Parking, the new mental insanity

Well, I was supposed to fly this nice easy trip today out of LaGuardia with a lovely sign-in time of noon that would allow me to get in my car and drive to work like a normal human being. I also didn't have to leave at dawn as my parking space was good until 9:30am this morning. Well, my trip canceled. So, at 9am I found myself running to my car to start the search for a spot that would get me through the weekend.
Now, most people will not understand this strange lifestyle that is having a car in the city, so let me explain. If you find a free spot on the street that is good for more than one day then under no circumstances do you move your car.
Why have a car then? You ask.
I don't know, except that on the rare occasion when I actually do drive somewhere, and not just around the block aimlessly searching for another spot, it is such a treat. And just knowing that I have a form of escape is also a rare comfort in these crazy terror ridden times.
So, after driving around for an hour battling the dumb fucks from New Jersey who come in and park on the streets, that MY FUCKING TAXES ARE PAYING FOR (one day I am going to follow one of the jackasses home to Jersey and park in their driveway just to show them what karma is), for that precious spot I finally found a place just three blocks from my apartment that is good until Monday morning at 8:30am. Yeah.

Who calls at 7:40am?

OK, So last week I flew with this sweet, but slightly psychotic girl (all flight attendants are slightly psychotic but she was a little more so) but she lives in the city so we exchanged numbers because you can never have too many friends in this lonely town. So, imagine my surprise when she called me this morning at 7:40 AM. No, she was not on the west coast and confused with the time, she just woke up at the butt crack of dawn and decided that 7:40 AM was a good time to call and chat.
OK, I don't even talk to Michael before 9 AM and even then we don't speak until after we've both had a good infusion of coffee so you can imagine my utter horror when my phone started chirping at 7:40am. No, I did not answer it.
Honestly, who is letting these people walk around unsupervised?

I am retarded

Ok, so I had a nice little surprise this morning when I found out that I am now off work on Thursday and Friday (yeah) but I still get paid (double yeah). So, I decide to be a good daughter (1st mistake) and call my mom to tell her that I am off and will be available for contact on Friday (my great aunt is having major surgery and my being unavailable was causing my mom a lot of undue stress).
Well, didn't I just open up a can of worms.
See, my mom has been having back and knee problems for the last month or so and she finally went in two weeks ago and had an epidural to relieve the pain. Well, that lasted all of a week and now her back is "killing her" again and she can "hardly get around." (Can you feel the guilt yet?) So, her doctor wants her to have the procedure (in my mom's twisted brain, surgery) again. Last time her sweet next door neighbor drove her to and from the HOUR LONG BASICALLY A BIG FUCKING SHOT procedure. However, my mom, being my mom, stressed her neighbor out so much over this that they both had to take to their beds for TWO DAYS!!!! (an epidural is a shot people)
Now, my mom, again being my mom, wants me to fly to fucking Tennessee on Wednesday afternoon so that I can then drive her to and from her "surgery" on Thursday. Now, I know that I have a unique situation in that I can fly for free, however, that doesn't change the fact that I have to work on Wednesday morning after which I would then have to get on another airplane fly to fucking Atlanta (aka HELL) and then wait for another fucking flight to Knoxville. All so I can get up at the butt crack of dawn the next day to drive her 5 miles to get a FUCKING SHOT in her back!!!!
Why am I an only fucking child?
If anyone is reading this, do not just have one child. Have multiples, give your children back-ups, support, help. Don't punish them by setting them up for a life time of guilt and solitary servitude to you.
I must now figure out how to grow my own back bone and tell my "poor sweet mother who is all alone" that I am in fact a worthless daughter and that she needs to call a cab.
I hate my life.

Welcome to the Playhouse

Ok, in the last few years of flying I have had the unique opportunity to meet some very interesting and sometimes famous people. I've met sports icons, politicians, pop stars, movie stars, TV stars, writers, newscasters, musicians, you get the point. But yesterday I think I finally met the one celebrity to top all celebrities. Yes, ladies and gentlemen I met an icon from my youth that plagued my Saturday mornings and drove my baby brother to fits of hysteria. This person drove us all mad with his laughter and many an adult mistook my brother's impersonation of him as a mild form of Tarret's (sp?) Syndrome.
Any guesses?
That's right.
Pee Wee Herman.
Yes, folks, I had the pleasure of serving fruit and cheese and a diet coke to our good friend Paul Rueben, aka Pee Wee.
My life is complete.

Alphabet Job

Ok, here we go again.
Apparently as of January I will no longer be a flight attendant, stewardess, trolly dolly, sky bitch, what have you... So, once again I am in the process of compiling the alphabet job list of things I could possibly be "when I grow up," again.
A - Assistant
B - Bartender
C - Cake decorator
D - Dog Walker
E - Elephant tamer
F - Flea Circus Ring Leader
G - Guard
H - Horse Whisperer
I - Igloo builder
J - Janitor
K - Kangaroo bather
L - Law Student
M - Marshal Arts Expert
N - Nanny
O - Oil Tanker Captain
P - Phone technician
Q - Quail egg cooker
R - Retail employee
S - Stripper
T - Tour Guide
U - Underwriter
V - Van driver
W - Waitress
X - X-Ray technician
Y - Yodeler
Z - Zookeeper

Ok, I feel better now.

Pickle Ticklers

Few things in New York surprise me anymore, so I was not that shocked when I was reading Time Out NYC and saw a listing for the International Pickle Day Festival. Yes, that's right, an entire street fair dedicated to the pickle.
So, Michael and I decided to venture down to the Village and check out this pickle fest.
It was so cool. Pickle vendors sat up their boothes and after standing in a cheery line (who wouldn't be cheery at a pickle festival afterall,) would give you a free pickle and tell you the history of their pickle and why their pickle was in fact the best pickle to be had in New York. Oh, and these picklers don't just pickle cucumbers. Oh no, there were pickled beets, turnips, shallots, ginger, cheese, mangoes, pineapples... The best though was the pickle tickler maker. He was a green clad man making pickle ticklers (sticks with green feathers supposedly plucked from the mythical schtickler) used to drive kittens (and older siblings) crazy.
Michael and I gorged ourselves on the pickled treats until the brine began to bother our tummies. Then on our way out he fulfilled my college day fantasies of being "pinned" by buying me my very own pickle pin. He's so sweet.