There’s many reasons why
humans over consume booze.
One of those 4,891,492 reasons is travel.
Last week, I was en route to Iowa to see Aunt Crazy Pants after her first round of chemo.
She’s a jazz hander too!
I was also going to manhandle the twins while in the Hawkeye state.
Princess B turning into a Queen.
An early morning flight makes for one tired cowgirl, as I can remember when I’ve stayed up until 4:30am but haven’t had to wake up at that ungodly hour since my mother was feeding me formula from bottles. Bleary eyed and in dire need of a mimosa, I couldn’t figure how the fuck to use the machine to check in my luggage.
After being thisclose to a meltdown an agent came over and assisted my sorry ass, saying the machine was acting up (but I’m pretty sure it was user error). Bags checked and I was off to board a plane that was at full capacity with 170+ peeps. Just as we were about to taxi away from the gate, I heard a brief clicking sound followed by an announcement by the pilot that our plane had just been hit by lightning.
Yes, you heard me right. My motherfucking plane was hit by lightning. The wing of the plane to be precise and while this occurs in the air all of the time during storms, maintenance was going to take a peek to see if there was any damage. Funny thing is, it wasn’t even raining.
A beautiful day to be struck by lightning.
After deboarding that plane and hopping on another after an hour, as the aircraft was about to taxi away from the gate, the flight attendant came over the loudspeaker announcing “There are no more connecting flights to Des Moines today. You will be on your own for accomodations until tomorrow morning at 10am.”
Did I mention it was 9:30am when this was announced? So I’d basically have a 24 hour layover on my own dime. After five hours at the airport, being struck by lightning, boarding and deboarding two plans all before 10am, I ubered my ass home and hoped for good karma to come my way the next day.
Early birds hoping for good luck worms.
Next day was a flying success! I made it to Des Moines and to Aunt Crazy Pants’s palace just in time to make her my world famously bland potato soup.
Those who know me well can vouch for the severely deficient culinary skills I possess, so it was no surprise to my mother when I called to ask her how you know potatoes are done boiling. “When you can stick a fork in them.”
Fork me in the goat ass.
Fortunately, wine helped the ho-hum porridge seem a little more gourmet and was a hit with ACP.
Wine. Making dining fine since forever.
I was asking myself how my co-workers would function without me in the office and I got my answer early on Friday via an illustrated text message.
Reason 6,891,482 to inhale libations? Work environments that are bananas. Which is why it’s good to have a drinking buddy whom I left alone while in Iowa. Poor thing.
While my partner-in-work crime was cocktailing in solitude, I became the third wheel of my fave duo.
Trifecta of happy.
An impromptu family get together is always filled with shenanigans.
The family that parties together, hangovers together.
Especially when Aunt Crispie gets out her gigantic chalice and fills it with whatever liquor is lying around.
All business. Party business.
I was down with a glass of booze the size of my head
because it’s what I drink nightly .
You know what’s the best idea ever after mixing martinis, Aunt Crispie’s concoction and Skinny Pirates?
Fireball shots, of course.
Which lead to a photo shoot, naturally.
Gisele and Derek Zoolander are for hire.
The rest of the evening followed as such…
…and I was in dire need of hydration the next morning.
Pretty as a trashy princess.
I had to quench my liver because I sweet talked two of my cousins into joining me at the Iowa State Fair – my mothership. My most favorite day of the year (aside from my birthday and Christmas). The day I open mouth and insert whatever is covered in fried batter.
Fair bound baby!
My cousin Smarty Pants has accompanied me to the fair more times than he cares to admit. Saying that he doesn’t love it is an understatement. I don’t think he necessarily hates it but last time he came with me, he read The Economist while I scavanged through the animal barns.
No reading material needed this year as I drug both of their asses everywhere and forced them to capture every Kodak moment.
Nothing compares to Smarty Pants and his favorite hog.
I traipsed them through the animal barns while cousin ConMan was bitching about having to take his 49th photo of the day.
Get in the picture and shut the fuck up.
I also made my two Iowa State Cyclone fans stop at the Varied Industries building to visit my beloved University of Iowa booth where I settled for a pic with a plastic Herky the Hawk mascot instead of the real deal.
Not knowing how long I’d be at the fair (typically a 12 to 14 hour day for me but we got a late start), I forgot that I was wearing my prescription sunglasses as the sun went down. This worked out in my favor as our last stop was a walk down the bright lights of Midway to ride the double ferris wheel.
An asshat in night vision goggles.
A lady in line said that this was the last year for my fave ride but she couldn’t remember where she heard it. And I believe everything anyone tells me – including strangers. Can anyone from Iowa confirm this to be true?!
Say it ain’t so!
My sister texted to see if I was going to last until the 11pm fireworks.
You bet your ass I did.
Until next year…I’m on a strict diet of celery and Skinny Pirates.