November 7, 2010
So last week something strange happened. I got to leave my house, my town, my husband and child, and go someplace that involved an airline ticket and a suitcase.
I went on a trip alone. By myself. Over state lines.
I know! I can’t believe it either! For one thing I have a feeling, deep down, that I really should not be allowed to travel alone. If I had a psychiatrist, which let’s face it – I probably should, he/she would probably even have some sort of court order against such a scenario. For another thing, it took a rocket sciencey skill set to organize the whereabouts of my 9-year-old for the 4 weekdays that I would be gone. I left notes and piles and suitcases and snacks and medicine charts and all manor of motherly job thingies to get this to work out as smoothly as possible.
And did I mention that I had to leave my house at 5:00 am on THE MORNING AFTER HALLOWEEN? And I had quite the elaborate costume planned for trick-or-treating, but by the time I got myself organized for the trip, and my kid organized for the halloween festivities, I just didn’t have the oomph to dress myself up. So I drew on a handlebar mustache, filled a bag with a few bottles of beer, and hit the streets with my little Grim Reaper.
My one-woman trip was to Kansas City to visit my little sister, who at 23 is much younger than me, but at 6 feet tall a bit bigger than me. She had just moved into her first solo apartment so I went to have some bonding time. Roommate free. Whether she wanted it or not, I was there to cramp her style.
|Sister cute. Sister being a weirdo. It runs in the family.|
My mom told me that my sister was nervous about keeping me entertained, which is totally stupid, because as all you moms out there know, being away from home alone is so freaking rare and exciting that you don’t really need entertainment. Just riding on a plane kid-free is so effing fantastic that on step one of the trip you’ve already had enough fun to make it worthwhile. Even if you, like me, had to sit behind the most flatulent man in the universe and next to the most annoyingly boundaryless woman.
So, me and this lady are sitting in the Exit row, which is airplane Heaven for a tall girl because my freakishly long legs don’t even come close to fitting in a regular seat, which have ample legroom for you only if you are an oompa loompa, or a guest of honor at the Amputee Skydiving Festival. So, I say to her : “Maybe if we look sick and/or crazy, nobody will sit between us. You cough alot and I’ll talk to myself.” Since I am hypnotically persuasive, she was game. Unfortunately, a tiny little Asian woman decided to chance it and sit between us anyway, which shocked the hell out of me because she was obviously a germ-a-phobe of some sort since she put her purse and her briefcase into velvet bags before placing them under the seat. But whatever. The woman and I were not happy about our interloper, but since she was so tiny and couldn’t possibly take up much room, we were not too pissed. But we were incredibly wrong about her. This 80 pound woman immediately fell asleep and flopped her drooling head onto the shoulder of my comrade, then actually threw her legs over mine. Yes. On top of my legs. Like she wanted a foot rub or something. She may have been 80 pounds but she took up more room than a linebacker. And at least if we’d had a linebacker he would have been aware of his girth and probably tried to make himself small and unobtrusive, and possibly even taught me what the hell a linebacker is. I tried to wiggle her legs off of me, but they just wouldn’t budge, so I started to cough. Alot. And when I saw her open an eye to take a peek at me I said “I’m sorry, but I’m pretty sure I was bitten by a Zombie last night and now I feel funny.” And voila…she made herself tiny. FYI: Crazy works every time.
So I had 3 carefree days with my sister to shop, eat, drink, shop, eat, drink, and shop, eat, drink. Oh, and find weird stuff at flea markets. And go serial killer hunting in her building. And eat some more and drink some more. And sleep on a blow up mattress like I’m young and careless and don’t have an old lady back. And get told by (possibly double-vision-having drunk boys) that I can’t possibly be a day over 28. Shut up. I’m sure they meant it.
Anyway, my sister’s apartment had some freaky-ass pounding going on in the pipes, which I am almost positive was morse code, which I suggested was being tapped out by someone who was chained up in the basement by a psycho janitor. Lindsy didn’t see how this was possible, since she was on the fifth floor. But as I told her, the morse code pipe tapping of an abductee can carry like nobody’s business. I watch scary movies all the time so I’m sort of an expert on that kind of thing. I suggested that we go to the basement and check it out but she declined because she’s obviously selfish and doesn’t care about saving people. She pretended like she thought I was stupid, and she said something about me having my own constant stories going on in my head or something, but I’m pretty sure she was just scared. So when she was at work one night I went down to check it out myself, and although I found nothing, that doesn’t mean there’s not a secret room that I missed. Because Serial Killer Janitors know nothing if not how to hide their murder rooms. I’m just saying.
On a less murdery note…One of my favorite things to do is to go to Flea Markets, so we did that a few times to look for things for her apartment. And while I found things that I thought would make her new place “special”, she seemed to have a different opinion. One place had so many Jesus paintings that I have to assume it was nothing less than a sign from Heaven that we needed them. There were Jesuses (Jes-i?) everywhere, so I suggested a Jesus themed apartment. Unfortunately she poo-pooed that idea, even though I watch all those decoratey shows and I really think I know what I’m doing. Then I found one of my most favoritest flea market finds ever…A FREAKIN’ GIANT CAT! And I suggested that instead of a sofa (which she needed) I buy her the giant cat, which could easily seat one, possibly two very thin, apartment visitors. Although this idea slightly intrigued her, it was a no go. And although I pondered all the things that I could tell Steve to convince him that I needed this $200 big-ass cat in order to survive, I begrudgingly left it behind. And as usual, we also found some doll parts at the markets. And strangely enough, a doll that was missing a head yet was $55.00 with a tag that said “Antique doll. $55.00. Missing some toes.” Yeah. But it’s also MISSING A HEAD!
But out of everything I saw in Kansas City, there was one item that stood out. One item that made me shed a tear of happiness. One item that I was bound and determined to purchase no matter the cost (which thankfully was only $12.00, although as I told Steve, I would have totally prostituted myself to make enough money to buy it anyway). And that was this:
|Yeah. That’s a mother-effing MUSTACHE SNOWGLOBE, yo!|
Honestly, I’ve dreamed up some pretty fantastic things in my twisted little head, but never did I dare dream I would find something as amazing and spectacular as this. I just wish I knew the Genius who invented this, i.e. my soul mate. I can now die happy. Which I might. Because aside from having a kidnapped girl in the basement, I’m pretty sure that Lindsy’s apartment building was also haunted. Because it was really old and really creaky and stuff. And mostly because I wanted it to be haunted because I love that kind of stuff. And I’m pretty sure that the ghost fell in love with me and followed me home, because that shit happens to me ALOT. And when I got home my cat (Ethan’s cat) started running around the house all bonkers like it was chasing something invisible (like a ghost) and generally acting like she was spooked out of her little kitty cat mind. And today she is all up in my grill and trying to make out with me non-stop like a maniac, which I think she is, because she’s undoubtedly possessed by the ghost that followed me home and is now using her furry body as a vessel to get all up on my stuff and be all rubby and licky and everything. So now I need an exorcist because having a cat lick and dry hump you is totally unacceptable. Even if you’re totally into dry humping. Like I am. And Steve says I have trouble drawing lines, so I am thinking that drawing one at being dry humped by a cat is a good place to start. And now I can tell him that if only he wasn’t too big of a tight wad to let me buy that giant cat, I could surely use it as protection against this 9-pound humping cat, and save myself alot of exorcist fees because I’m pretty sure exorcists charge more than $200 a pop, because dude, they are making ghosts go away. And not just any loser off the street can work that magic. Except probably a big-ass giant cat.
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