Ok, I am back where I left off now that the PMS has left the building..
Border Patrol had so many questions which they probably wished were not honestly answered...but who hasn't seen a vibrator before? and why would you press the button? What did they expect from a chick with fancy glasses and a Russian mail order bride vintage coat...I get it, I really do...a passport with more stamps than someone on Antique Roadshow...I was not trying to enter the country to take away Kate's title...I just wanted to come back because I prefer guys with castles over cabins...I was asked more questions than a Harvard applicant, but I was complying because I thought at least Heathrow Airport would be as desirable as Downton Abbey...but it was more like Game Of Thrones. Even though I did not commit a crime, immigration did not want me to flee so I was kept under lock and key...I couldn't even have lip balm...I wish I was Jason Bourne enough to escape by petroleum jelly.
Once the UK officers made a final decision that I should go back to America because they didn't trust I would ever leave England, I was sent back to the US on the next flight...28hrs later...I just wanted to go home and cuddle my cat like all 40yr old single women should...I got finger printed, made many phone calls (Sorry Kath and Aidan for the $400 phone bills), had a dear friend Suresh try to finagle his way in (I even offered to donate a kidney) and still ended up with a chick from Hong Kong that did calisthenics and slept with her Nemo stuffed fish...
Once I got to the "Detention Center", it was like sleeping in a asylum sorority house...the non prison women were lovely, and I appreciated the spacial relationship between the barbed wire and the locked windows...but I was disappointed in the wireless accommodations...
My Tylenol PM has set in...I am one Lifestyle Network away from drooling on myself...see you in the am..I am almost done. I promise
Monday, February 24, 2014
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
White wine, Presidents' Day and Why I Was Detained
Sorry for the late post...Presidents Day always sets me back a day and I have been testing white wine instead of red, and I think it has screwed me up a bit...white wine is like that first awkward date where you are not quite comfortable...you really want to like him but something is just not right...then you realize you never want to see him again for no specific reason and you are going back to your first love of Cabernet...fuck you Chardonnay, you are like that creepy neighbor who is always nice and helpful...but we should all stay away from like monkeys with the Ebola Virus.
Ok, back to my story of being an international gate crasher (allegedly) ...after being in the UK several times last year (more on that later) I flew into Heathrow to see Aidan* for three months...I had no problem flying in and out of Mexico and Cyprus (more on that later), but for some reason my "all access" pass was denied on the morning of Feb 3rd...thank sweet baby jesus with vodka mini bottles I was on a red eye and had not been drinking...I had my passport and "landing card" ready to be presented to local border patrol when I looked over and knew my fate was fucked harder than a gazelle during mating season...I was called to the window and was tagged teamed by 2 women asking such personal questions I didn't know if I was at the airport or Planned Parenthood...I was asked to sit down while my situation was being reviewed by an immigration officer and I was going to go through a "process"...I would have rather been yhguuuuuuuuuuuuu6t5 (sorry Chicken stepped on keyboard while I was getting a peanut butter sandwich) given pap smear by Freddy Kreuger than even think about what was going to happen...the questions they asked where apropos of nothing, but I felt so backed into a corner I just wanted to blurt out "yes I killed my roommate" Amanda Knox style...but I held my shit together until I went in the bathroom and thew up like a Delta Zeta on Pledge Night...my next step was being questioned about "who I was staying with", "what I did for a living" etc...when I said Kathleen Mayer was my "Business Partner", the lovely devil women asked if she was my "sleeping partner"...again, thank the little sweet baby jesus there was no alcohol coursing through my veins, and with the straightest face I pull together said "no, although my Mother would think differently"...they were not amused. The second (or 5th) part of the process was going through my luggage with two officers...at this point, I wasn't quite sure why I was close to being denied entry...I know I am half Lebanese and one waxing appointment from being on the No-Fly-List, but why the hell now? Did I buy hash on the plane without realizing it? Did I have illegal fruit in my Louis Vuitton bag I forgot about? For a nano second I thought about running on foot with my newly polished Bally boots and being taken down "suicide by cop" would be easier than border patrol finding my vibrator in the bowels of my perfectly packed bag...
Oh, it's late and Golden Girls are on...TBC tomorrow.
Ok, back to my story of being an international gate crasher (allegedly) ...after being in the UK several times last year (more on that later) I flew into Heathrow to see Aidan* for three months...I had no problem flying in and out of Mexico and Cyprus (more on that later), but for some reason my "all access" pass was denied on the morning of Feb 3rd...thank sweet baby jesus with vodka mini bottles I was on a red eye and had not been drinking...I had my passport and "landing card" ready to be presented to local border patrol when I looked over and knew my fate was fucked harder than a gazelle during mating season...I was called to the window and was tagged teamed by 2 women asking such personal questions I didn't know if I was at the airport or Planned Parenthood...I was asked to sit down while my situation was being reviewed by an immigration officer and I was going to go through a "process"...I would have rather been yhguuuuuuuuuuuuu6t5 (sorry Chicken stepped on keyboard while I was getting a peanut butter sandwich) given pap smear by Freddy Kreuger than even think about what was going to happen...the questions they asked where apropos of nothing, but I felt so backed into a corner I just wanted to blurt out "yes I killed my roommate" Amanda Knox style...but I held my shit together until I went in the bathroom and thew up like a Delta Zeta on Pledge Night...my next step was being questioned about "who I was staying with", "what I did for a living" etc...when I said Kathleen Mayer was my "Business Partner", the lovely devil women asked if she was my "sleeping partner"...again, thank the little sweet baby jesus there was no alcohol coursing through my veins, and with the straightest face I pull together said "no, although my Mother would think differently"...they were not amused. The second (or 5th) part of the process was going through my luggage with two officers...at this point, I wasn't quite sure why I was close to being denied entry...I know I am half Lebanese and one waxing appointment from being on the No-Fly-List, but why the hell now? Did I buy hash on the plane without realizing it? Did I have illegal fruit in my Louis Vuitton bag I forgot about? For a nano second I thought about running on foot with my newly polished Bally boots and being taken down "suicide by cop" would be easier than border patrol finding my vibrator in the bowels of my perfectly packed bag...
Oh, it's late and Golden Girls are on...TBC tomorrow.
Monday, February 17, 2014
PMS and The Price Is Right
Ok, I will continue my detainee story after lunch...but first I need to feed the beast.
Something I forgot to mention in my "about me" was the fact that I PMS like a motherfucker...and it lasts about 20 days, so I am good for a solid week.
Not only do I eat like a Cambodian refugee, I would eat shit that is not even legal...if I could catch it, I would BBQ a bald eagle or a rare spotted owl...right now, I am sitting here eating Franks Red Hot Pringles (amazing by the way) and it is only 10:30am...and it's also an hour before The Price Is Right is on...yes, TPIR is a guilty pleasure and if I'm home at 11am when it's on, please don't talk to me...when I am PMSing, I cry when someone less fortunate wins a car...but always cringe when someone in a wheel chair wins something like treadmill...and if I am not weeping over military people winning, I yell obscenities at the people wearing "Just Married" or "I said Yes!" T-shirts...do the world a favor and throw yourself under the wheel after you spin it...you deserve to die in an unfortunate accident.
OK, it's 10:56 and I need to get more chips and turn on Channel 4, then lunch at King Wah for a Mai Tai and as much food as I can get on a plate...I foresee a Szechuan Chicken food challenge.
Something I forgot to mention in my "about me" was the fact that I PMS like a motherfucker...and it lasts about 20 days, so I am good for a solid week.
Not only do I eat like a Cambodian refugee, I would eat shit that is not even legal...if I could catch it, I would BBQ a bald eagle or a rare spotted owl...right now, I am sitting here eating Franks Red Hot Pringles (amazing by the way) and it is only 10:30am...and it's also an hour before The Price Is Right is on...yes, TPIR is a guilty pleasure and if I'm home at 11am when it's on, please don't talk to me...when I am PMSing, I cry when someone less fortunate wins a car...but always cringe when someone in a wheel chair wins something like treadmill...and if I am not weeping over military people winning, I yell obscenities at the people wearing "Just Married" or "I said Yes!" T-shirts...do the world a favor and throw yourself under the wheel after you spin it...you deserve to die in an unfortunate accident.
OK, it's 10:56 and I need to get more chips and turn on Channel 4, then lunch at King Wah for a Mai Tai and as much food as I can get on a plate...I foresee a Szechuan Chicken food challenge.
Sunday, February 16, 2014
Chicken Shit
As most of you know, I have been threatening to write a blog for the past year (ish), but I am a super procrastinator and have been hoping little writing ninja fairies will do it for me...and oh, I am afraid of failure.
The only reason why I am writing this entry now is because I am waiting for my Mothers guest room sheets and quilt to dry because my semi hairless cat Chicken (whom I am sure most of you know by now) decided to take a shit in the guest room after eating unfamiliar food...I have to give Chicken credit though, she only craps on the ugly bedding.
My Mom you ask? Oh yes, I am 41 and staying with my Mother and Chicken...before I begin about why I am living back in Cleveland, let me clear up a few things:
*My grammar/punctuation skills are that of a child still in the NICU...
*I have both ADD and OCD...but they work well together.
*I will give a heads up if the entry is about cats...so the select few can enjoy hearing about fur balls and the best clumping litter available.
*I like to write about current events...if I write something personal and you are offended, I am sorry...well, kind of...especially if a family member is a part of the
Sochi US Figure Skating Ice Dance Team.
*I swear A LOT...so much so that someone once said to me "I am in the military and never heard such a foul mouth during my whole tour in Iraq.
*Unlike Samantha Jones in Manolo Blahniks, I am laying across the sheet less bed (see cat excuse) in Ugg slippers, wife beater and Mickey Mouse panties.
*I am the kind of person that as a child, I probably put a plastic bag over my head because my Mom said "that is not a toy".
*I am currently dating a 28yr old that looks like Prince Harry.
I was recently denied entry into the UK because "I could not provide proof" that I was not going to try and work in England...my response of "why would I work illegally in your country when I don't like to work legally in my own? did not work too well.
I was detained for 24hrs and...oh the sheets are dry. BRB
The only reason why I am writing this entry now is because I am waiting for my Mothers guest room sheets and quilt to dry because my semi hairless cat Chicken (whom I am sure most of you know by now) decided to take a shit in the guest room after eating unfamiliar food...I have to give Chicken credit though, she only craps on the ugly bedding.
My Mom you ask? Oh yes, I am 41 and staying with my Mother and Chicken...before I begin about why I am living back in Cleveland, let me clear up a few things:
*My grammar/punctuation skills are that of a child still in the NICU...
*I have both ADD and OCD...but they work well together.
*I will give a heads up if the entry is about cats...so the select few can enjoy hearing about fur balls and the best clumping litter available.
*I like to write about current events...if I write something personal and you are offended, I am sorry...well, kind of...especially if a family member is a part of the
Sochi US Figure Skating Ice Dance Team.
*I swear A LOT...so much so that someone once said to me "I am in the military and never heard such a foul mouth during my whole tour in Iraq.
*Unlike Samantha Jones in Manolo Blahniks, I am laying across the sheet less bed (see cat excuse) in Ugg slippers, wife beater and Mickey Mouse panties.
*I am the kind of person that as a child, I probably put a plastic bag over my head because my Mom said "that is not a toy".
*I am currently dating a 28yr old that looks like Prince Harry.
I was recently denied entry into the UK because "I could not provide proof" that I was not going to try and work in England...my response of "why would I work illegally in your country when I don't like to work legally in my own? did not work too well.
I was detained for 24hrs and...oh the sheets are dry. BRB
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)