If you read this blog regularly, you will know that I have been unable to fulfill my Oprah-watching duties for the past few days due to other responsibilities that actually pay my bills, keep my kids clothed and my liver well-primed.
If you don't read this blog regularly, I have been unable to fulfill my Oprah-watching duties for the past few days due to other responsibilities that actually pay my bills, keep my kids clothed and my liver well-primed.
A big thanks to Plain Ole Mike for filling in admirably in my absence and willingly subjecting himself to the painful combination of Suze Orman and Jenny McCarthy. It is a torture no man should readily endure unless he is well-trained.
Or stupid.
I was looking forward to hopping back in the estrogen saddle. A feeling that also spurred me to aggressively look for a metal pipe that I could easily wield against my skull.
Repeatedly.
I was excited about turning my back on all things masculine and returning to a world of water retention, bras and eyebrow waxing. I was ready, standing with arms outstretched as if I was welcoming back an old friend.
Only to watch my friend get hit by an American Airlines S80.
On today's episode of The Oprah Winfrey Show, O introduces us to the world's tiniest dog, the world's most talented dogs and the horrors of puppy mills. And that's the extent of my knowledge for today's episode.
Because I am starring in "Groundhog Day."
Twenty-four hours ago, I landed at D/FW airport. Home from a two-day trip to New York City. Twelve hours later, I was on a plane headed back to New York City.
Again.
It's not the trip that has me wanting to run out from my hotel on the corner of 55th and Broadway and play in oncoming traffic. It's the process of getting here.
Next to people with no regard for my personal space, okra and the word "moist," airline travel is one of my most hated things. It hasn't always been this way. I can remember the days when some man in a fancy uniform or some pretty lady with blonde hair would attach a set of plastic AA wings to my shirt. Days when you didn't have to request a cash advance in order to pay for trail mix. Days when "on-time" wasn't a surprise.
And then there was tonight.
A night where I was the lucky recipient of the "Yours is the only air vent not working on the plane" award. An award that requires its winner to sweat so profusely, I could be mistaken for a much too hairy, misguided contestant in a wet t-shirt contest.
Or having just stepped out of a convection oven. While wearing a ski suit.
A night where the man in front of me almost snapped my laptop screen when he mistakenly took his seat for a La-Z-Boy recliner. Luckily, I was able to dislocate my legs from my hip joints in order to give him enough room to kick back and watch "There's Something About Mary" on his iPod.
A night where a toddler cried for 3 hours and 20 minutes of the 3 hour and 21 minute flight. Cries that went something like this:
"MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMMY!"
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
Trust me, little one. We are all thinking the same thing.
Tonight was a night where, given the constant tapping on the back of my seat, I'm pretty sure the man sitting behind me was Gregory Hines.
And the man on my left and on my right serenaded the entire plane with a nasal chorus that, after two hours, made opening the exit door seem like an appealing alternative. I secretly wished for the beverage cart to break free and come hurling down the aisle.
So, I could lean my head over the arm rest and end my misery.
But then, I found it. The one thing that turned my hot, uncomfortable, loud, annoying, frustrating, rage-filled existence into a happy one.
My inspiration.
Sky Mall magazine.
A world of goods that, judging by the offerings and the people using the products, were sure to make me a ball of giddy bliss.
Take this gentleman. Not a care in the world. Living the good life while all of his gizmos and gadgets plugged in and charging allowing him to enjoy a quick read and an espresso.
I hate him and secretly wish a sudden jolt of turbulence knocks that glib smirk right off his investment banker face with a few drops of hot coffee to the crotch.
Anniversary coming up? Birthday? Christmas? Your lady will be jumping for joy when she unwraps this space-age breast-enhancer backboard.
Sure to give her a little ooomp where she wants it most. And let's face it, when she's happy, we all are.
Drive around town and give this reindeer a different kind of bullseye. There's nothing funnier than one of Santa's cabbies being uncomfortably violated by a trailer hitch, right?
We feel your pain Prantzer. I'd be waving my arms and legs frantically, too.
Remember, the next time you're trying to hunt down the Canadian contractors that painted your roof two different colors as a practical joke, pick up your very own ninja.
Roundhouse kicks to the face and Chinese throwing stars in the sternum are always good for a few chuckles.
And just look at the pure joy on this woman's face after she purchased an authentic hole in her floor.
Imagine the fun you'll have at parties "popping up" and surprising your friends. Hours of entertainment await.
Um. Yeah. Happy.
Nothing says joy like taking a few laps while downing ten or twelve of your favorite cold beers. But nothing can kill that buzz faster than sinking to the bottom of a pool in a drunken haze. Never fear. Get completely sh$#faced and safely float your way to slurred words, booty calls and blackouts.
Just look at that boozed up grin. Another satisfied customer. Thanks, Sky Mall.
Grab this lawn Yeti and scare the hell out of the neighborhood kids. For added laughs, tell them this Sasquatch comes alive at night, looking for young little boys and girls who aren't asleep in their beds.
To eat.
The looks of horror and terror will have you and your friends rolling for hours.
Few things can turn that frown upside down like launching little Fido into orbit with this "Stupid Dog Ejector Seat." Fluffy won't stop yapping? He keeps eating your socks and panties? Send him skyward and laugh 'til it hurts as he does his best to clear that Live Oak in the front yard.
Or the power lines.
There's nothing like getting a good night's sleep to make the body happy and refreshed. Connect this latest marvel to a tank of ether or a few Whipped Cream aerosol cans thanks to the built-in breathing tube and you'll laugh your way all the way to Snoozeville.
Whip it good.
Nothing says happy like your very own bag of trash. Complete with empty soda cans, crumbs of chips, snotty tissues and much, much more. Order yours today.
Now, if you'll excuse me. There's a MENSA quiz in the back of American Way that is just dying to prove I am an absolute dumbass.
Next Episode: Fridays Live in Chicago
Here's to hoping the airline industry doesn't stick it to me again. If, by the grace of God, I happen to get home without incident, I'll be reviewing this new O programming idea. Taking questions live and a special appearance by Spike Lee.
Until tomorrow.
0 comments:
Post a Comment