Wednesday, April 27, 2005

I'm the Smartest Person on the Plane

So I've finally recompressed, following my 3-day decompression in my hometown of Miami (specifically Aventura), Florida. My previous trip home was an airline disaster, thanks to a little company that rhymes with U.S. Air, who insisted on taking my luggage on an unchaperoned journey down the East Coast. This time, I didn't risk it, booking a direct flight on (angel trumpets) Delta Song, which lulls its passengers into submission by providing 20 live channels of satellite tv at every seat. But more on that later.

The antics began the moment I arrived home. Mother, whose current retail job has turned her feet into two giant, corn pancakes, and father, who recently lost 20 pounds in 20 days by replacing solid foods with a special drink made from lemonade, cayenne pepper, maple syrup, and total fucking insanity. Seeing the two of them together, the intricacies of my madness began to make sense.


One more mozzerella ball and this pic would totes be NSF-dubs.

As you may have noticed, I got a new digicam a few weeks ago. One of the options is making 30 second short films. The genius of it is that you don't have to keep your finger on the capture button, hence you can trick people into thinking you're not taking their picture, while instead you're actually capturing a freaking epic of the encounter.

What follows are stills from what may just be the funniest thing I've ever seen: As luck would have it, I managed to capture dear mother in one of her ritualistic pill takings, where she takes a miniature sip of tea and then flings her head back like a crash test dummy to get the damn pill down her gullet. Try putting these pics together in your mind as one fluid motion, with the soundtrack of my goose-honking laughter.


When she realized she was being filmed, that's when all Sean-Penn-hell broke loose.

I woke up Saturday morning with a sharp, jabbing pain in my hip. Rather than investigate, I just shifted my weight around. Little did I know I had fallen asleep ON my glasses, small, delicate rimless (and, I have to add, pricey) specs which, when placed under my enormous carriage, break easily.



Thanks to Gonzalo at Lenscrafters who, while not repairing them totally, was able to make them look normal on my face, even though they're being held together by the will of God.

That night: Seder. Thanks to my interpretive reading of the Haggadah as a salty, old British professor, our small but jovial group of 10 family members and friends seemed to really grasp the true meaning of this sacred holiday.


I'm the Golem in the back row.

Sunday: Mother was ill, so following a Daddy/Daughter breakfast, I went outlet shopping, picking up a pair of hiLARious pink Puma boxing shoes, Schattenboxen, for 25 bones. (Literally, I took a risk: Do you accept bones? They were all "Uh, OBviously!" Good thing I got my foot amputated pre-purchase. It's full of bones.)


It's more fun when you pronounce "Schattenboxen" like Ralph Fiennes would in Schindler's List.

And why have a second Seder when you can just eat the leftovers as a family in front of the television?


By far my favorite item of Passover is the Passover cake from Epicure on Alton Road. The cake itself is pretty good, but it is the macaroon and jam topping that is the unleavened icing on the cake. Note how I scavenge this delicacy when no one is looking. Never did something that looked like day old throw up taste so, so good.

Monday was alotted to being outdoors and in the gorgeous FLA sun. Mother and I got all bedecked to go have lunch at the News Cafe, a fairly shitty restaurant on Ocean Drive that was trendy about 10 years ago, but remains to be the only busy restaurant in South Beach (esp. for a Monday afternoon).


It's kind of hard to have any color in your face when somebody wears electric rasberry lipstick.


YOY Check out this little puppy, being man-handled by a large, oaffish man (SEE: hands) who regarded my incessant vocal puppy meltdown as one of the signs of the apocalypse. It's amazing he agreed to the picture. AND LOOK! HE HAS YITTOW PINK NAY-OWS!!

Also, did you know that Antonio Banderas costs only $22.39 in Miami?


JK! His essence does. Now you too can smell like the worlds sweetest ballsack with Diavolo, which translates loosely into "Gaunt". Check out that ever-so-cut jawline. Looks like someone served their second chin divorce papers, with weekend visitation rights! I swear to God, that literally does not mean anything.

On the plane ride home, I took part in another feature that Delta Song has to offer: In-flight Trivia, an on-screen game where you test your smarts against everyone else on the plane. Since I was flying alone, I was too ashamed to act so childish on the way down, but on the way back, thanks to two fellas the row ahead who were in the heat of competition, I surrendered. The game asks you questions (sometimes extremely random - who knew the Wonderbra was invented in the early 60's?), and the faster you answer the more points you get. Then, it ranks everyone who's playing by score, letting you know their seat assignment as well.

Well. Larry in 24E was by far my number one competition. This cocksucker was like the Ken Jennings of Flight 1981, tapping the screen with such precision it seemed impossible to beat the guy. In fact, he was ranked as the 6th highest scorer who's EVER flown on the plane.

But finally, people, FINALLY my turn came to ask Larry in 24E "Who's My Bitch". Put me out, girl! I was on fire. Tip-tappin my way to the top scorer in Round #14, coming in at 7450 points out of roughly 10,000.

But that's when I saw it, friends. I WAS THE TOP SCORER TO EVER FLY ON FLIGHT 1981 DELTA SONG. In other words, I WAS THE SMARTEST PERSON TO EVER FLY IN THE PLANE! Needless to say, I never grew the nerve to pass seat 24E and take a good look at this "Larry" character, but in my own mind, he wasn't even a man. He was a giant brain soaking in a jar of formaldahyde, with a number of fancy looking wires and lights coming out of it. Body or not, this brain-in-jar got his fucking ass kicked.

Finally, I bring you pictures of a cat owned by a genius *LOUD COUGHING*. He took a penchant to my large red luggage, going so far as to actually get inside it to take a nap. Ironic, as he hates me.


ON IT.


IN IT.


The money shot.


 
© youcantmakeitup - Design by birdbranch
Site Meter