I am tired. Which is a pretty impressive feat considering I took a nap every day over the weekend and mustered up the energy to shower, oh, twice? Three times? Apparently eating massive quantities of pretzel-less Turtle Chex Mix is even more taxing than I thought!
Before I drop dead of sleepiness, a few things ...
* So remember this? I have a new one to add to the list. Do you know what happens when you talk about Project Runway all the time? You get a sewing machine for Christmas is what happens. Ha! Need I remind you that I got a D in sewing in junior high? That I barely mastered the art of making scrunchies in the '80s before hitting a massive sewing plateau? I DO, however, watch Project Runway on a continuous loop late at night, and that trumps all ineptitude, damning as the evidence may be.
In related news, I will soon be holding a sock giveaway on my blog. Or maybe pot holders. Ha.
* In other gift news, my sisters gave me a karaoke machine. Once again, a case of my big mouth getting me in trouble. I talk all the time about how it would be SO fun to do karaoke. Do I ever do it? Of course not.
Until now! Oh, my goodness, if you could have been in my parents' living room the other night ... let's just say the scene of my mother shimmying up and down and singing about how she's a genie in a bottle and you've got to rub her the right way ... oh, man. I could have lived the rest of my life very happily without that visual (and her subsequent, "Whaaaaat? Women my age still need to be rubbed the right way!" AHHHH. My ears, my ears.) Your friend Swishy classed up the joint with a booty-shaking "Oops, I Did it Again" and my most Cher-tastic rendition of "Believe." I am fairly certain my brother has it all on YouTube by now.
* So I'm flying home and a college basketball player ends up folding his 6-6 (actually, wait, I just looked at the roster: 6-7) self into the middle seat next to me. I feel bad for him because I'm a foot shorter and even I feel squished in those seats, so I don't get too mad when he totally starts encroaching on my personal space. But then ... then he falls asleep. On my shoulder. And THEN--here's the kicker--HE STARTS RUBBING MY LEG IN HIS SLEEP! Like, seriously, rubbing my leg. I sat there and took it because, I mean, what am I going to do? Pick his hand up and put it back on his lap? Nudge his head off my shoulder? He might wake up! And how mortifying would THAT be?
I went from the airport into work and told them about it, and all the guys just looked at me, like, seriously, you cannot possibly be that naive. I was like, what? He was asleep! And they're all, oh, Swish, Swish, Swish, he was definitely not asleep.
* Oh, yeah, one more thing: So I had to check the sewing machine as luggage, you know, but smart girl that I am, I packed an empty duffle bag that I could carry on just in case. So I pack up my real suitcase the night before I leave, and I figure I'll just toss everything that doesn't fit into the duffle bag. Which is exactly what I do.
Well. After waiting through a long-ass line to check my bags and then another long-ass line to get through security, I get pulled off to the side. "There is no way you're getting on a plane with this bag," says the security guard. I'm trying to think, OK, what illegal contraband did I accidentally pack this time ... turns out it was like EVERYTHING IN THE BAG. I do not know HOW I forgot the 3-ounce rule, but I did. My shower gel was in there, my hairspray, my lotion, a six-pack of Dr Pepper ... OK, just kidding. But a lot of stuff, all the stuff I use to get ready in the morning. So I had to go back to the counter, check that bag, and wait in the security line AGAIN to get through.
Ever since then my phone has been dropping, which it hardly EVER does. I am almost positive that I have been put on a government watch list after boldly trying to smuggle Pantene hairspray onto the plane, and the dropped calls are really George Bush listening to my conversations. Either he's entertained beyond belief or bored out of his mind. Tough call.