First Class Passengers Need a Punch in the Throat

Most everyone who reads The Colie Chronicles or who follows me on the Twitter knows that my flight to NYC was cancelled because of a hurricane...a freaking hurricane the one week I am supposed to fly to sexy New York City people!!!! I was packed. I was bursting with excitement. I am still packed and every damn time I lug that suitcase back and forth between my house and apartment I dream of the day I set the f#cking thing on fire.

Not. Right.

My friend, "Keith- two tickets - Poole" flies a lot for work and appears to have a horse shoe up his ass. He got upgraded to first class not once but twice recently and sent me a guest post this morning to gloat.

He is now on my sh!t list and shall remain there until I am able to punch him in person.** I flew to Italy in a seat so squished that I could not unbend my legs for 9 bonkatrillion hours and tried but failed to sleep sitting up with my head slammed against the window. My seat mate slept sitting up with her head flopped on her tray. Apparently this is what the first class bastards were enjoying:

This week I was upgraded not once, but twice, much to Colie's chagrin.  As we all now know, airlines seem to have taken offense to something she must have done in a prior life.  So, with apologies for rubbing it in, I say yes to boarding first, in a special line no less.  I say yes to actual food on a plane.  Remember how we all used to complain about airline food?  Nowadays in coach we would fight for scraps given the opportunity. 

I say yes to real glasses and real plates and real cutlery.  Heck, they even hung up my jacket on a real hanger.  I say yes to that scorching hot little towel, which burns the fingertips at first but then feels oh so nice.  I say yes to that hemmed cloth napkin with the button hole so I can proudly wear a big white diamond with blue border on my chest, and keep my shirt clean.  A bib for adults, albeit one that requires you to dress up a bit.  Does anyone know where I can buy some of those cloth napkins with the button hole?  They would be great for me at home, too.   And don't forget the kicker of the meal, that cute paper sleeve that holds a marvel of modern technology - a little packet with pepper in the top part and salt in the bottom part.*  How do they do that?

Up here you get two (count 'em, TWO) seat back pockets in front of you.  I emptied my pants pockets just to try and fill them up, but to no avail.  There's even two in-flight magazines!  The second one (in addition to the regular one for the plebes) is called Celebrated Living and bills itself as a "luxury magazine" - I did not know there was such a thing.  Based on a quick perusal of this magazine, apparently I need a lot more money to begin celebrating properly.

To ease the sting, I say yes to embracing my inner alcoholic.  Sure, it's a morning flight but hey, they keep bringing around those two ginormous bottles of wine!  Who am I to resist?

~Keith - bracing himself for the wrath of Colie - Poole~

*A freaking envelope for the salt and pepper people! In economy you'd have to lick the sweaty fat dude next to you to get some damn salt! 

**Feel free to join me when I punch Mr. Poole. In fact, I may just randomly punch whoever I pass in first class as I saunter past them to the crap class to hoard the stale pretzels.

Tooshy Tuesdays

So the other night after work, I was at the apartment because the kids were with their Dad and I was rushing around trying to get changed and showered to go out (yes, on a weeknight people! Single is pretty fun - when it doesn't suck big hairy ass!) and I ran down to the washing machine and put my pants and underwear in the laundry and I was left wearing a long-ish shirt...so a few minutes later I'm about to hop in the shower and I remember that my suitcase is still in the car and I'll need the clothes in it to get dressed...so I zip outside and as I'm leaning into the trunk to lift the heavy ass suitcase out (I still haven't unpacked from the NYC trip that never was) I feel a bit of a draft...in my areas...and suddenly realize I am now outside in the lovely new neighborhood where the average age is about 60 - picture meticulous lawns and garden gnomes - with my ass hanging out for all the neighbors to see. 

Pretty sure they love me now. One old fella offered to mow my lawn. I seriously hope that's not code for something else?

So, yeah I'm fitting in great. 

And I've only stolen one garden gnome but it had to be done people. He was a creepy mo fo holding a fishing pole. There are no fish in the lawn dumb ass gnome.

Pant-less Tuesdays

So the other night after work, I was at the apartment because the kids were with their Dad and I was rushing around trying to get changed and showered to go out (yes, on a weeknight people! Single is pretty fun - when it doesn't suck big hairy ass!) and I ran down to the washing machine and put my pants and underwear in the laundry and I was left wearing a long-ish shirt...so a few minutes later I'm about to hop in the shower and I remember that my suitcase is still in the car and I'll need the clothes in it to get dressed...so I zip outside and as I'm leaning into the trunk to lift the heavy ass suitcase out (I still haven't unpacked from the NYC trip that never was) I feel a bit of a draft...in my areas...and suddenly realize I am now outside in the lovely new neighborhood where the average age is about 60 - picture meticulous lawns and garden gnomes - with my ass hanging out for all the neighbors to see. 

Pretty sure they love me now. One old fella offered to mow my lawn. I seriously hope that's not code for something else?

So, yeah I'm fitting in great. 

And I've only stolen one garden gnome but it had to be done people. He was a creepy mo fo holding a fishing pole. There are no fish in the lawn dumb ass. 

Embracing My Inner Biker Babe

Hi lovely readers! Thanks for continuing to hang out from time to time at The Colie Chronicles despite my absence...I owe you all a butter tart.

Picture this: I'm on my way to a home visit for work about 2 weeks ago and I'm running late as always. I can never get out of my office on time because A. Hysterical client calls and I stupidly answer the phone and spend an hour wanting to stab my eyes out or 2. I'm busy gabbing with my co-worker about very important work related subjects and definitely not my cute new earrings or whether we should date people solely based on their ability to salsa. So, not wanting my client to have to wait for me, I may have been driving a wee bit over the speed limit...I'm saving children and what not people! I have places to be.

I spot the police car and immediately pull into the non-passing lane and sloooooow down...of course, he nabs me because if it weren't for shit luck, I'd have none these days. I have a mortgage and an apartment to pay for so yes please give me a big ass ticket. It means I may not be able to get that refrigerator box I have been coveting to live in but whatever. I'm sure I can tape together a few sturdy diaper boxes. I later thought I should have tried to out run him a la OJ Simpson but I was too full from eating a cookie the size of my head for lunch and my belly hurt too much for a high speed chase.

He moseys over to my car and asks for my license, registration and insurance. And yes, he moseyed. And then I swear a little light bulb flashed over my head and I suddenly remembered I didn't have my license with me. See....more bad luck. I had been out for a motorbike ride with a friend the night before, embracing my inner badass biker chick, and I took my license in my jeans pocket in case someone needed to identify my body. I'm a safety girl.

I tell him why I don't have my license and explain that I'm a child protection social worker (who dropped my ID in my coworker's office just before I left - OF COURSE!) and I'm hoping for some sympathy because hello - I'm protecting children!!! The cop is now grilling me about who owns the car and where I live and I'm all holy shit - I have two addresses...do I get into my life story right now? What if he wants me to go get my license and it's at the apartment but my ID is all for the house? I can't even work up a tear because I'm so pissed off at myself for getting a ticket when I can't afford it. Then I can't find the registration for the car. Papers are flying as I root through the glove compartment which FYI - contains zero pairs of gloves but a million "Do you need a safety plan?" brochures. And yes.  Yes, I do need a safety plan. RIGHT NOW. Because I'm on the verge of leaping off something tall.

I give him everything I can find  in my damn wallet - Shoppers Drug Mart Optimum Card - Health Card - Blood Donor card (Look officer! I'm a good person! I donate blood!) - He's not impressed. I ask him to go look me up...he does. Then I find the registration and wave it frantically out the window. And it blows away.

Kidding.

But seriously, that would not even be surprising at this point in my life.

He comes back with a $292 ticket and asks me to take off my sunglasses. Have I mentioned that I had been awake over 24 hours at this point and likely looked pretty freaking bad? It's true. I was on zero sleep. ZERO. My pupils must have been the right size because he gives me the ticket, tells me to slow down (I pinky swore it!) and to remember my license from now on and then he moseys off.

I seriously hate that guy. TWO HUNDRED AND NINETY TWO DOLLARS!!! And I had to lose my license for a week. FAAAACCCCCCK!

So here's the icing on my shit cake of life - I was set to leave for New York on Saturday of that week. NEW YORK people. A place my Momma always wanted to go, a place I've visited only briefly and loved, I'm completely thrilled to be going and a coworker wisely recommends that I give up my license for the week that I'm in NYC. Brilliant right? Yes, for a person with a horseshoe up their ass - but for me - NOOOOOOO! A fucking hurricane cancels my flight!!!!

So, now I am not taking a delightful trip to NYC and I can't even drive!!!

Resulting wagon ride from HELL post to come.

So tell me, how have you been doing?

Aside from the speeding ticket and cancelled trip, I'm surviving being single and some days even happier than I've been in a very long time. Okay, some days I'm much sadder than I've ever been but that's to be expected, right? The good news is that I'm re-booking my flight to NYC tomorrow! Surely mother nature will be kinder this time. The 7 year old has a list of Lego he wants from FAO Schwartz a page long! I have shopping to do!!

NOTE: Next time, I'm totally telling the cop I have the diarrhea. Not that there will be a next time. I'm following those damn speed limit signs people. I will not speed. I will try VERY hard not to speed. Even though the speed limit SHOULD BE 100km on the highway!