Blame Canada

It's been a busy few weeks in Blogtari country, with most of the busyness stemming from a trip out of the country.

Ma and Pa Blogtari (the LA parents) came for a visit East, and the family hauled up to the glamorous Niagara Falls area to gamble with a foreign currency and see some nature (in that order). I had never been to the Falls before and was mildly excited for the trip. While a good time was had by all, especially my father-in-law who was overjoyed that a gambling woman had married into the family, Niagara Falls is not a trip I would recommend.

Niagara Falls is sort of depressing. Granted, we visited during the off season when tourism is low, but the "town" felt just shy of deserted. And I can't imagine things improving in the summer. Aside from the casino and the 2 nice restaurants I scrounged up, all Niagara Falls activities decidedly fall into the category of budget-priced family fun. There was an indoor (?) waterpark, 2 IMAX theatres and countless haunted houses and wax museums. Honestly, hundreds of wax museums. I had no idea that the art of wax was so popular with our neighbors to the North. After seeing warped wax portraits of Angelina Jolie and Robert DiNiro all over the city, the "Criminals Hall of Fame Wax Museum" had a whole new appeal.

The Falls themselves are ridiculously cool, but the kind of cool that you can experience in a 15-minute moment of reflection while driving up to a sweet weekend in Toronto. Without the casino action, the 2-day trip would have been painfully long. Yet another great reason to support gambling in your community.

The entire trip, my family and I kept talking about how cool it was that we were witnessing one of the 7 Wonders of the World. As if this alone made the trip worthwhile. Sadly, my curious mind led me to Wikipedia to recall the other wonders of the world ('cause that mini golf course from Overboard may not have covered them all...), where I learned that Niagara Falls is not on any Wonders list at all. But then again, I was a fan of Andre the Giant, so maybe that can count instead.

Dolls

Hey reader(s?) - I know you've been desperate for a new blog post, and I apologize. I was in San Francisco last week for a conference and some fun. Note: these were two separate events.

To maximize my fun time, I decided to book myself a flight home on the redeye. I have taken one other redeye in my life, where I stabbed Cillian Murphy in the neck with a pencil, so I wasn't really prepared for overnight travel.

I have some Ambien left over from my honeymoon, and thought it would be smart to take said Ambien to sleep through my flight home. I would awake at JFK feeling revived and alert, and then head home to work in my jammies all day. Despite the use of unprescribed drugs, my plan seemed very responsible. Round 1 to Melissa.

I arrived home at 8am and wasn't feeling very energetic. Round 2 to Ambien.

I crawled into bed to nap for a few hours. I got 5 hours of sleep on the plane, and was planning to round it out with 2.5 more hours before my 10:30 conference call. After almost 8 hours of rest, I surely would feel great for the rest of the day.

Instead, my ass was kicked until noon. I woke up to 3 voicemails and my alarm blaring. Ambien wins by a knock-out.

I also required a second nap yesterday from 5-730pm. Damn you, Ambien, you've already won. Do you really need to show off?

One of the reasons I took Ambien without consideration of the consequences, is because I am reading a new book. My friend Jen K recommended that I revive my love of Jacqueline Suzanne, of Valley of the Dolls fame, by reading her other books.

I am currently reading a terrible tale called The Love Machine. It follows the same formula as Valley of the Dolls. Woman takes tranquilizers, falls in love, drinks excessively, marries for money, becomes famous, and dies before her time. It is all very glamorous. Just like my Ambien coma. Sheer glamour.

I think I am still suffering from the after-effects of the Ambien coma and/or jetlag. I am barely functional, so please forgive me for having nothing at all amusing to say. I know that Jen K will be especially disappointed that the one post where she is mentioned is so lame (she’s been lobbying since her June wedding). But then again, I did mention her twice (now three times!) so that will probably make up for it.

I’m honestly about to pass out at my desk and drool all over my Sudoku. Maybe if I take this red pill I'll feel better.

The Air-ess of Continental

I was a traveling fool last week. A fool I tell you!

I went to Florida for a meeting and had the pleasure of flying Continental, the last remaining airline to provide free turkey sandwiches to its passengers. Continental also decided to show a movie on my 3 hour flight, which could have been a good thing. The movie was Fool's Gold with Matthew McConaughey and Kate Hudson. I hate Matteo, and find him neither attractive nor talented, but the terrible accents of Donald Sutherland (British) and Malcolm Jamaal Warner (Jamaican) were entertaining enough to keep me tuned in.

While traveling, I noticed that there are a few things that I will do on a plane that I won't do anywhere else.

1. Drink Mott's Tomato Juice
2. Eat Peanuts
3. Watch Everybody Hates Chris
4. Spread cuticle cream all over my hands
5. Hate babies

My flight down to Florida was uneventful, but my flight home to Newark airport was full of zest.
As I waited for my flight to board at the airport Chili's, I met several people who had been stranded at the airport all day due to storms in the Northeast. These people were cranky and drunk. One woman was wasted and mistook the Chili's for a swingers bar.

I was sitting between the Swinger and her prey - a middle-aged man with long, gray hair wearing a suit that made him look like a pilot. His name was Mr. Robertson.
The woman was a Florida native and was being dragged to a wedding in Syracuse by her husband / boyfriend (who was not at the bar). She was talking over me, trying to drunkenly seduce Mr. Robertson, and literally asked, "Is there a Mrs. Robertson?"

I never thought people actually used lines like this. But it seemed to work.

Mr. Robertson got up from the bar, walked over to the Swinger and said, "Yes, she's home right now in CT. And actually there have been many Mrs. Robertsons..."

The pair left the bar together.

But the hot drunken action at the airport Chili's did not end there!

Two guys and a girl (and a pizza place) sidled up next to me to order a round of shots and a roadie to take to their gate. They were coming off the end of a vacation and heading back home to Jersey. They kept talking about how different things are "up north" as they reached all around me to pass drinks past my grill.

One guy apologized for invading my personal space, saying that he has no manners because he is from "up north." Um, you are in South Florida. Everyone in this part of the state is from "up north." You are just an ass.

When I boarded the plane, I was sitting behind two guys I missed at the Chili's. They were clearly there before boarding because they were drunk and rowdy. They were both gigantic and sounded like they were fresh off the set of the Sopranos. The guy in front of me was wearing a diamond bracelet and Steelers sweatpants that ended in a tight elastic band around the ankle. His buddy was wearing shorts to accentuate a calf the size of my torso with a giant wizard tattoo. The pair hit on every flight attendant on the plane and ordered several mini bottles of Scotch.

Halfway through the flight, the Wizard went to the back row of the plane to lay across a row of seats. His legs hung out into the aisle, blocking the bathroom. Apparently, the mob has a holding over the bathroom on Continental flight 400. Don’t Stop Believin.

When I landed, my bag was the first one out of the baggage carousel. I’d like to think it’s karmas way of repaying me for letting a couple sit together on the plane. But I have a sneaking suspicion that my bags arrived first because I was the least douchey person on my entire flight.

...And That Was The Last Good Deed I Ever Did

I was flying to LA last night on one of the few planes that actually took off from JFK, when I was presented with a karmic dilemma.

As I was settling in to my luxurious aisle seat close to the front of the plane with perfect viewing-distance from the TV screen, a flight attendant approached to ask if I would give up my seat so a woman could sit with her family. The catch: her seat was in the last row of the plane.

I've been feeling generous and compassionate lately, so I offered my seat - only after confirming that my new last-row chair would recline. The answer was yes, and so I hiked back 15 rows and settled in yet again.

In my new seat, things weren't so bad. The gentlemen next to me were of normal stature, the hipster-male flight attendants were showering me with affection, and my new book was riveting. Karma was smiling down upon me. I was the Earl Hickey of American Airlines.

I was a very happy passenger for about 3 hours. They saved me a sandwich. When I declined the sandwich (having already spent $15 on an airport tuna salad) they brought me a bowl of warmed nuts from first class. I was comped 2 beers and headphones. Life was good.

And then, it happened. We hit horrible turbulence. The movie was one that I actually wanted to see, but my chair was broken and I had no sound. My book lost its luster. My iPod was dead. The "advanced" Sodoku puzzle from In Touch magazine kicked my ass. My pen died. Someone took a giant dump in the bathroom not 2 feet from my nose.

If a crying baby dropped from the ceiling like an oxygen mask and spit-up on my nose, it would not have surprised me. This was the worst flight ever.

How on earth could the universe treat me this way? Had I not graciously allowed a woman to sit with her family on a painstakingly long cross-country journey? Had I not sacrificed the sound of National Treasure: Book of Secrets so that the bond of family could survive in this cold, cruel world? What more did the universe want from me?

Apparently, the universe wanted me to land 40 minutes late, wake my parents at 11:45 pm, and be the last person to deplane on my flight of 300 passengers.

But you know what else the universe wanted? It wanted my suitcase to be the first off the plane.
Aaaaaah. Karma.