Issue number 3: When did it become necessary to take small children out of strollers before passing through security?
We don’t fly very often so the security –baby out of the stroller thing was news to me. Soon after hearing the instructions, I snatched Jill and Corey up, folded the stroller and placed it on the conveyor belt from hell. You know the one that moves your belongings along at a snail’s pace, all the while giving some weirdo, who moonlights as a voyeur, an x-ray vision of anything that passes his creepy screen-veiled eyes.
Note to self- contact Airport security ref: no warning signs about the mean mugged dude giving stroller directives from his spot just on the other side of the machine that conducts the hands-free strip searches, who would also be standing between you and your freshly eye raped belongings, if going thru security on Friday, July 21, 2017, at 6:35 a.m.
Ok, backpacks on the belt- CHECK;
shoes and jackets in the bin and on the belt- CHECK
laptop(s) in THE bin and on the belt- CHECK
Second Issue: Why, just why, are elevators placed at the top of really high places (like parking garages) only to have “OUT OF ORDER” signs posted on them? And why on earth would anyone think that a damn arrow pointing in the direction of a flight of stairs would be of any consequence at that moment? The only “flight” people are interested in at this stage in the game is the one they’re about to miss. Could I blame this too on Expedia? Not fair… let’s place blame where blame is due. The same smart ass who has the prestigious position of riding around on that damn golf cart counting open parking spaces and putting that on the scroll bar at the foot of the garage could have added “you’ll have to walk a country mile while carrying your luggage, pushing a baby in a stroller and following a chain smoker to get to a working elevator if you park at the top”. How hard is that?
Note to self- contact Louis Armstrong New Orleans International Airport (MSY) ref: no warning signs about warning signs, directional arrows or chain smokers (with hacking coughs) that would be encountered if traveling on Friday, July 21, 2017, at 6:10 a.m.
We finally made it into the airport, after very likely contracting some type of incurable airborne smoker’s disease. We checked-in, checked our bags, got our boarding passes and headed to security- with a few minutes to spare.
Tori, Jill and I jumped out of bed, got dressed, packed the car and headed off to the airport. Yep, we were finally going to see “our Rayne” who lives in Astoria, New York.
Issue Number 1: Who would have thought the New Orleans airport parking would be overcrowded on the only day of the year that we decided to fly? Looks like Expedia would have had red flags flashing and blinking all over their site the day I made the reservations.
Note to self- contact Expedia ref: no red warning signs about the horrendous parking situation that would occur on Friday, July 21, 2017, at 6:00 a.m.
Even though there were signs posting which levels had open spaces, Tori and I were a bit confused, so we wound up going round and round and round – following some other lost soul until we could see daylight. No, I hadn’t planned to park in the uncovered section of the covered parking garage, but we had to catch a flight – so whatever!
Dear Younger Self,
I feel that it is my obligation, as your senior, to fill you in on a few things. I intend to speak in such a way that you should have no problem comprehending; however, in an effort to eliminate any misunderstanding, I will also use colloquialism most familiar to you.
I am in charge now and I will be sure and remain apprised of all important issues, including but not limited to, annual dental exams. (I run this. I’m the shot caller and you can trust and believe I’m gone stay woke on everything I need to, including keeping my grill tight). In the event that I go out, I will decide when I am to return home and I will not party until the wee hours of the morning. (I bail when I say so and I won’t be turnt when the lights come on.) As a responsible adult, I return all phone calls promptly, I socialize with people in my age group and I dress and behave accordingly. (I’m grown. I hit ‘em back on the celly when I can, I hang with my squad, my gear is always on fleek and I slay every time I hit these streets). Please understand that I enjoy a low key and private style of life where I make every effort to mind my own business. (I’m basic, not boujee at all, and I always stay in my lane). In the run of a day, I make no effort to belittle others – I’m not overbearing, loud or outwardly aggressive, and I never go to the extreme. (I don’t throw shade and I’m never extra.)
Also, I can honestly say that although I drink, I do not have my deceased father’s penchant for libations. (Ion stay lit). My dear younger self, through this letter, you should gain comfort in knowing that I am perfectly fine with where I am. You, on the other hand, are out of control. (Look bae, this letter should give you life. By the way you know you have zero chill, right?) So now, without further ado, I would greatly appreciate it if you would sit quietly in the memories of my subconscious and allow me to take it from here. (now that’s a wrap, bye Felecia!)
Your Older Self
The idea was to potty train an already two and a half year old little girl who reportedly comprehends and articulates exceedingly well for a child of her young years. This was to be a piece of cake for little girl and her family. That family includes a 53 year “old” mom and a 13 year old “mother hen”. Mommy, as she is lovingly called, decided to create a treasure box for the little girl. They would use butcher paper to cover a cardboard box then embellish it with pom poms, stick-on letters, tassels and anything the little girl’s heart desired (after all, this box would hold all sorts of treats and treasures). Mommy and “Tori”, the little girl’s big sister, were sure that this would be more than enough to encourage their little angel. Unfortunately, the little girl with the blazing blue eyes and the cute little button nose lost interest somewhere between wrapping the box and gluing the tassels on. She left the table, grabbed her juice, her tablet and her “Corey”, went to the bedroom and put herself down for a nap.
I was just reminded of the night the power went out in my quaint, little hometown. My aunt sat outside on the hood of our station wagon wearing nothing but a bra and a pair of white cotton “granny” panties. Incidentally, the bra was one of those full coverage deals with enough hooks to trap and hold a bull. My aunt hadn’t seen her feet in years (if you get my drift) but she was ok with that and she always managed to keep the girls securely wrapped and covered. Apparently on that particular night, with it being so hot and so dark she felt like it would be alright to wrap but not cover the girls and to let the “grannies”air out, too. Well, it was ok, right up until my older brother shouted “dear Lord aunt Maggie, you’re outside in just your undies”. Why is it that when the power goes out rendering the entire neighborhood pitch black, the world seems to go totally silent, too? In that instant nothing could be heard except my brother’s loud mouth and it’s grand announcement – which seemed to come less than a millisecond before the street lights flickered…
and then there was light….
……and the sound of crickets,
crickets chirping and Aunt Maggie’s fleshy, backside, flopping forward off the hood of that car,
then thud, thud, thud, thud, thud as she galloped to the house and grabbed the door knob…
but the door was locked.
On July 3, 2017, I celebrated my 28th anniversary as a law enforcement officer. With my busy schedule and this crazy little thing called life going on it really slipped my mind. Sound unbelievable that I’d forget about such a monumental occasion? Follow this link:
and it’ll become crystal clear that I’m not kidding. At any rate 28 is the magic number when you live and work in this state which means I can retire now but I love my job, I love my boss and I love most of my co-workers (two good points about the one’s I don’t love… 1. they know who they are and 2. they’re smart enough to steer clear of me!
(Yes, law enforcement is a tough field, for various reasons, but I’ve always been a “good cop” and my plan is to continue to be just that………
ON YOUR SIX —109
Looking for an opinion and I apologize up front if this offends anyone. (By the way if you are in fact offended, then obviously, you’re one of those people I’m referring to and you’re apparently not smart enough to read between the lines and grab this constructive criticism by the horns and ride it’s ass to the ground)… which is what I think I’d do… but I’m not the one on the other side of this keyboard, am I?
Ever heard someone say, “know what I’m saying”, when conversing? I happen to have several friends who use that question.. or statement… or whatever the hell part of the English language it is. Now in true sarcastic form, which happens to be my chosen form of speech, I often respond by saying “uh-huh” knowing damn well I not only don’t know what they’re saying, I don’t even give a shit at that point. When the first “know what I’m saying” comes out, I know that there are several additional grammatical murderS to follow- so I check the hell out.
Living my life like it’s golden……
It’s been several months since I last wrote and boy, oh boy, have I been busy! Here’s a snapshot of what I’ve been up to…
I’ve joined a weightlifting circuit, I’ve learned to juggle, I’ve become pretty proficient at sign language and I’ve run at least 3 full marathons while carrying a 25 pound sack of sugar. I’ve also completed and exceeded all standards necessary to receive certification in the 1st edition of “Mind Reading for Dummies”. Oh and although it took longer than expected I finally aced that potential security detail- driver’s course. (Believe me, driving forward while- looking back, giving instructions, phoning a friend, checking an airway and trying not to panic and spook the hell out of the people you’ve sworn to protect isn’t as easy as it looks on telly). I’ve also become a master hair stylist.. this one has been a long time coming too, but better late than never, right? As if my plate wasn’t already overflowing, I’ve also taken and passed seven academic courses each of which resulted in my receiving an A+… and I should receive my dental assistant licensure in the mail within the next few days.
Now how’s that for the 53 year old mom of a precious and precocious 2 year old, a beautiful and brilliant middle schooler and a stunning and sagacious young adult?
- In case you didn’t catch it, they’re all girls and they are the wind beneath my wings!
Living my life like it’s golden…
P.S. stand by for more fun, wit, sarcasm and charm as I live vicariously through my oldest, nonchalantly with my teen and on the edge of everything through, with and for my toddler —
I had a conversation with a friend in which we were discussing relationships. We talked about the ins and outs, the goods and the bads and everything in between. We even talked about what I refer to as the “er” factor. You know the feeling you get or have when the relationship ends and the smoke clears.
We talked for several hours and when the conversation finally ended we decided to take a poll (for fun) just to see how many different “ers” there actually were.
So go for it— share your “er” with us…
It doesn’t have to be the “er” from a break up… it just needs to a relationship related “er”.
Here I’ll start us off-
I once dated a guy I’d met at a friend’s pool party. He wasn’t really my type but I wasn’t seeing anyone and he seemed nice so I agreed to go out with him. We’d only gone out four times when he popped the question. Talk about a desperate weirdo, I mean how else could I describe a guy who, on the fourth date, asks if he could borrow a cd from my “Jackson 5 Greatest Hits” collection? My “er” word for Mr. “I wish I had a Michael Jackson bobble head like yours”?—
ABSOLUTER– Expressing finality with no implication of possible change
Why? Because I knew he had an absoluter snowballs chance in hell of seeing me again —absolutely no way—
I truly enjoy making candy during the holiday season, and one of my faves is pralines or pecan candy. Unfortunately, pecans have been hard to come by this year in my neck of the woods, but thanks to google I was able to locate a distributor in a neighboring state; so I left work this evening at 4:30 and drove 25 miles out of town, during rush hour traffic, in order to reach a pecan distributor before they closed for the evening. Based on the info posted on the website, the hours of operation are 9:00 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. which actually gave me about an hour to arrive, which I did with 29 minutes to spare. Unfortunately, my 5:01 p.m. arrival was met by a locked door and a 9-5 -hours of operation- sign posted on the front door. My editor in chief (EIC) immediately removed her cellular device from her purse to verify the internet posted hours.When she was satisfied that we had not been mistaken, she made phone contact with the store owners, who were very likely exiting through the back door, as I tried to enter through the front. She was very polite and cordial as she asked if the store was in fact closed. After being told “yes, we close at 5”, EIC advised the store owner that the hours posted on the website were apparently incorrect. Here’s the interesting part, the owner said “people do that”; and here’s my question… what the hell does that mean? I drove 25 miles out of my way, in what is commonly known around these parts as “shipyard traffic”, to be told “people do that”. Really? I mean seriously, is this real life?
Hi Everyone, In all of our day to day ripping and running, I just realized we are in our sixth month of blogging! It’s hard to believe we’ve been at this for a whole half a year!
In honor of this great accomplishment and because we’ve gained so many new blogger friends, I’ve decided to re-share some of the things we’ve posted since our humble beginning. (I plan to re-post in a series with the first one being posted within the hour) Enjoy, and by all means, feel free to comment, share and or re-blog!