Come Fly With Me, Let's Fly, Let's Fly Away!

I'm going on a journey to a far away land. Leaving my sunny, 77 degree weather with clear views of Catalina and my roommate to go to scenic, COLD AS HELL Pittsburgh. Who wouldn't want a piece of this, amirightladies??

Don't get me wrong, I'm excited to go. This is the first time I'll be in the land of Erin, a dear friend of mine that I met online over 10 years ago and who I met for the first time last November, for my wedding. Also, Erin is getting married! So yay for weddings, and yay especially for the wedding of one of my nearest and dearest.

However. I hate to fly. I really, really hate it. I'm not a terrified flyer or anything. I used to fly fairly frequently when I was fulfilling my role as a one woman USO. I'd fly out to wherever the dude was stationed for a visit. I had, under my bathroom sink, a travel bag filled with duplicate products so that I wouldn't have to disrupt mine at home. Packing was easy, I knew the ins and outs of LAX, and I took great pains to take non stop flights.

What I hate the most about flying, I'm afraid, is security. It's never been a comfortable procedure (and rightly so), but I haven't flown since the new scanners and pat down procedures were implemented, and I am anxious. I haven't slept well for the past three nights knowing there is a possibility that I will be felt up by an airport employee, and I don't feel great about that. To say that I'm not touchy-feely is an understatement of epic proportion. I'm not really great with hugging people I know. And then I start to get all paranoid that because I'm worried about it, my behavior will trigger something and I'll be escorted into a back room. I can pretty much guarantee that if that does happen, you will see me on the news.
And I will look something like this.


I guess I'd better shower and shave my legs so I look and smell pretty for the nice agents. But before I go, here's some random useless info about yours truly!

A. Age: 28. I have become alarmingly forgetful when it comes to my own age, and that of those around me. I would say it's because it doesn't matter that much, but probably it's because I'm old now.

B. Bed size: Queen. I would love a California King someday, but until we win the lottery, that's not likely.

C. Chore that you hate: Dishes. I hate those mother effers so much.

D. Dogs: Are cool, if they belong to someone else. I'm a cat person, plus I am allergic to our Canine friends.

E. Essential start to your day: Sadly, Facebook. Gah, I've become a statistic.

F. Favorite color: Green! I look terrible in it, but I love a nice green.

G. Gold or Silver: Silver/White Gold. I just don't love the look of yellow gold on me.

H. Height: It depends on who's measuring. DMV says I'm 5'6" and a half. This chiropractor I went to once said I was 5'5", but looking back, I'm pretty sure they were just trying to sell me services.

I. Instruments you play: Cowbell. Oh, and I went to a drum circle not too long ago and now I'm pretty sure I'm the next Travis Barker.

J. Job title: Currently I am one of the Funemployed. Trying to find work is hard. That is why I must drum.

K. Kids: Not while I'm unemployed, but I would love to have a few one day.

L. Live: Gorgeous Southern California!

M. Mother’s name: Mom. Duh.

N. Nicknames: Rah, or any take on that. Sarahface. Wifey. Piehole.

O. Overnight hospital stays: Hmm. I think maybe never, except when I was born. Then again, I don't remember everything about my head injury from my bike accident, so I'd have to ask my mom.

P. Pet peeves: People who smack their lips when they chew, or to make a point about something tasting good. People who chew with their mouths open. Anything Rachael Ray says (Yum-O! EVOO! Smashed Potatoes! IS THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU, RACHAEL???!) I'm also hard of hearing, so I can't stand it when people don't repeat themselves for me. They'll mumble something, and I'll say, "I'm sorry?" and they'll either say "nevermind" or they'll just repeat one word. "The MOVIE." Seriously, dipwad, what about the movie?

Q. Quote from a movie: "It's all happening!"

R. Right- or left-handed: Right handed. Though like a true chubster, I can feed myself left handed if need be.

S. Siblings: God, there are so many of us...

T. Tattoos & Piercings: Ha! Okay, let's start with piercings: one, a curved barbell through my right eyebrow. Now for tattoos:

1. A tiny lavender cancer support ribbon on my left ankle.

2. A celtic trinity on my lower back, right side.
3. A Butterfly on my right shoulder, front.
4. A maiden-mother-crone symbol on my right wrist
5. A pair of dice on my left wrist.
6. An apple with a pencil stabbed through it on my right outer shoulder.
7. A Jack Skellington cupcake on my inner right ankle.
8. Cherry blossoms that cascade over my left shoulder
9. A tiny ice cream cone with a 13 in it that I got with my Aunt for 13 bucks on Friday the 13th.

U. Underwear: Strange category. I think everyone should wear it. I am pro-skivvy.

V. Vegetable(s) you hate: Okra. Yellow squash. Everything else is cool, though, but I am allergic to Jalapeno and Eggplant.

W. What makes you run late: Procrastination. I'll elaborate later.

X. X-Rays you’ve had: Tons and tons! Wrists, ankles, feet, lungs...

Y. Yummy food that you make: I hate to toot my own horn, but toot toot bitches! I rule in the kitchen. Anything I make is good.

Z. Zoo animal: Big cats! Tigers, Panthers, Lions. Kitty kitty kitty kitty!