Half baked. At best.

Greetings everyone! I’m currently writing this at the heinous hour of 7:30am, cruising at 32,000 feet on a plane en route to Miami for Becca’s bachelorette party. Yep, Miami: America’s Creepy Hometown. Things I plan on doing once in Miami, based solely on the Jersey Shore cast’s experience:

- Cook constantly

- Punch someone in the face

- Get punched in the face

- Get really tan (HA HA!...Just kidding.)

- Have sex (HA HA HA! …Just kidding again.)

- Catch a glamorous STD (would I blow your mind if I said I’ve got my eye on scabes?)

- Go to: Dream, Bed, Tantra, Blender, Whisk, House Cat and such and such

YEP. NOPE. This isn’t going to happen. This is a bumpy, bumpy plane ride and trying to write this while being tossed around is going to take me directly a little place called Vomitville, USA. Hey, did you know that planes don’t have wifi? That shocked me. Here are some more fun facts you might find shocking: did you know that I booked my return flight for October 26, not September 26? Did you know that I can’t afford to change it, so I’ll be living in Orlando with Nate for a month; a month exclusively spent stalking Kevin Yang and eating cupcakes in a hot tub? Did you know I actually thought about doing that but decided against it when I realized I’d miss the Maryland Ren-Fest? Did you know that I’m shockingly not a virgin? Did you know the woman next to me is freaking out and keeps doing that little “testicles, spectacles, wallet and watch” then kiss your thumb cross thingy? This is how I’m going to die—blogging about the Ren Fest and trying not to vomit. Sounds about right.

OK, I need to wrap this up before my scone makes a triumphant comeback.

As of 7:56am on September 24, 2010, Larry Hagman is alive! And as of the 21^st, another year older! Happy birthday, sir! 79 years young. A Merry Hagmas to you and yours.

Oh. The asshole in front of me just pushed their seat all the way back and sent my laptop flying into my birth canal. Good. Good for you. Why do I always think I can write while I travel? I can’t even look for a parking spot with music playing. That’s too distracting for me. God, I would give anything to get my chapstick out of my bag right now, but I’m afraid if I lean down I’ll go into labor and deliver my laptop prematurely. It’s so early. This is so rough. This isn’t even worth posting; I’m just going on pure stream of consciousness now. Chapstick. Vomit. Prayer. I wonder if we get peanuts? Is it too early to get a coke? You know how a certain song can take you back to a really specific moment in your your life? Every single song on the Scissor Sisters first album transports me directly back to October 2004. And October 2004 smells like my dorm room and Nanette Lapore perfume, and feels like driving Duncan (or DJ Rad?) in my old Acrua to Commander Salamander with the windows down and my sunroof open while listening to Michael Jackson’s greatest hits. And also studying for typography quizzes on Helena’s floor. So fucking random and oddly specific at the same time. Ooo, Dre just came on my shuffle. Good call. Can I just say that I’d rather be literally anything than be a flight attendant? Customer service + small spaces + recycled air + unflattering uniforms + forced perkiness = I mean, Christ. Why? Yeah, you get to see the world, but you have to be an indentured sky waitress to do so. Well, that was derogatory. Now I’m going to have to spend the weekend sifting through emails from angry flight attendants and people who still think Chris classifies Ireland as a third-world country. Meh. Still beats having a real job. Chapstick.

OK, this needs to stop. I’m irritating the crap out of myself and we’re halfway there. Here’s a quick rundown of last night’s “Jersey Shore episode”.

Vinny continues to be bummed out that he got stood up -> He asks Ronnie for tips about how to be an emo Guido -> Ronnie gives him a My Chemical Romance CD, an “Emily the Strange” hoodie, and an Italian flag lighter to burn himself with because pain reminds you that you’re alive -> Angelina says that Ronnie and Sammi are her best friends in the house -> Which is awkward because they pretty much openly hate her -> Ronnie muses that the Smoosh Room mattress is covered in “Mike’s children, my children and Snooki juice” -> Which is when I seriously consider removing my skin with a potato peeler because it’s crawling so badly -> Angelina withholds birthday sex from Jose because she’s tired, on her period and “I’m a woman, so I pick and chose who I have sex with” -> I imagine that picking and choosing to be as exclusive as the admission process at Devry -> Vinny is still all about Rocio, his ethnically ambiguous lady friend, because “she’s not a whore or a stalker” -> “Grandpa, how did you know you were in love with Grandma?” “Well, Tino, your grandmother wasn’t a whore or a stalker, and truthfully, I found that to be incredibly refreshing.” -> J-WOWW’s boyfriend, Tom, comes for a visit -> They get in a fight within the first five minutes of his arrival because she has a number in her address book that he asked her not to take down -> She picks his nose, he exposes her breast and all is good again -> Angelina’s friend comes to visit -> One time Snooki was on a bike and ran into a wall and thought she broke her vagina bone -> That night at the clerb, The Situation meets a Canadian model (…) who is so DTF it’s not even funny -> He takes her to john to make sweet, passionate, toilet love to her, but security kicks them out -> He loses her in the chaos of the club and is bummed because he didn’t bother to catch her name or number -> Back at the house, Sammi and Ronnie are proud of themselves because they “killed it at the club”, meaning they didn’t get into a pointless fight or dramatically storm out on each other -> It must be an interesting point in your life when you have to pat yourself on the back for not sucking -> The Situation’s mystery girl from the club, Samantha, leaves her number The Situation on the house door -> In the immortal words of Zac Effron and that Vanessa Hudgens, “this could be the start of something new.” -> The Situation goes to the bathroom and finds one of Angelina’s used pads on the floor -> Disguisted, he puts it under her pillow and calls her out for it infront of some guy she picked up at the beach and brought back to the house -> ESCALATE, ESCALATE, ESCALATE -> He calls her a “dirty little hampster” (which is pretty much amazing) and she runs at him and starts to throw a drink in his face, which as perusual, is when MTV Mr. Belvedere freeze frames and fade to credits.

Alright, we’re about to land in Miami and if my sister knew I was still using my laptop, she would kill me.. Have a great weekend guys and we’ll see you right back here Monday morning!