Funny Then, But It Is Now. | No Comments »

The Texas Flight Debacle

October 21st, 2009

I can only remember missing a flight once in my life, and it was when my family and I went to Florida. Even looking back on that experience now, it isn’t really laughable since things seemed to work out all right. That is not to speak for the Texas flight debacle, as it is hilarious. Granted, it wasn’t funny at the time, but it’s hilarious now.

Our flight was to depart at 7:00am that morning. My boyfriend, Codec,  had been up since 4:00am and I was up an hour and a half later. I figured I could take my time since we live very close to the airport.  We discussed around 6:00am that we needed to leave now. Neither of us were ready. I threw on some clothes and my coat and threw the rest of my items in my bag. Essentially, it wasn’t enough since we didn’t leave until 6:30am. Of course, we didn’t check in online the night before, like idiots. Clearly this was our shining moment as a couple.

I have officially been up since 5:30am and am tired and pissed. I was going to check luggage, but could not do this and had to remove the shit in my duffel that was more than three ounces. We should have run; it makes sense to run. Unless it feels like 30 degrees outside and you’re fucking wearing flip flops; I just so happened to be wearing fucking flip flops. This made sense at the time I was slipping them on, since you know, shoe bombs are so popular that you need to have your shoes x-rayed. Thanks, terrorists. So, we walk fast; Codec is practically carrying all the bags. We’re seriously hoping that we make it some how.

Once we get to the self check in, the woman at the counter proceeds to inform us that we’ve missed our flight. In my cranky mind, I’m thinking, Thanks, captain. This is the point where I expected things to go as they did on that trip to Florida with my family, where the airline puts you and stand by and such. No such luck. Instead those bitches had us running from counter to counter, trying to get a flight with the other airlines – something that would cost us about $1200. Hell no.  We po! I’m biting my tongue, by now. I should be on the plane sleeping my crankiness away, not running a fucking marathon in an airport. I’m sure we both looked really funny doing this, too.

Finally we get back to the counter, and the ladies start trying to get us on a different flight so that we do not have to pay $1200. Something they should have done in the first place. As they’re doing this, I take a comment card and begin to fill it out in my sleep deprived, cranky state of mind. They want to put us on standby for a later connecting flight after the first flight, instead of putting us on the earlier flight with seats. Uh, why? I promise this would later work. I’m scribbling furiously. The comment card (which I have saved), looks like this:

*Name of Airline*

Your comments are important to us. . . Please let us know how Boise is doing!

If our employees have met, exceeded or failed to meet your expectations, please complete the form below and drop it off at the Special Service Deak, mail it to us, or send us an e-mail.

Remarks: I’ve never met an airline staffed with such rude people. We’d missed our flights and were made to run to different counters to get a flight before you decided to rebook us. Comments were inappropriate.

Name: Sarah

Telephone/E-mail Address: my e-mail address here

e-mail: BOIcustomercare@airlinename.com

Verbatim. It’s seems funny to me now because I was so pissed about having to run to the counter. I’m pretty sure airlines DO NOT have/need to rebook passengers like us. I also NEVER sent it in. Sleep deprivation makes me angrier than usual, and seriously the ladies there got us on at flight – set for 1:30pm. Not bad. We went home and laid in bed for a bit, then went for some brunch, which wound up just being breakfast. It was decent, and I wasn’t going to complain – I’d already dome my share of that.

We head to the airport and make it through security with no trouble. Neither of us look like terrorists, nor do we carry terrorist items on us. We get to the gate and immediately I’m thinking about making that early flight with open seats, so I go to get information on what gate it will be at and what gate we’ll be landing at. My good mood was temporary when I find that our flight to Phoenix, Arizona is delayed by a half hour. We won’t make the earlier flight. My immediate thought is, Is there a legal issue with slapping a pilot? We just have to deal, but I’m stressing. The flight we’re going to catch in Phoenix is full, and we’ll have barely ten minutes to make the early flight even though the gates are right next to each other. I’m figuring we’re fucked, and I keep hearing Codec tell me that we can just stay the night in Phoenix and what not.

I’ve been to Phoenix once before, and I was not particularly impressed. The people are rude as hell there. I despise Phoenix and am hellbent on not staying the night. Very hellbent. I don’t hate Arizona, just Phoenix. The people in Flagstaff are wonderful, and had we been flying into Flagstaff, I’d be down with spending the night if we had to. There are no available seats on any of the airlines on ANY websites on my iPhone. Our only options are to hope that two people are kind enough to miss their flight or give us their seats, or we stay the night in Phoenix, or try to drive to Austin, Texas. The last option is completely out of the question when I mapquest.com it. Go on and look it up. You’ll see why.

Once in Phoenix, we realize there is no hope of any early flight as we landed at a completely different gate. We make our way to the gate where we’ll be waiting on standby. The lady tells Codec there’s a flight to San Antonio. Bonus. That’s about an hour and a half away! I try to change the rental reservations for the car, with no luck as San Antonio has no car for our particular company. I cancel the reservations and book with another company for $400. It’s basically a $150 fee to pick the car up in San Antonio and drop it off in Austin. I cringed as I thought about the dicking his card was about to anally receive. I was reminded that it was better than paying $1200. We’re flying into San Antonio – it was our best option.

At this point, Codec and I decide we need food. We head to the closest place with food smells coming from it. We split nachos and I get my first alcoholic drink in months. I order a beer. Generally I don’t drink, but damn it, I wanted one. I order a Stella Atrois. The glass is huge and by the time we leave, I have finished my beer and am buzzed. I now feel it is a great time to get souvenirs. I bought a coffee mug, and a zipper pull with Codec’s name on it for him, and a lollipop with a scorpion in it. Once seated I proceed to eat my scorpion lolli. This turns out to be a disgusting venture after I bite into the pop and eat a portion of the scorpion. I’ve eaten enough bugs in my time to know that an insect or arachnid will taste like whatever it ate last. This tasted like shredded wheat and shit. Not my particular flavor combo, and I am confused by this. I remembered eating a lolli with a meal worm in it and it was good. I throw out the rest of the scorpion and buy a cinnamon bun to get the taste of shredded shit wheat out of my mouth. I’m not impressed by the new food in my mouth, but it now longer tastes like shredded shit wheat. I am no longer buzzed, and am happy to be a little more in control of myself. (My main reason for not drinking. I’m also a serious light weight – the only people I could out drink are Codec and babies. Codec does not, in fact, drink.)

I am afraid of flying. If the plane dips too much to the side, I’m immediately convinced we’ll crash. I like living for the most part. The majority of the way, the flight goes well. Then we come to the landing. It was a particularly rough landing and the pilot seemed intent to hit every fucking bump on the runway designed to keep the plane from going off course. I’m thinking, So when do pilots get to fly drunk?! I am not happy and just want the plane to stop so I don’t lose my chewy bar. I’m not a frequent flier, and this landing didn’t even turn out to be the worst. We get off the plane, and one of the passengers makes a smart ass remark to the pilot about his landing. I smile as I feel some justice.

It starts to seem like things are going well as we get the rental car, punch in the directions on my navigator, and get on the road. We shouldn’t have fooled ourselves. We get on the 410 heading out of San Antonio and immediately see that it is under construction. I seems as though no one is working, but there WAS a POLICE truck with flashing lights on the left shoulder. I begin to laugh. Seriously, a police truck, it was the coolest and most country thing I’d ever seen. We thus begin to sing the theme song to Walker, Texas Ranger. If you have been underprivileged to never see this show, then I shall explain. Chuck Norris plays a Texas Ranger who basically drives a big truck instead of a cop car. I seriously thought this was only fiction. The theme song is as follows:

In the eyes of a ranger,
The unsuspecting stranger
Had better know the truth of wrong from right,
’cause the eyes of a ranger are upon you,
Any wrong you do he’s gonna see,
When you’re in Texas look behind you,
’cause that’s where the rangers are gonna be

We now have to get off the highway due to construction. Good thing that there are roads in Texas that travel along the highway with entries every so often. That’s pretty smart, especially for visitors.  We eventually get on the highway to Austin, I-35. The hotel is in Downtown off of exit 237, or so my navigator says. We make it into Downtown, and I see the hotel off of exit 234b. This confuses me. There seems to be a parking garage in there, too. We drive on and exit at 237.

Upon exiting, I immediately think that we should have gotten off at 234b. I’m freaking. We’re lost. I’ve been let down by my nav system. I consider chucking the phone out of the window. We’re in a seriously ghetto neighborhood, and there’s a girl ahead. I’m not considering directions, as I’m sure she’s a hooker. We get close, and the Mexican prostitute nearly throws herself at our car.

Codec then says, ” Fuck me! Fuck me! Insurance will pay!” I laugh as I look up our hotel by name. We get back on the highway. Something seems wrong. I know we should be going to exit 234b, but we’re going in the wrong direction. I call the hotel and ask them what exit they’re off of. I’m right, it’s 234b. The navigator can’t find our hotel and was sending us to Round Rock. We find out that’s because there have been so many hotels in that one location, and no nav system recognizes the street name, so from now on to enter it in as 500 Sabine. Of course, that’s not helpful once you’re at the hotel. Either way, we made it, and did not have to scrape a Mexican prostitute off of our windshield, or get roundhouse kicked by a Chuck Norris wannabe in a police truck.

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