A Comedy of Air-ors

Archer didn't sleep on the airplane. He didn't want to play with any of his toys either. He didn't want to watch his DVDs or play with his Etch O' Sketch. He didn't want to play with his spinny yoyo thingy or his Magna-Doodle or read any of his books. He didn't want to do anything but try to stand on my face and open and slam the window shade while simultaneously pressing the reading lights on and off. On and off and on and on and, yeah-- for five hours.

Archer, pictured above: the calm before the storm, gate 47A, LAX.

We arrived in Ft. Lauderdale at 5am yesterday morning after THE most uncomfortable flight of all time, exhausted and just plain ol' sad. Because it sucks staying up all night. Especially when you WANT to sleep and you're sick with a week long head cold that (shock!) does not feel any better after a cross-country Red-Eye flight with a titty-twistering toddler who thinks late-night airplane rides mean party-time. Ugh.

I would also like to take this opportunity to let American Airlines know that their decision to play High School Musical 2 on a Red-Eye is by far the lamest most idiotic thing ever. High School Musical 2 is not Red-Eye material. High School Musical 2 should not be screened on a plane at 2am, or anywhere for that matter when the only people who aren't fast asleep are parents of young children not amused by singing, dancing candy-coated tweens. And no offense to Zac Efron, but you're no Shia Labeouf, dude. Not even close.

Oh and the bag? The super-huge way-cute bag that I very proudly fit all of our airplane stuff in? Ha! Well! The damn thing was so heavy that Hal had to carry it to keep it from breaking completely. Because the straps did not appreciate being weighed down by so much unnecessary crap and tore significantly on both sides. The bag was as pathetic and broken as we... Oh, dear.

Of course, this is what I get for having a "plan".... To hell with what I said in my last post. What an amateur I was! An optimistic, naïve, amateur! Next time = No Red-Eye. No giant bag. No nothing.

Our family seen here during happier times: Lot B Shuttle, LAX.

In fact, screw flying. I'm walking home to Los Angeles next week. The thought of another flight makes me want to cry. In fact, I did (cry). On the beach this morning. Right before I passed out in the sand, exhausted, sick and totally beyond frustrated.

Agahkjsdgakjhjdhkjhsflajw acsnau3o828u41op923p1 !!!

GGC

...Cross-posted at Straight From the Bottle because I'm lazy and exhausted and am hijacking some neighbor's faulty Internet and have been trying to post this effing blog post for an absurd amount of time because I keep losing signal. And I feel like the Grinch Who Stole Thanksgiving when honestly, I really did want to take this time to post about how thankful I am for everything in my life because I really am thankful and have such tremendous blessings and this year has been so great and I love my family and my friends and 98% of the time, my life. And Thanksgiving is about appreciation and love and eating a shitload of meat (which is, in my vegopinion kind of gross) and family and pilgrims and togetherness and cranberry sauce out of the can (always seemingly better than the homemade stuff) and being thankful. And I truly am. Really. Happy Thanksgiving to all.

BRB

We're off to Florida for a week-long Thanksgiving holiday.
In the meantime, feel free to read about my giant momscout-sack and/or next summer's baby #2 mission.

See you on the other side (of the coast.)

GGC

666 Bloggies of Blog on the Blog

My library number from 1st grade to senior year of High School was "666"

We were all appointed a number when we started school, a number we were to keep until we graduated. At first I just thought, "cool! This will be easy to remember," then some kid pulled me aside and warned me that my books might be possessed by the devil. That 666 was Satan's phone number or I.D. or something. I was scared. I asked to trade in my library card but the librarian explained to me that the number was kind of like social security card for students and I couldn't just trade it in for another.

"Uh. Okay," I said.

Come Junior High, when the devil became cool and rock and roll and "devil horns, rah!" My 666 library card went from unnerving to totally bad ass. Guys totally dug it. Girls did, too. I totally flashed the triple 6's like a gang sign in the halls of Diegueno Jr. High (yes, I was blonde, but I was no Mischa, thankyouverymuch.)

I've had a soft-spot for the 666 ever since. We've had our ups and downs of course but come High School graduation, I was sad to the triple 6's go. Twas the end of an era, not to mention sucky to pay all those "lost book" late fees.

Anyway, the reason I bring this less than necessary piece of information to the attention of the interwebs is because this post marks my 666th here at Girl's Gone Child which is crazy to even think about. Because, 666 is like, whoa, a lot of posts.

Anyway... Thank YOU, dear readers for allowing me to bombard you with stories and ideas and videos and venting and navel-gazing and talk about poop-dreams and rapz and all kinds of useless information for the last two plus years. I so appreciate you putting up with my tomfoolery all this time. You rule.

GGC

And speaking of 666, congratulations to Brooke and Micah for getting your fabulous selves engaged. And in Bali, no less. (Micah used to have "666" on his license plate back in the ol' days. Coincidence? I think not.)