I've returned from Southern California! And I have some things to share with Y O U.
1. I went into Duane Reade on 35th & 5th Avenue after work to grab some items and noted that due to space constraints, they had done some intersting space combinations. One sign read, "PET FOOD/FEMININE HYGIENE". This made me slighty uncomfortable.
2. I curled up in my bed the night I got home and cried because I missed my parents so terribly. For the record, I'm 33. Not 3.
3. Nigel, my beloved cat and only begotten son, attacked World's Best Roommate Porter AND Cat-sitter Extrodiannaire and Ex-BF Ben. By attack I mean, he bit them without really using teeth. So I guess that means he gummed them. Even Nigel's seperation anxiety fueled hatred is gentle and loving.
4. During the 5 hour flight home, I did some deep thinking about how I want 2007 to turn out and how to get what I really dream of in the New Year. Some of these profound thoughts included:
- Remember when Michael J. Fox and Nancy McKeon, real life celebrity couple, were in that made for TV movie about summer camp that was a thinly-veiled attempt at recapturing the glory that was Meatballs?
- How many Lime & Chili Lay's can I surreptitiously chomp on before I veer dangerously close to 5 servings from this 6 serving bag?
- If that baby doesn't shut the fuck up I'm cramming it back in for another 9 months.
- Remember how I almost forgot to remove my stash box from my purse before leaving for the airport?
- Who wants to join the Mile High Club? How about you in seat 18F with the skateboard, handsome?
- Seriously. SHUT that baby UP!
- Man, I sincerely hope these newlyweds keep whisper-squabbling over something petty so I can rejoice in my singleness yet again.
- If the fat, androgynous 5'8" 12 year old with BO and the distinct, tangy reek of a filthy scalp in front of me rocks back in his (her?) seat and hits my kneecap one more time, I'm going to pull a McDonald's Grandma and pour hot coffee on its crotch, thereby sealing its fate as a unich-lady.
- Wait. Would finger banging count for the Mile High Club after all? Or would it be assigned a point value to be traded in for full-fledged membership after a certain pre-determined collection period? Discuss with your married Mormon seatmate.
Ah, the peace of mind that rampant self-reflection brings. Truly without price. Peace out, A Town. And welcome back to me.