Sign of a bad date: Airborne shoes

(TravelinDin, my two friends Letty and Marie, and I sat at a nearby Denny's late last night talking about boys)

Letty: I swear, everything was going great; Marie's date walked into a different room, Marie followed... and I was there...you know... in the living room with my guy, thinking "Alright! Finally! Some alone time!"
TravelinDin: Oh shit... little Ms. Marie getting her freak onnnn!
Letty: I know! Right? So here I am, really getting into it with my guy... next thing I know, here comes Marie, all "Yo, fool... we gotta go..." And I'm like "Wtf?! Go back in there! We haven't even felt each other up!" Marie looks at her imaginary watch on her left wrist and goes "Nah, fool, it's late... we GOTTA GO!" and snaps her fingers.
Marie: Come on man... I didn't want to be in there any longer! It HAD been an hour and a half. It wasn't my fault you guys were barely getting started...
Letty: I felt stupid practically running out of there! We had to leave early 'cause you got all scared and walked out on your date!
Marie: Letty, I was getting attacked in there! He threw my fucking shoes!
Letty: He was just that hot for you! Shit... I wouldda helped him out!
Marie: Letty-- HE THREW MY FUCKING SHOES!

My friends make me laugh.

Starstruck mom

My mom met Kevin from the Backstreet Boys while she was in Cancun this past week.

She told me this when I picked her up at the airport at 8 PM... and I still can't stop laughing.

Why'd I have to come back?

It was...
I'm so...
I...

I'm back...

Words can't express the way I feel.

Absolutely... I wish it would have never ended.
I'm holding on to this feeling for as long as I can.

Bet's open 'til 11 AM

So they're here again... my pre-flight jitters.

WTF?
It's not like I fear the plane going down or anything (no, I only get that very real fear in London/England. That place is windy/scary as fuck... in the air, of course. Once there, I'm completely smitten with the place), I just hate everything I have to deal with.
Some passengers make me want to rip my hair out (like the ones that keep alarming at checkpoint, but don't take anything off when they're about to cross again... so they alarm again),
a lot of airport employees make me want to cry (there are SO many rude people at airports... I hate how condescending they are, as if I'm supposed to be born KNOWING how their lame ass airport works. I don't give people shit for not knowing/understanding calculus... something that seems pretty damn logical to me... so I shouldn't get shit for thinking an airport is confusing as fuck),
the altitude makes my ears and tummy hurt (yeah, so what? I'm weak),
I have this dumb fear that my luggage will get lost (they lost my sister's when she got back from Spain in May, so I KNOW this can happen)...
eghh... so much crap.

I'm also pretty freaked over what I'm going to do once I'm in San Francisco. I'm supposed to stay with Pacemaker, one of the girls involved in August's Colossal Mexico Argument... and I'm SO scared I'm going to be getting less-than friendly treatment from her family (Pacemaker's dad is the uncle of the chick that got most offended in the argument)... like... terrified... to the point where I have my aunt's number speed-dialed on my phone in case I need to leave that house and head over to auntie's house who lives half an hour away.

...
We'll see what goes down.

My money's on "upset... she's gonna cry a little."

Taming the mane

Mom: Wow... where are you going?
Me: No where...
Mom: ... then why'd you do your hair?
Me: Because I was bored...
Mom: Oh.

(ten minutes later, my sister walks in)

TravelinDin: Whoa, dude... where are we going?
Me: Umm... I don't know...
TravelinDin: Then why'd you do your hair?
Me: Because I was bored! Don't you ever get that urge?
TravelinDin: No... not at all.

(half an hour later, as we're getting ready to leave for a restaurant)

TravelinDin: You really going out like that?
Me: Yeah... I just have to pick my hair up.
TravelinDin: But I thought you did your hair like that because it was Mom's birthday...
Me: Who the hell said that?
TravelinDin: Mom.
Me: No.
TravelinDin: Oh... ok.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I never change up my hairstyle... I cause a ruckus in my home... and everyone starts thinking something is fucking wrong with me... (or that I'm doing it as a gift to my mom on her birthday... ?!?)

How sad...
(all I did was make my hair wavy and stick 4 bobby pins in it... the hoopla this brings on makes me not want to do this ever again)

49ers

Mom and Dad's "Love-fest" has reached a new level.

On... Thursday, Dad and Mom corralled me into the computer room and basically forced me to book them week-long Cancun reservations for the 17th-24th of this month.
My condition?
Let me go to San Francisco that week.

I thought they would just slap me around a little and call me crazy (kind of what I was doing/saying to them) and drop the whole subject...
but they obliged.

??

WTF, yo? What the hell is going on here?

I don't know whether to be happy about this turn of events...
straight up grossed out...
or just... scared.

What is up with my folks?
(at least I now have a week in San Francisco to figure it out and feel better about it, ha!)

Note to self No. 236465

When taking a shower, and it comes time to scrub your face, do not, I REPEAT: DO NOT inhale in any way while the soap suds are still on your face.

I nearly killed myself today.
It would have been an embarrassing way to go, too.
Imagine... I'm minding my own business, taking a shower after the most arduous (DANCE-FREE!) kickboxing class that left me drenched in sweat.
Everything was fine... up until the scrubbing of the face.
I love soap suds... so I usually have a ton of them on my... what are they called? It's not a loofah... but one of those... I call them "bath thingies" made of like... bundled up... plastic? I don't know.
Anyway, it came time to scrub my face... it had a bunch of soap... and for some reason... I had the desire to... I guess... sigh... and yes, my mouth was covered by the soap... and BAM! I started to choke.
I swallowed more soap than I imagined... 'cause I started hacking up soap suds like some rabid dog.
The taste sucked... my lungs hurt... and I was coughing so viciously that I almost passed out.
The only thing that kept me sane and coherent in that moment?
OH HELL NO! NO ONE'S FINDING MY DEAD BODY LIKE THIS!

So... after about half an hour (yeah, I kid you not!), I went to my sister's room,

Me: Don't worry, I'm alive!
Sister: Oh... I thought you were barfing...

then I continued to spit out soap for another hour.

Lesson learned.

Kicking and punching ain't dancing!

THERE IS NO DANCING IN KICKBOXING!!
(what a way to make me angry!)

... and that's all I got to say about that.