The day started out well enough – me wrapping up loose ends at work and making sure that things were in order, Blondie picking up the car from the rental place. I had spent a few hours the night before doing all my laundry and packing my (ridiculously over-sized) suitcase. I despise coming home to a messy house so I cleaned everything up and was ready to go.
Blondie picked me up and we were on our way to Edmonton. The flights out of Edmonton were $99 each way, out of Calgary it was almost $300 each way. I think it’s just a trick to get people to actually go up there.
Anyway, we made it and did some shopping at West Edmonton Mall. At 8 pm we decided we were hungry and it was a good idea to grab dinner at a restaurant. By 9 after eating our appetizer and still waiting for the salads to show up we started to panic a little. We were supposed to check in at 9:20.
We ate so fast I don’t think the waitress even realized we had gotten our meals yet but we threw money down and bolted. With no road map and no sense of direction, we ended up a tad lostfinding the road to the airport (which is actually 20 minutes outside of Edmonton). We finally pulled up to the airport at 9:45 at which point we were freaking out.
Blondie called the car rental place since we couldn’t find them anywhere. Maybe because they weren’t actually located at the airport.
We drove towards the rental place, me on the phone with the rental guy giving us directions, Blondie practically hysterical beside me. Luckily we ended up behind an Enterprise van and followed him into the rental place. We ran inside, threw the paper work on the desk.
“Did you girls need a receipt?”
Yeah, let’s just wait the 15 minutes while you check the car over, refill the gas tank, go over the paperwork and print out that reciept. Or you know, we could try to still catch our plane
We ran back outside into the shuttle van where our driver made small talk and drove fairly fast back to the airport. Very nice guy (thanks again Terry) but he didn’t really have the sense of urgency we needed.
Time? 10:10 pm, 15 minutes until take-off. So Blondie and I run to the front desk, throw our bags on the scales (mine teetering dangerously between 49.5 and 49.9 lbs) and grab our boarding passes. Blondie reaches in her purse for her passport and sitting there are the keys for the rental car.
After debating pretending we didn’t notice or calling the car rental place we decided that 10 minutes was plenty of time to return the keys, especially since the other set was all the way back in Calgary.
“Um, hi…this is one of the girls who was just in an uber hurry…? So we um, still have the uh…car keys…”
Luckily Terry wasn’t too far away. We ran the keys out to him at which point he told us we would have been charged for the entire week we were away if we hadn’t returned them.
Blondie and I ran through the airport (of course our gate was the very last one in the whole freaking airport) and panting and gasping collapsed into the airport chaise-lounges just as they called pre-boarding.
After checking our boarding passes we realized that boarding time was 10:25 – our flight didn’t actually take off until 10:50.
We’re nothing if not blondes.
One of my closest friends is a blonde (not surprising you say? Since I am a blonde and we tend to move together like a pack of lions stalking our prey? Well, you are correct). Anyhow, she is an intelligent girl with a degree in English and plenty of life experience.
She is actually a natural brunette, but the blonde definitely suits her better. There are times when Blondie says or does things that make everyone around her pause and think “yes, the blonde stereotype is still alive”.
Her and I went to get our passports one cold day in January. We both had our forms filled out, passport photos in hand, waiting in line to talk to the officer inside. I went in first and the woman checked over my forms twice before handing me a number and calling “next!”
Blondie walks in, lays her form on the desk and says: “Um, ok, so I’m not really sure what to put for hair color. Should I put my natural hair color or the color that my hair is now?”
The woman peered at her over her wire-rimmed glasses and with a slight frown said: “Just put blonde, honey”.
Now skip on over and visitBee oh and read my post too: Deal Breakers
I hate traveling to places that I know nothing about. I watch the Amazing Race, I know what those people look like. I don’t want to be one of them. “Why isn’t anyone speaking English??” Well you fucktard, you are in China. There’s your first clue.
Anyway, to prevent this from happening, I always like to do a bit of research. I went to Cuba with ten girls, so before we left I read up on the history of the last one hundred years. Che Guevera? Check. Fidel Castro and his little band of governement-over-throwing militants hiding out in the mountain ranges? Check. Cuban Trade Embargo? Check. I was an expert on the topic (Side note: did you know that JFK was going to end the embargo, but the week before he was to sit down with Castro, he was shot? Um…Conspiracy?)
What else I learnt was to bring shampoo, soap, toys, crayons, clothes you never wear, spices, first aid supplies, cream, toothpaste, gum etc. They have none of this stuff, or what they have is really poor quality. We left gifts on the pillows in the morning and in return we got little animals shaped out of our towels.
The first night we were there, we all decided to go party in Veradero. At one peso per beer how could you go wrong? Well in this outdoor/indoor bar – walls but no roof? Check. Bathrooms but no toilets? Check. Trees growing out of the dance floor? Check. We all drank copious amounts of alcohol and by the time we decided to leave, we were all stumbly, hooker-drunk losers. I grabbed one of the girls and we headed back to the resort.
In the condition I was in, I never should have tried to speak to the cab driver in Spanish but I did. I was trying to say “¡Es tan oscuro aquí! La noche es tan negra” (It’s so dark here! The night is so black) because it is literally BLACK out. You can’t see ten feet in front of you. I ended up saying something along the lines of: “¡La noche es tan oscura como un asno del negro!”. I still go red thinking about it.
Not sure where I came up with that, but I didn’t realize what I’d said until I told my dad about the cab driver giving me a very strange look. After I told him the sentence, he laughed for about five minutes before letting me in on what it meant. The night is as dark as a black man’s ass. Nice one Alice. Way to not be an ignorant tourist.
Not that kind of dream, as much as I want to change the world I’m not quite at that highly intellectual level of thinking where I actually have a plan to do so, but I digress.
No, the dream I had was one in which I had a child. Not just had a child but was pregnant with said child, gave birth and then had a baby. Who then grew into a small walking non-talking entity. She was super cute but seriously WTF?!
I read somewhere that if you dream you’re pregnant your body is trying to tell you something (like, um, that you’re PREGNANT). Now I’m normally fairly good with my birth control; Nuvaring – love it! Seriously ladies this is the birth control of the future. I’ve tried the Pill (ugh, who can remember that shit? I can’t remember to take my diet pills with every meal for a week to drop 5 pounds for houseboating – how the hell can I remember a pill every. Single. Day. No thanks). I’ve tried the Depo shot and if I had a horrible enemy girl that I hated I might inject her with it in her sleep if she was extra super bitchy or something but other then that I wouldn’t give that thing to anyone. I gained 35 pounds in a month (thank gawd I’ve lost THAT), I had super PMS (all the time) and mood swings like you wouldn’t believe. Um, ya no wonder it’s 98 percent accurate. Who the hell wants to sleep with a fat bitchy girl? So I would say Nuvaring is the way to go.
ANYWAY, this month I was LESS then careful. As in I didn’t put it in. At. All. Whoops. Anyway O/N and I had a drunken night (broken shower? Check. Broken bed? Check. Birth control? uhh…not so much) but I wasn’t really worried about it because I think I may be infertile anyway. Until I had a DREAM about being fucking pregnant.
Anyway I woke up in a bit of a panic and telling myself that I was definitely pregnant because I feel fat and bloaty, I’ve been eating like crap all weekend and had cravings for weird things, oh gawd and when was my period due…??
Oh. Right. I guess that would explain all the bad food and fatness. Lets just say I’ve never been so happy to be sportin and if you read Mean Girls Guide to Glory you will get that reference. http://thegloriouslifeof.blogspot.com/2008/02/what-we-mean-girls-are-really-saying.html
I guess that’s what my body was telling me with the pregnancy dream.
My apologies to the boys who read this. Some things you just have to get off your chest.
Mostly I feel safe in this city, some days, not so much. Today the president of my company, trying to be helpful, advised me to pick up some bear-spray. I completely misunderstood and in my mind the conversation went like this:
The Pres: “Alice, do you have hairspray in your purse?”
Me: *thinking: what is wrong with my hair?*
“Um..no, but there’s some in the bathroom”
The Pres: *looking confused*
“Oh. Well you should think about getting some. For your purse.”
Me: “Oh…ok, I’ll look into it…”
Meanwhile, I dart to the bathroom and realize that he must have meant BEAR spray. We had been talking about a women getting attacked downtown.
He’s probably really confused as to why there’s bear spray in the womens washroom.