A Birthday Celebration for a Committed Drinker

         Birthdays are a magical time in some one's life where they have full permission to finish an entire bottle of Grey Goose in the afternoon without even the bat of an eye from his or her peers. I took full advantage of this opportunity on Thursday to celebrate my still being alive after being on this Earth for a quarter of a century. To fully pay homage to the fact that after twenty five years, I still have a moderately attractive hair line (down South), I thought it would be most appropriate to host a party at my apartment filled with a bevvy of alcoholic beverages. I like to think of it as a bachelor's party right before you attend alcoholic's anonymous. I needed this party to be the most exciting thing since the Shake Weight for Men. I put my best foot forward (the left one) and put together a delicious evening of pizza and Maker's Mark which ultimately ended up resulting in the management of my building confronting me later about the hysterical antics. No arrests were made. The court date is still pending. Here's how it all went down.

         I arrived home around 6 o'clock to prepare my apartment. The place was a DISASTER! I had to clean my entire place, complete a naked wall college, arrange a floor collage, get the food and drinks ready, and blow up balloons. I was in desperate need of some black-up. So I called B-More. She came over, put on some Pandora and went straight to blowing. She is a girl after my own heart. What I didn't realize was that the balloons I had purchased were the tiny skinny ones. The first one she blew up exploded in her face; at least she got a happy ending. Once B-More finally successfully blew up one of the tiny red balloons, it ended up looking like one of those long stringy things that hangs off of a chicken's chin. This was clearly going to be a disaster. After running around like a chicken with its head cut off in my blue underpants clearing tables, putting out fires, randomly throwing plastic stars on the floor and generally acting like David Hasslehoff on a drug binge, I managed to complete the decorations and preparations for the party with the help of B-More. I quickly put on my birthday outfit (a black suit with one nipple out) and swiped some delicious Old Spice under my arms and asscrack. The invitations said to be at my place at 7:30pm and I just completed my deodorant application just in the nick of time.

         I made some drinks for B-More and I. I figured we could get the party started as people would be arriving. Seated on a kitchen chair in her leather jacket, B-More looked up from her half finished rum and coke and said, "Where is everybody?". It was eight o'clock at this point. Time travels fast when you're drinking. Before either of us knew it, we were both on drink number two looking like the odd couple. Some minutes later, I heard the door swing open. It was Daddy Long Legs! Donning a purple shirt and thick rimmed glasses, he burst into my apartment with joy and exuberance. I peed a little. I began preparing more beverages of the whiskey variety and enjoyed the amniotic music blaring from B-More's Pandora. I decided that I was going to make gourmet pizzas in celebration of a quarter of a century. I did not want to cook anything too high maintenance but I still wanted it to feel somewhat classy, thus preparing the toppings myself. I also thought it was a brilliant idea on account of the amount of Black people attending. I knew that had I prepared a meal at a specific time, it would be cold by the time the majority of the African-Americans showed up. With four pizzas at my disposal, I would surely be able to serve something hot for everyone on the hour. I began with a garlic shrimp pizza. After I shoved the pizza into the oven-vagina, the door burst open again with more people.

          The next guest to arrive at the party was Shoniqua. She was wearing pumps and a leopard print dress that would certainly stop any heterosexual man of the African-American variety dead in his tracks. With her curly long (new with blond highlights) hair just cascading down her back, I knew it would be only a matter of time until she would be receiving alimony from an unsuspecting basketball player. Shoniqua is a very aggressive woman (you have to be when you date the Blacks), and with no hesitation at all, she briskly grabbed the martini shaker and took over some of the brunt work to allow me to socialize with my friends. Everybody needs a Shoniqua in their life. Someone who you will let you know unapologetically when you need to calm down or step it up (in my case it's usually the former).

        At this point, B-More was feeling somewhat anxious to the fact that she had yet another event to attend in the evening. I was quite amazed that even four people had shown up only a half an hour after the proposed start time of the party. I had assumed that I would probably be drinking by myself a good hour into the party before any African-American showed up. This was great for B-More because it would have been slightly awkward to have left me by myself. She informed me that she was jacket-less. It's November, and although it's Texas, her nipples never would have been able to withstand the cold treacherous wind of the South. I took her to Steve Urkel's closet (I use my roommate's closet to sift through my hefty outerwear collection). Many of my pieces are considered unisex. B-More selected a shiny pleather jacket from New York and paired it with a fabulous red scarf of mine. I do not know that she was in search of male genitalia that evening but this newly found outfit definitely gave her at least the option. If there's one thing that I've learned in twenty five years is that you have to get it while you can.

          Shortly before B-More left, my roommate showed up. I refer to him as Steve Urkel because of the overwhelmingly striking resemblance. He looked pretty amazing in his little suit. It impressed me that he dressed up in his own house to pay homage to Brown and Thin. People like Steve Urkel need to be celebrated for their generosity and attention to detail. He prepared himself a beverage and went on his merry way, making his rounds to the different people at the party. The music died down because of the fact that B-More took her Pandora with her. Daddy Long Legs fixed that problem by generously donating his iPod filled with music of the Black 90s variety. A girl couldn't ask for anything more.

         The dynamic duo was next to arrive. This was of course Caramel Barbie and her husband Lucky Charms. Caramel Barbie appears exactly as her nickname describes. She is tall and statuesque with the delicious addition of a bright red faux hawk. Her husband is less gifted on the vertical end of things yet makes up for it by having the most amazing hair EVER! I can't even begin to describe the deliciousness that is bestowed on top of his head! His hair curls very tightly just like Goldie Locks. As Lucky Charms walked through my apartment, I noticed that his long tendrils were bouncing up and down to the beat of the music. I was absolutely mesmerized. I could barely hold my drink straight. As the beautifully odd couple sat down, I quickly started mixing their beverages. For Lucky Charms, I prepared him the feature whiskey beverage complete with Maker's Mark bourbon, lemon juice, orange juice, agave nectar, and a plethora of muddled strawberries. For Caramel Barbie, a self professed "non drinker", I gingerly dropped just a suggestion of Disaronno into an ice filled glass, and topped the rest off with cranberry juice. You have to know your customers.

        At this point, the first pizza had been served, the second pizza was in the oven (spinach and feta cheese, recommended by Caramel Barbie), I was frantically making beverages, and I was on my fourth drink. So I apologize that my recollection of the rest of the evening is somewhat of a blur. I remember Tuscaloosa, Naomi, Charlie Brown, and Earth Mother coming in all around the same time. This served as a challenge for me as a hostess because each of these people have very distinct and separate drinking styles. Tuscaloosa is an easy to please heavy weight. He's the kind of bitch that can drink pretty much anything and will be happy with it as long as his cup remains full (a girl I can relate to). Charlie Brown also loves the hooch but after drink number three (especially if I am the one making them) will probably soon be found asleep on some one's couch. Earth Mother LOVES a sweet drink but is probably limited only to one and a half beverages over a three hour period. She gets drunk really fast which often results in much hilarity and some very good advice. Naomi is a full fledged alcoholic. I have still yet to determine whether or not he can outdrink me but what I will say is that it is quite clear that he is trying to give both me and Robert Downey Jr. a run for our money. Double fisting would be more than necessary for Naomi (if I had a dollar....). I served him a whiskey beverage (which basically ended up being straight alcohol) AND a cosmo stronger than The Rock on steroids. I believe he was at least moderately satisfied.

           A cluster of balloons proceeded the entrance of the next guest. I could barely see her face through the plethora of floating delightfulness that cascaded in front of her. One of the balloons was actually in the shape of Spongebob Squarepants. Only her singing voice of "The Chicken Dance" informed me on who it was. Applebum brought her Grannysmiths to the party! She carried with her, a travel mug filled with mango margarita mix. I love a girl who travels with liquor in the evening in her vehicle. Her breasts looked amazing as usual. In my state of drunkenness, I sincerely wanted to cop a feel (for just a quick second). I do recall at some point that she dry humped me for a moment or five. I took the morning after pill the next day just to be on the safe side.

        I felt very touched that so many of my co-workers had shown up to support me. Pilar ended up being the only one who couldn't come on account of her having diarrhea (She apparently had a mishap with an enchilada). What was beginning to turn into a pre-Christmas work extravaganza was quickly broken up by the attendance of the first non-work patron. In walked a very special friend of mine whom will be referred to as Betty Boop. I cannot stress enough that Betty Boop is a complete nut case and I can't get enough of it! Betty Boop talks like a cross between a Midwestern weather woman and a lounge singer from Las Vegas. She has a deep sexy voice that often lingers way too long in her vowels. I feel like it takes five minutes before I can even focus in on what she is saying on account of me being overtaken by her ridiculous way of speaking. I don't know where she learned how to talk like that but I need to find out so I can go to that school of thought! She also has a bob which adds to the insanity. Betty Boop has gigantic fun balloon breasts that compete comparably to Applebum's. She came bursting into the party with blue eyeshadow, bright red Cabaret lipstick, a Black dress with matching pumps, and Black laced gloves like she was about to perform a number from the musical Chicago. I need not forget to mention the fact she was also proceeded by a bevvy of gigantic balloons (which by the way were still not as big as her breasts). With her, she brought her boyfriend Rod Stewart. If you saw this man, you would immediately understand why he has this nick name. With spiked hair, high cheek bones, and the nose of a woodpecker, this man clearly needs to have a reunion tour. The dynamic duo began introducing their crazy selves to everybody at the party. Betty Boop placed her own six pack of Heineken in my refrigerator and had a gay old time just acting a fool around total strangers. That's my kind of bitch!

        After pizza number two and beverage number one hundred seven had been served, this seemed like an appropriate time to start opening presents while I still was able to maintain an upright position. Perhaps you will notice a common theme amongst the birthday gifts....

Naomi brought me a 750 mL bottle of Ciroc Peach. This shit JUST came out on the market. I figure he had to go through the Chinese mafia to get his hands on the stuff. I immediately got an erection after feasting my eyes on the coral colored bottle. My cosmos will never be the same.

Charlie Brown presented me with a bottle of Red Zinfandel. I have been in a serious relationship with Zinfandel for quite some time which began in my early twenties with his evil twin sister, White Zinfandel. We have never gotten along since but I am willing to rekindle the spark I once had with the White Zinfandel and transfer it to the Red all thanks to the generous donation of Charlie Brown.     

Earth Mother bought the most beautiful bottle of Pinot Grigio that I have ever seen. It's shape is quite phallic. In fact, it could probably double as a woman's sexual device. Two birds with one stone! Thank you Earth Mother! Your gift will be enjoyed by all!

Daddy Long Legs gets the award for presenting me with the Blackest gift of all. From him, I received a 375 mL bottle of Crown Royal BLACK. Now I love Crown Royal, it is delicious beyond belief (with coke in the evening or coffee in the morning). But the BLACK shit is off the chain. It is no joke! It also comes in the most adorable little purple bag with golden string. In the birthday bag, he also included a bottle of Vanilla Coke for pairing. That is some thoughtful shit bitch!

B-More reached out to the entire community with her gift. She brought a delicious snack for everyone to enjoy. It was gummy bears soaked  in Malibu! In my mind, I can't see this being enjoyable. However, once you try it, you cannot deny the sensuality and addictive quality of this infectious treat. The combination of childish nature of the gummy bears and the pedophilic quality of coconut flavored rum is undeniable! Thanks B-More!

Caramel Barbie and Lucky Charms are just a gift on their own for being so cute that you wanna pinch the shit out of them. They brought me a bottle of Pinot Noir. Here's the story behind this beverage of choice. Shoniqua is a BIG fan of Pinot Noir and thus I have been sampling it for a while. More recently I have been ordering it when I am out and feeling the need for red wine in my blood stream. Now, I drink it ALL year round regardless of the temperature outside. The best part is that the bottle had a gift card for iTunes attached to it. There is nothing better than listening to the Spice Girls while intoxicated. People just know me so well.

Applebum got me a bartender's guide which is similar to dumping an unsupervised toddler off at the Neverland Ranch. In the party bag was also a pair of yellow panties with black piping around the edges. The underwear are both sexy and youthful. I feel like these briefs will stand the test of time. I am determined to wear them on my fiftieth birthday as part of the launching of my mid-life crisis. Last but not least, in her gift bag, was a ridiculous book called "PEOPLE WHO DESERVE IT: Socially Responsible Reasons to Punch Someone In the Face". This book addresses people who are belligerently ignorant and equally annoying. Clearly this topic is one close to my heart for the fact that I love making fun of people who are ridiculous all the while recognizing that sometimes it's me who is the one that is talking loud in the movie theatre.

         Clearly, my friends were trying to send me two messages with their presents. One, "Clearly you're an alcoholic.". And two, "Go ahead bitch, drink up. You only live once!". I love them for that. There were also a few who gave me non-alcoholic gifts. These people I believe were trying to tell me "Clearly  you're an alcoholic and you need to stop drinking, so please adopt a new hobby". Here's what these lovely people presented to me.

Steve Urkel gets the award for getting me the most homosexual gift of all. He got me a beautifully wrapped bar of chocolate flavored soap with a matching chocolate flavored body scrub! After one whiff I almost collapsed possibly resulting in my being impregnated by Kobe Bryant. That would have been one hell of a birthday!

Tuscaloosa also went very Black in the gift exchange. He bought me a delicious pair of light weight pants with a detachable belt. He didn't stop there though, he knows that I'm a ho that needs a full outfit. He completed the look with a t-shirt that read "Don't hate the PLAYA". I now feel fully prepared for Compton. (The pants fit perfectly by the way despite my skepticism. Tuscaloosa clearly understands the shape of my tiny calves.)

Betty Boop and Rod Stewart really just kept the crazy train going with their birthday presentation. Through the slew of floating balloons and streamers, I managed to rummage my way to the bottom of the blue bag. Inside was a collection of ridiculous novelty items that were right up their crazy alley. First were a pair of glasses with eyes that detached hanging on coils and bounced up and down. I, now have one party trick covered! Next was a collection of false teeth that looked quite decayed and perfect for Halloween! I love practical gifts that minimize my shopping duties for costumes! Lastly was a beautiful contraption that resembled a cheerleading baton. It was a blue stick with silver Barbershop type swirls of the glitter variety circling up towards the end which found a long iridescent streamer attached. I was immediately hooked. I began gallivanting around my apartment like a total idiot mesmerized by my own lack of talent.

            As the culmination of the gift unwrapping began and pizza number three was out the oven, suddenly the lights turned off. Candles appeared in the darkness as a hush fell over the room. It was Evangeline, with a surprise birthday cake. I slowly wandered into the center of my living room, turned to face all of the attendees and collapsed on the floor in astonishment. My friends then proceeded to perform the CREEPIEST rendition of "Happy Birthday" in the history of mankind. This clearly could have doubled as an opening scene to Saw XII! During this song, I began performing movements of the stripper variety which really was a nod to the Dallas obsession with naked dancers. I, of course, performed all of these amazing moves fully clothed. I blew out the candles (barely) and turned the lights back on. I ran over to Evangeline to discover that she had prepared me a coffee cake! I LOVE coffee cake more than pornographic bloopers (hilarious when you're drunk). Pandemonium swept over the crowd as the cake was devoured. It was absolutely delicious! I decided this was the most appropriate time for the first costume change of the evening. I stripped off the suit and donned some simple jeans and a bright orange top with grey stripes from H&M. My cleavage was amazing.

         Shortly afterward there was a knock at the door. Naomi informed me that the management of the building was responding to a noise complaint. I briskly walked down the hallway toward my front door. "PUT YOUR DRINK DOWN HO!" Applebum yelled at me. I placed my drink on Steve Urkel's shelf and made my way to the door and was greeted by a very LARGE Black man in a yellow shirt. "You gotta keep it down bro" said Sug Knight. I thought about offering him an alcoholic beverage to take the edge off. What the hell was this guy's problem? It was barely eleven o'clock! Does he not have anything better to do than bother a bi-racial Canadian during his celebration of a quarter century of life? I recanted on the offering of alcohol and decided to play dumb. "Oh every one's leaving so it's no problem", I said. I was lying straight through my vagina.

        I returned to the party filled with festive happy faces. I poured myself libation number seven. After taking one sip I was invited over to Shoniqua and Evangeline's apartment just down the hall for an additional birthday surprise. I had to think on my feet so I immediately brought out all of my pornography (in paperback variety) and snuck out of my own party leaving the guests entertained with images of nudity. I arrived at the Shoniqua/Evangeline woman-cave and was greeted with a large table decorated from one end to the other with gifts. Bows, ribbons, and streamers were cascadeing back and forth, up and down the presents. It looked like a birthday party for Dora the Explorer. I was thrilled! Evangeline's presents were all in shiny purple bags. Shoniqua had more of an eclectic approach with an array of bright colors. With a fluttering heart I began opening the presents. Here's what the dynamic duo graciously gave to me for my birthday:

Shoniqua, keeping in the theme of my being an alcoholic, gave me not one but TWO bottles of alcoholic libation. The first of which was St. Germain. St. Germain is the first liqueur in the world created in the artisanal French manner from freshly handpicked elderflower blossoms. Apparently it goes quite well with vodka and champagne! I look forward to many nights of shaking up cocktails of the French variety while eating oysters and growing a beard. The second bottle appeals to a different part of my personality; the pornographic part. This came in the form of a delicious shaped bottle filled with a mystery coral colored liquid called OR-G! I am not exactly sure what it is but I was informed that it is of the Alizé variety! I can probably drink it on the rocks or while lying on my back. No gift of the alcoholic variety is complete without a method of concealing the fact that I am an alcoholic. Shoniqua took a nod from Applebum and provided me with a green thermos complete with attached plastic straw that pops up like an Asian erection when you slide the plastic lid. It will be a little secret between she and I (and perhaps everyone reading this). Only Shoniqua will know truly what is going on when I break out the green cup! In another gift bag, I found a three piece set of bowls with tiny lids and spoons from Costa  Rica! There was also a matching holder with three spaces for each bowl to sit in. Perfect for salsas, tappas, or olive tapenades! If this doesn't lead to sexual intercourse, NOTHING will! The last and by far my most favorite gift of all came from an AMAZING store called Ross. It was a large jar of honey. Shoniqua recognized the fact that I enjoy making drinks using agave and honey. What Shoniqua failed to realize was that on the label it clearly read "Honey made from organic RAPEseed"! Once I read the label out loud to her, Shoniqua collapsed in hysterics resulting in an amazing birthday moments. It turned out that the molested honey was quite delicious! Hugs and kisses to Shoniqua!

Evangeline got me the sexiest cutting board I have ever seen. Also from Costa Rica, it featured several different woods from the country, all shellacked to preserve the intricate details of the tree. I will certainly use this as a presentational tool on my next date to fully seal the deal on sexual intercourse (even though the Costa Rican bowls will probably secure that already). Next, was a round wooden serving tray that spins around like a top. This was perfect! I would simply place the Costa Rican bowls on top of the Costa Rican cutting board on top of the spinning wooden serving tray and I would be the next Martha Stewart! I had visions of being a celebrity already! Evangeline also hand painted a framed picture featuring Yours Truly, Shoniqua, Evangeline, and Simba from the time we all went to the auction block...sorry I mean rodeo in Forth Worth! GOOD TIMES! Last but not least, Evangeline presented me with a gift that would surely make my Mother's head spin with joy. A real genuine WOK! I was too excited for words. To think of all the delicious noodle-based meals I could prepare in that wonderful dish! Not only would I be the next Martha Stewart but I could be the Japanese version too! The best part is that Evangeline told me you can even make crepes in the wok. It would be a nod to my French Canadian heritage. I just needed to be sure that I didn't channel Applebum and light my kitchen on fire while using the Japanese contraption.

          Completely overwhelmed with joy, I returned to my apartment to find the remainder of my guests deeply wrapped in the genitalia filled pages of my pornographic books while sipping on their beverages and nibbling on the last of the pizza. I am so glad that everybody was having a good time (despite having to turn the music down thanks to Sug Knight). Earth Mother at this point was slurring slightly which was a perfect indication to me that we truly had had a good time. As a final costume change, I  stripped off all of my clothes and donned my new found pedophilic underwear courtesy of Applebum. I walked the final guests to the door around 12:30. I pranced around the hallway with nothing on but my panties. As Applebum turned the corner I flashed her my birthday cakes.

         I returned to my apartment successfully having evaded being arrested on the grounds of lewd activity and/or public nudity of the Canadian variety. I took one look at my empty apartment and all I could see were a pile of unopened bottles of liquor, a floor covered in shiny plastic stars, and a ceiling filled with balloons. To top it off, there were still some pieces of cake left! This was the best day EVER! I grabbed a piece of coffee cake, poured myself my eighteenth and last libation, wandered over to my room, collapsed on my bed and fell asleep with a smile on my face and crumbled cake glued to the side of my mouth.

Happy 25th!

On a serious note (and you know this is rare), THANK YOU so much everybody who came and supported me last Thursday! You ALL went above, beyond, and completely over the top to make my day so special. You are amazing! You made my day, week, and month. I look forward to the next twenty five years and hope that you will be able to celebrate those days with me too! MUAH!

An International Crisis of Insomnia (My Trip to Belize)

         As I slowly venture into my late twenties, I am noticing that the ability to stay awake is becoming increasingly more difficult. During the night, even with copious libations to assist me, I have trouble falling and/or staying asleep which leads to a disastrous next day where I am fighting my own body to remain standing on two feet without collapsing. I have come to find that I am not alone in this predicament. This epidemic of insomnia became quite apparent amongst my counterparts on my recent trip to Belize. There were many occasions when random individuals would simply pass out like Lindsay Lohan at a rave due to their lack of rest the previous night. As I kept witnessing people become taken over by the sleep demon, I became more and more aware of the fact that my generation is incapable of keeping themselves awake for long periods of time. I suppose that the urgency and accessibility of the internet has truly bread a culture that demands things immediately and in short bursts of energy. This contributes to the idea that once an intense, energy filled moment of thirty seconds is over, the only thing left to do is crash. This culture is very similar to an energy drink. During the times in Belize when I wasn't passed out myself, I thoroughly enjoyed witnessing other people bare a striking resemblance to Amy Winehouse.

           The first location of passing out was on the actual airplane on our way to Central America. This came as no surprise because of the fact that it was five o'clock in the morning! Unfortunately, I was not able to experience any of the hilarity induced by company members drooling on each other. Applebum informed me afterwards that EVERYONE was dead asleep as we descended into Belize. Later that same day after we landed, our hostess named Malibu took us do a delicious restaurant. It was on an outdoor deck looking out on the Caribbean sea. We were underneath a gigantic hut made of straw, complete with wooden railings all around the deck. It was gorgeous and the food was delicious. Despite the fact that I had previously experinced an alcohol-induced nap on the plane three hours prior, I still hadn't had my full share of beauty rest. I became the first victim (after arriving in Belize) to fall under the Caribbean spell of involuntary slumber. The fried snapper I had consumed must have been mighty delicious because only a few minutes after my plate was taken away I was snoring loudly in my chair with my head practically in my own lap. Applebum and Caramel Barbie both seized the opportunity by taking full advantage of my vulnerable slumber and took pictures of me in a state of sleep in nothing but a purple titty top. When I became aware of these photographs later in the trip, I was completely horrified. I need to change the name of my blog to Brown and Fat to most accurately describe the images that came from my restful slumber. Apparently, when I fall asleep, I turn into an incarnation of Chef from South Park. I don't know how this transformation happens but what I do know is that I looked like an absolute heifer in the photographs that Applebum and Caramel Barbie took of me. It was the most unfortunate thing since Geri Haliwell left the Spice Girls. From the moment I saw those abysmal photographs, I immediately decided that it was imperative that I begin a water diet as soon as I returned to America. I refuse that people will come to my funeral, peer into the open casket and see a Brown Teletubby.

           The next occasion of Rufee-induced slumber was on board the Water Taxi heading back to Belize City from our day-cation on the tourist island of San Pedro, on day number two of our trip. We boarded the boat after a long day of shopping and restful antics. We quickly sped off to the destination on an hour and a half trek. Only a few minutes into the trip, Applebum's head slowly began descending towards her vagina. With every bump along the water, her head bobbled up and down like it belonged on some one's dashboard. I believe it was Evangeline who caught every moment of this fabulous event on video which features Shoniqua laughing hysterically in the background and ends with Applebum trying to smack the camera person. How easily entertained I am. Next on the docket was Naomi, who  fell asleep like a true thug with his right hand at his penis and the other holding his papaya shaped head up. If 50 Cent were to ever take Percocet, this is what I imagine it would look like. Jesus has proved to me that I can only laugh at someone else's misfortune for so long until I become victim to the same unfortunate situation only left to laugh at myself to avoid crying. So of course, not too long after witnessing the hilarious antics of my peers passing out, before I knew it, I was out like a light. I do this thing when I fall asleep in public, where I slowly lean like a wilting plant to one side and then the next. At no time do I actually fall into an unsuspecting victim seated next to me. Instead, I simply hover over them, only to return back to neutral seconds later asleep the whole time. Daddy Long Legs informed me that I was had been engaging in that activity for quite some time while on the boat, unbeknownst to me. He reiterated the fact that I came within incredibly close proximity to his right shoulder during my state of slumber but never made contact with his body as he was seated next to me. He told me that he felt the urge to simply grab my watermelon sized head and place on his shoulder shelf as to eliminate the annoyance of my precariously balanced head.

          Thankfully I woke up early enough in the trip to witness one of the most unfortunate and hysterical sleepers of them all. My boss, Queen Jemima had also been visited by the slumber fairy quite early in the trip. I missed the beginnings of this event on account of my sleeping. When I woke, I just saw all of my co-workers flashing pictures with their cell phone cameras. I had no idea what was going on. Was J. Lo on board? They were taking pictures of my boss that were perhaps just as unfortunate as the ones I had been victim to earlier. Queen Jemima somehow fell asleep with her hand sprawled holding her own face up with her elbow pressed into her thigh. This was a sight to behold. With each bump in the sea travel, Queen Jemima bobbed to and fro yet somehow maintained the orientation of her hand and head. She was fully commited to providing the visual requirements for an unfortunate photographic opportunity. I am so glad that so many of my comrads were able to capture a full record of this unfortunate event. Otherwise, I may have never fully seen the fruits of the excursion.

           On the last night in Belize City, I was drunk (as I am every night whether on vacation or not). I was making my last indentation into the large bottle of Caribbean rum I had purchased called KUKNAT. As I took one of my several swigs of the evening, in walked a clown car of peers from my company. Earth Mother, Tuscaloosa, Applebum, and Charlie Brown came waltzing through the door. Naomi and I were just chilling, each with our own beverage of choice at the time. Before I even knew what was happening, half of my co-workers were setting up shop in my hotel room. I offered Earth Mother a drink. When she accepted the offer, I made a conscious choice to prepare her a drink that was comprised of Coconut rum rather than the extra strong potent liquor that Naomi had purchased even though he offered to let her drink it. I'm glad that I experienced my personal moment of sobriety. Otherwise, I never would have toned down Earth Mother's beverage which would have led to international pandemonium on account of her being somewhat of a light weight. After five minutes with my cocktail, I came to find that Earth Mother was feeling quite amazing! I always know when Earth Mother is truly having a good time because she begins to speak at a volume that would cause a person in a coma to wake up. I, in my moment of calculation, made the very decisive of choice on waiting at least twenty minutes before offering a second libation. This meant that I had to pace my  own drink as to not be left out in a state of sobriety. Charlie Brown had one drink and immediately passed out in a seated position on the floor. I wish I could do that. Do you know how much money I would save? Tuscaloosa and Applebum went back to their rooms to get their beauty sleep. This left Earth Mother and I to chat it up at an incredibly ridiculous volume. It's amazing to me how belligerence is so infectious. A good hour into our conversation, we were rudely interrupted by a sound similar to that of a wounded bear. Naomi was snoring, LOUD! Earth Mother and I looked over to see Naomi with only his torso on the bed, legs hanging off toward the floor, arms raised over his head which was tilted to one side and completely knocked out. Passed out doesn't even begin to describe the state that Naomi had drank himself into. Earth Mother and I proceeded to move his lower body onto the bed. I figured that if his upper body had decided that he wanted to sleep, his legs should probably be in on it too. In the shifting and reconfiguring of Naomi's long body, it seemed that his papaya shaped head ended up tilting to the right. This seemed to slightly deafen the sound of his atrocious snoring. Both Earth Mother and I had Jesus to thank.

           After we boarded the plane to return to America, I woke up half way through the flight as a sign from Jesus to go take care of my irritable bowel syndrome. On my way to the restroom, I witnessed my entire company passed out in their seats. As I descended on to the metal toilet bowl I laughed to myself realizing the ridiculousness of the infectious insomnia. During the trip,we all complained about not being able to properly fall asleep in our hotel rooms, yet on any form of transportation not limited to trains, buses, and airplanes we seemed to find it completely reasonable and effortless to just cop a two hour nap. Perhaps we were all just overworked and in desperate need of a good solid five hours of shut eye spanning over the cross of six days during international travel in an environment that did not smell of inticing plantain. After deep reflection, I have come to the conclusion that it matters not where a person ultimately decides to take an involuntary nap. During these times of economic stress, we all need sleep whenever and more importantly wherever we can get it. So if that means that the next time I am on a vacation and I fall asleep on an unsuspecting person's vagina on the train next to me, I will not be ashamed. I apologize in advance to your vagina.

                                                     

A Near Death Experience (My Trip to Belize)

               "Final Destination" movies do not sit well with me emotionally or gastronomically. The idea of death seeking me out with a personal vengeance inspires a multitude of nightmares that tend to span over a period not to exceed thirty days. Since I was stood up on a movie date that led me to watch the slasher movie "Saw IV" by myself in a movie theatre at eleven o'clock on a Friday evening while wearing gladiator boots, I have made every effort since to avoid any sort of voluntary fear. I don't deal well with things that I have no control over. The fact that I don't know when the bus is going to come out of nowhere and kill the main character of the movie troubles me deeply. Thus, when it comes to real life, I make every effort possible to evade danger. As I approach my quarter of a century mark on life, I think I have done pretty well at not being killed by a moving vehicle and making it to second base with strangers. Unfortunately, on my recent trip to Belize, danger was determined to follow me, capture me, and abuse me in every way possible. Specifically, this danger came in the form of a travelling event across the beautiful country of Belize where I experienced my first "Final Destination" moment.

        We were travelling from Belize City to a small urban area called Punta Gorda. Naomi, Queen Jemima, and Earth Mother received the luxury of flying in on a jet plane tinier than a barbie doll's vagina. The remaining company members were prepared to experience this joyous trip via land, on a chartered bus. So there we were: Young Diva, Applebum, Daddy Long Legs, Pilar, B-More, Charlie Brown, Caramel Barbie, Tuscaloosa, Shoniqua, Michelin Man, Evangeline, and Banana Tree along with Yours Truly waiting for this amazing Caribbean version of the Magic School Bus to arrive. Unfortunately, our horse and carriage ended up coming in the form of a white mini van similar to those used in race-based shootings. The thirteen of us just stood in astonishment as our ride approached being driven by Malibu (the sweetest hostess ever). Truly, there was nothing wrong with the van, but the idea that everybody was going to squeeze themselves into this clown car seemed beyond absurd. To make things worse, some of the people in the company had some rather bizarre ideas about packing. To be clear, this was merely an overnight stay in Punta Gorda. We were arriving in the evening and leaving early the next morning. I simply packed a small handbag. Evangeline, on the other hand, came strolling out of the hotel with her ENTIRE SUITCASE! Can you imagine? What the Christ could she possibly need in a place that we were only going to spend twelve hours in? I was beside myself. Piling on with the fact that thirteen people, plus a driver had to fit into one van, this became quite overwhelmingly ridiculous to me. Pilar and Shoniqua also had suitcases. There was an epidemic ensuing. Eventually there was some consolidation amongst the three stooges. Malibu ended up calling for back-up anyhow. A small pick-up truck was added to the quest which ended up taking some of the suitcases and heavier items including Michelin Man. Finally, everything had been settled. It all worked out in the end and we were on our merry way to Punta Gorda. I thought after that endeavour, that all would be just peachy.

         I remember very little of the six hour drive to Punta Gorda, outside of the delicious plantain chips I bought at a gas station for less than one American dollar. I was passed out for the bulk of the trip thanks to the series of libations I had treated myself to at breakfast. The engine started, and we were trucking along the "highway" of Belize, and before you know it, the back of my head was bouncing rhythmically and comfortably against the seatback behind me. I was deep into my beauty rest after slipping easily into my restful slumber completely unaware of the fact that a dramatic change of events was waiting patiently around the corner. I was awoken by the sound of gun fire! I had never heard anything so frightening. It was rapid fire! After waking up immediately, my first reaction was to burrow my bi-racial Canadian face into B-More's lap (she was seated next to me in the back of the van). I never thought that in a time of crisis that I would seek refuge in co-worker's vagina, but desperate times call for desperate measures. The shots kept firing over and over again relentlessly! Tears began streaming down my face probably into B-More's unsuspecting vagina. I trembled in fear amidst the screams of terror from the other innocent people in the van. Lord knows who would be left alive after the attack. Memories of my childhood came rushing through my imagination. Images of rainbows, caramel taffy, and lesbian manatees came sweeping into my mind. These were surely the final thoughts one would have before his or her destination into heaven. I squeezed my eyes shut as tight as I could in hopes I would not endure the pain as the bullets penetrated my organs. Finally, the blasting of bullets stopped. I remained clenched around B-More's lap, refusing to let go of her vagina until I knew she was still alive and I was safe. After several moments passed, and after the screams had died down, I allowed myself to open one eyeball, the right one. I meticulously released my upper body from B-More's lower body to very precariously resume my torso's upright position. Everyone was alive. I have Jesus, Allah, and Buddha to thank for that. After I thoroughly checked my Canadian body for bullet holes and discovered that the shooter had missed me, I breathed a sigh of relief that for some reason came out as a small fart. I ignored the inappropriateness of my flatulence and instead turned my attention to the assurance that everyone in the van was safe after successfully evading being gunned down. Once B-More's laughter made a cameo appearance, my emotinons turned to the anger-filled variety. How could she be laughing at my hysteria?! I came to find out that there we were not attacked by the Belizean mafia. One of the tires had simply blown out.

           First of all, can we add to the Canadian elementary school curriculum in the "career and personal planning" section, a unit completely dedicated to the enlightening of students to the idea that a blown tire sounds srikingly similar to that of Biggie Small being assassinated? I could not believe that the gunshots I had experienced audibly were in fact those of a simple Firestone tire having a bad day on international travel. Unbelievable! In my state of total shock and embarrassment, I vacated the vehicle to avoid any further humiliation in such close proximity to the witnesses of my ridiculous behaviour. The other members of the company also followed suit. Thank God I had filled a Coca Cola bottle with some delicious Caribbean rum from my hotel room for the excursion. I knew I would need an afternoon libation at some point. Evangeline and Shoniqua (both of which have bladders smaller than a teenage Korean gymnast's) discovered that they needed to use the restroom. Remember that at this point we were completely stranded on the side of the road in a foreign country. Neither of those two have any sense of being self conscious, thus they both (one at a time) whipped out their vaginas and copped a squat in the middle of the road to mark their territory. May I just point out the fact that female public urination (regardless of your sexuality) is the most unattractive thing since SARS. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum (Shoniqua and Evangeline) eventually strolled their way off from the side of the road to a random woman's house who had come to investigate what was happening on the side of the road. My impression of her thoughts came out verbally in the form of "WHAT YA DOON IN ME DRIIIIIVEWEY?". Daddy Long Legs found my interperatation of this woman's thoughts to be quite amusing. As Shoniqua and Evangeline wandered off to the home of this random woman, I prayed that they would not end up like Hansel and Gretel. After they made it back safely from their adventure, they informed us that they were welcomed with open arms and were given a full tour of this unsuspecting woman's home. This tour included a thorough introduction to a vast collection of dolls kept in the basement. Clearly Shoniqua nor Evangeline have ever seen "Bride of Chucky". I'm just glad they made it back to the stranded van with their virginities in tact. After several passers by, including a teenager on a bicycle with a machete, we finally fixed the issue with the tire and made our way successfully arriving in Punta Gorda without a single bullet hole.

            I cannot emphasize enough that I really thought I was going down like Tu Pac. In those short moments of complete terror and fright, I forgot all about my diarrhea and concentrated on what was truly important to me as life was leaving me. Because of this near death experience, I have come to realize what I truly want out of life. If I were to die tomorrow, I would want all of the people whom are close to me to know how much I love them, especially my family, my friends, and most importantly, the head salesman at the liquor store down the street from my apartment building. I plan on being on this Earth for a long long time, but it is unfortunate that it is truly not up to me how long I am divinely favored to experience the fruits of this world. What I do know is that for whatever time I am alotted, I will do my best to fill it with love and joy and to also perpetuate that love and joy so that others may experience it too. The most important lesson of all is that at any moment you are concerned about losing your life, seek out the vagina that is closest to you for refuge.

                                    

My First Adoption; a Brangelina Story (My Trip to Belize)

         A trip to Central America would not be complete until I fully realized the full potential of seriously taking a Black orphan back to America in my carry-on. This little piece of chocolate delight came in the form of an eight year old named Cameron. Pilar and I were perched upon a balcony at a restaurant adjacent to our hotel when we noticed a shoeless chocolate dumpling wandering the streets around seven o'clock in the evening. With a mouth full of fish, I cried out "Are you okay?". That was the best I could think of in my state of half inebriation. The little homeless wonder kept pointing at his mouth which I assumed was a clear indication that he was in need of desperate nourishment. Pilar instructed me to go downstairs and fetch the little nugget. When Mexicans see an opportunity, they seize it! Normally I would have responded defensively to this proposition, but due to the seemingly unlimited amount of rum in my hotel room, I did not bat an eyelash during my non-existent consideration of the notion of abducting a child. I jumped the steps two at a time to scoop up the Caribbean infant. I scurried into the dark streets to find the little boy (which was very difficult on account of this boy being as dark as night time, if he wasn't smiling, I never would have found him). "Are you hungry?" I asked the little nugget. He simply shook his head in response. "Come with me", I said, feeling like Michael Jackson.

           I grabbed an elevated stool for the little boy to sit on so that he would be at an even level between Pilar and myself. We asked for an extra plate for the nugget. Pilar and I consolidated all leftover food on our plates to create a meal for the orphan. "What's your name", asked Pilar. "Cameron", the little boy said with a mouth full of fish. "How old are you?", I inquired. "Me ahh aaaaaaaayeeeeeet" he responded. Pilar and I stared at each other; both perplexed. After a long discussion, we concluded that Cameron was trying to communicate to us in his Creole that he was eight years old. The rest of the conversation displayed the same pattern. One of us would ask him something, Cameron would respond unintelligibly, and Pilar and I would be stuck to play a game of 21 questions trying to decipher what the Christ the toddler was saying. After a good half an hour, we learned that Cameron enjoyed football and had two girlfriends. The nuggets grow up so fast, don't they? After we paid our bill, we escorted the shoeless wonder outside. "Where are your parents?", I asked. "Jump Street", he responded. The waitress at the restaurant informed us that Jump Street was a long way away. Cameron told us that his parents work in the fields and weren't going to be back home until later in the evening. This would leave the little boy to wander the streets with no shoes on for hours on end. However, I must point out that for some reason it is quite common for many Belizeans to not wear shoes on rural streets. I tried to trust in Jesus that it would all be fine. Pilar and I had a company engagement we had to go to so it was imperative that we bounced. Before we left, we told Cameron that we would be at the Bliss Center later if he was bored. Pilar and I waved goodbye to the little chocolate dumpling. We went back to the hotel, freshened up, and made our way to the Bliss Center.

         Pilar and I walked down Albert Street in pitch black at seven thirty at night. We moved at an expedient pace as to avoid the potential of unwanted rape. Finally we made it to the Bliss Centre to meet the rest of the company. Who was standing at the door waiting for us not but four feet tall? Cameron! We were so excited to see him. We found out that apparently he had seen B-More on her way towards the Bliss Center and just followed her there. However, I would like to negate this fact and focus on the idea that Cameron had truly accepted the fact that Pilar and I were his new adoptive parents. I couldn't wait to show off our beautiful new cocoa finding to the rest of our company. How jealous they would be that Pilar and I had become the next Brangelina! We were just the most adorable family ever. Queen Jemima found him to be quite intriguing. Evangeline almost burst into tears when she realized he didn't own a pair of shoes. Shoniqua became quite distraught as to the fact that Cameron truly had nowhere to go. Pilar, Shoniqua, and B-More eventually decided to take Cameron back to the restaurant where we had met him because it seemed that the owner knew him. We found out later that she was in fact his aunt. Thank you Jesus that she wasn't a math teacher if you know what I'm saying.

        A few days later, I decided to wander through downtown Belize in the middle of the day in search of some delicious street food and a soda. I'm a simple girl with simple needs. I passed by several multi-colored establishments filled with copious amounts of products including but limited to sneakers, t-shirts that said "You better Belize it", and tamarind soda. I dismissed most of them to finally come across a sketchy concession stand with parallel bars and dust atop the counter. The location was hideously unappealing but it had the one thing that I could not turn down; Asian employees! I was over the moon. I asked Chung Lee for a "tamarind soda". She looked at me and said, "U wan cigarette?". No bitch, I want soda!!! Clearly she had not successfully completed Hooked on Phonics. After going back and forth with Chung Lee for what felt like an eternity, I finally gave in and just pointed to the damn Fanta. Disappointed, I made my way back to Hotel Mopan, unfortunately with great difficulty. My directional skills are about as good as Mariah Carey's acting ability. A three legged cockier spaniel could find his whereabouts quicker than I could. I wandered around aimlessly for a good hour looking for Albert Street. After some time, I finally could smell the sent of plantain. I knew I was close! As I traipsed down the street, closer and closer to my destination, I stumbled across an adorable chocolate midget in a red t-shirt. It was Cameron! "Oh my gosh! Hi Cameron! How are you? It's so great to see you again. What have you been up to?", I said with much enthusiasm! "Give meee ya drink!" he instructed as he stared at my orange Fanta. At that precise moment I realized that I was no longer his Father, I was his BITCH! Officially. This was awful. I gave the little nugget what he asked for and wandered my way back to the hotel (which he pointed out to me), never to see Cameron again.

          The biggest lesson I have learned from this experience is that adoption is best when it is temporary. Had my relationship with Cameron gone any further, I probably would have ended up turning into Tina Turner: abused, shameful, and with a great pair of stems. It just goes to show that the delightful combination of a Mexican and a bi-racial Canadian is not always fool proof. I do not regret the time that Pilar and I spent nurturing, caring, and guiding this little lost and shoeless wonder of Belize. Cameron will always be a part of our lives. I hope that the next time he swindles a soft drink from a gullable North American, he will think of me.

Itsby Bitsy Teenie Weenie Leopard Print Mankini (My Trip to Belize)

          Prior to my trip to Belize, I had been quite concerned about being submerged underwater. Unfortunately, I have never learned to swim. In my old age, I have found it quite prudent to place emphasis on my choice of swimwear rather than my lack of aquatic technique. Thus, I took great preparation before my trip to purchase the most scandalous bathing suit possible and shaved "Australia" to fully embrace the idea of my bathing suit. I call it the mankini! On day two, we as a company finally took a trip out towards San Pedro, a tourist location in Belize full of sand and shops. This would be a perfect opportunity for the grand unveiling of my new found purchase.

         The trip to San Pedro began with the gathering of our company at Hotel Mopan and being escorted by Malibu to the Water Taxi. We all boarded a speedboat of sorts. Sandwiched between Pilar and Queen Jemima, I braced myself as the boat began to speed up and slightly lean on an angle towards heaven. The wind brushed my bi-racial face with the most gentle of touch. The sun glistened past the cloudless sky as I enjoyed the delicious view of colored houses and bright green trees all around me. As we ventured further into the Caribbean sea, the view of land continued to become distant on all sides. At one point, I was not able to see any land at all. I tried to suppress the diarrhea. I noticed at one point that there were parts of the sky that were incredibly dark with streams of darkness that descended all the way to the ocean floor. "That's rain", said Pilar. Completely bewildered, I asked her how the Christ she would know that as a Mexican. Supposedly Pilar studied meteorology at Oklahoma University. Mexicans are always full of surprises. We finally made it to our destination in San Pedro. It was almost mankini time!

         There was absolutely no itinerary once we docked in San Pedro. We were basically told that we had 4 hours to do whatever we wanted to before we return back to the water taxi. This was music to my ears! As I looked around the island, I concluded that this wasn't so much a beach but perhaps more of a strip that really lent itself to shopping. So I decided to take the grand tour of all the little nic nac shops on the island. However, the first priority was to prepare myself a libation. Malibu had graciously given me a half bottle of Caribbean rum the night previous. So I had packed the bottle along with some coca cola and a plastic cup. I poured myself a drink and began exploring the island. I came across a tiny little gift shop featuring a myriad of colorful trinkets and doodads. I became distracted while investigating the chocolate bars of soap by a loud squawk. The tiny hairs on my elbows stood on end. I was so excited. I LOVE BIRDS (almost as much as I love manatees). I walked back towards the exit and discoverer the most beautiful amazon parrot I had ever seen! Her name was Survivor because she was the only bird left alive after the tree which her family lived in came crashing down during a storm. She was feasting on grape nuts at the time. The one thing I do know about parrots is to not disturb them while they are eating. I couldn't help myself. I tried to feed her a grape nut. She became quite disinterested! She bit me a little. After about an hour of trying to coheirs her to appreciate my affection she finally gave in and jumped up on my finger. I was overwhelmed with delight! Survivor crawled all the way up my arm and back down again a few times before I finally returned her to the top of the cage. I love birds but I was running out of mankini time and I really needed to move on. I bought the chocolate soap and went on my merry way.

          On my journey through the pathway in San Pedro, I was entertained by the beautiful sights of palm trees, smooth sand, and the blue Caribbean sea. On my third libation I strolled past a coconut tree. There was a small man of Hispanic descent collecting the fallen coconuts. I was immediately intrigued. "How much?' I asked. He paused for a moment. This indicated to me that he perhaps was not selling these coconuts and was taking a moment to jack up some ridiculously absurd price to what he thought was a clueless American. "One dollar...." he said slowly. That was my jam! I was overly excited. "I'll take it!" I said in my moderately inebriated state. Next thing you know, he pulled out this gigantic knife (called a "machete") and proceeded to chop the top off of a very large green coconut. He handed it to me and said "Enjoy!" (of course he couldn't pronounce the "j" on account of him being Hispanic). Let me tell you, the coconut water was TO THE TOP! I was so excited. This was exactly what I needed to mix with my Caribbean rum. I took a few sips of the deliciously fresh coconut water and then proceeded to pour a generous amount of rum in the space I had created in the coconut. It was perfect! No one would suspect that the beverage that I was drinking directly from the coconut was of the adult variety.

        I continued skipping along the road passing by cyclists of various ethnic varieties and a plethora of abandoned coconuts. I finally came across an area which actually resembled a beach that might possibly have mankini potential. In the distance, I saw a group of chocolate people who seemed to be of the American variety. As I wandered closer towards them, I realized that they were indeed my co-workers. Specifically it was B-More, Tuscaloosa, Charlie Brown, Daddy Long Legs, and Banana Tree. They were each donning their swimsuit of choice, basking in the sun and frolicking in the water. They were performing a photo shoot of sorts. Tuscaloosa, as per usual, was sporting some type of Destiny's Child, Survivor video pose for the camera. He was wearing a blue speedo (big surprise). When it was Banana Tree's turn to have his photo taken, he took a slightly more subtle approach looking like a Caribbean thug in red short shorts and dark sunglasses; very much an 80s throwback. B More had  a pink bikini with polka dots. Her swimsuit was so itty bitty that her vagina almost made a run for it. Charlie Brown had a tight little black speedo which could barely maintain Africa (and by "Africa" I mean his galaxy sized tukkus). Daddy Long Legs took the patriotic approach with a red, white, and blue pair of board shorts. I was mildly disappointed in his conservative choice, mostly because it would make me look like a real slut in the dental floss I was about to put on. I placed my bag (containing my rum) down on a little bench where my co-workers belongings were. I slowly took my layers off revealing my leopard print bikini. Now, when I bought the swimsuit in the store it was teenie tiny. But when I put it back on at that moment in public, it appeared to have shrunk to the size of Melba toast. I could barely fit my Canadian treasures inside of this swimsuit. Nonetheless, I was stuck with my mankini as my only fashion option in that moment. I sucked it up (literally) and slowly waltzed my way towards my friends. I had to move very slowly to ensure that my testicles didn't jump out of my swimsuit, so I settled on a slow strut as my walk of choice. I took my coconut filled with rum with me for moral support. So there I stood in front of my co-workers, practically naked with nothing but a leopard print bikini that was riding up my ass and a coconut. I decided that jumping into the water would probably be the best choice. I joined in the group effort of the photo shoot. At one point I felt something tugging on my bikini strings. It turned out to be Daddy Long Legs who noticed that my swimsuit had began a slow descent and was trying to prevent the possibility of my genitalia making an escape by pulling up my bathing suit for me. I always appreciate loyal friends. As we continued taking pictures, I tried to stay conscious of the fact that I was barely managing to stay inside the smallest bathing suit known to man so I decided to make sure I did a little bevel to the side to slightly conceal the inappropriateness of my fashion choice. Surely had Queen Jemima seen this monstrosity, she would have demanded that I put clothes on. Now I  know how Britney Spears once felt. After endless photographs had been shot, I decided that I had had enough. Considering the fact that my bathing suit was technically underwear, I only realized once getting out of the water that clearly this outfit was not made for any type of aquatic endeavour. There I was, literally holding up my own genitalia with one hand and holding my coconut with the other, running towards my bag which contained the three things I desperately needed at that moment: a towel, a change of clothes, and hard liquor. The fact that I had made it through that ordeal without flashing a single testicle still remains a mystery to me.

        Ultimately I would like to make it through life with joy in my heart. Whether that happens with or without a leopard bikini riding between my bum cheeks is for Jesus to decide. I do not regret the fact that I chose dental floss as swimwear. It's important to try everything once. What I do know is that coconuts are an amazing disguise for alcoholic beverages. The combination of the Caribbean Sea and the copious libations, I felt completely liberated in my lack of clothing. To be clear, there will not be a repeat of this on American soil (at least not until coconuts start falling from pine trees, and there's a Mexican with a machete nearby). So this memory will continue to permeate in my mind and bring to my heart. I have B-More to thank for posting the pictures of my mankini on Facebook. Now, my friends and family all across the world can enjoy the images of an innocent bi-racial Canadian looking like a Central American prostitute.

                            

Attacked by Caribbean Children (My Trip to Belize)

            We successfully arrived in Belize City at an airport smaller than a Kinder garden classroom. I'm pretty sure that the plane was bigger than the terminal. I had been concerned for Caramel Barbie who was having some gastronomic issues whilst airborne. That's all I needed was for yet another individual to become thinner than I on account of food poisoning! Once our passports were stamped, we were immediately greeted by our hostess and guide, Malibu. She was just a wonderful ball of joy who made our experience in Belize simply magical. She escorted us to our ride which was a large charter bus. The sixteen of us in the company all  catapulted ourselves onto the van with increasing excitement to explore Central America. We peered out the window anxiously as we made our journey toward the hotel. Very quickly, I spotted an iguana! He was perched atop of a cement wall. Next we passed a restaurant called "Manatee Look-Out!". I immediately grabbed Banana Tree's attention. "You have manatees in Belize?" I asked, barely being able to contain my excitement. "Yes of course", Banana Tree responded with his Sean Paul accent. I was overjoyed! I LOVE MANATEES! I obsess over how adorably fat they are with those long whiskers looking Rosie O'Donnell. At that moment I became determined that at some point during my first trip to Central America that I would find a manatee and then become long time friends with said manatee through Facebook. After several winding roads and bumpy paths, we finally made it into the central part of Belize City and arrived at Hotel Mopan.

            The building of Hotel Mopan was very much a coral color, if you will. It reminded me of many of the establishments in Miami, Florida. Naomi and I made it up to our room 202, on the second floor. Naomi has many talents, but opening hotel doors is not one of them. After several minutes of him struggling to put the key in like an impotent geezer, I finally snatched that ho away from him and opened up the door myself. To be honest, I really had no idea what to expect. I was well aware of the fact that we were in a third world country and thus decided to keep an open mind. All that mattered was that it was clean and that there be some form of air ventilation. My wishes were granted. Albeit a  very simple set up, the Hotel Mopan was equipped with a well tidied room and a fan overhead to keep from sweltering. Give me a liquor store and I would be good to go. Before I could make my liquor run, the first order of business was to visit Banana Tree's old high school and make a public appearance. Queen Jemima suggested Banana Tree, B-More, Shoniqua, and Yours Truly to be the ones to visit the little Caribbean nuggets. I soon would regret this decision.

              Malibu drove us in a delicious pick-up truck to Wesley College, an institution that houses young teenagers of Belize for their middle school education. As we walked through the gates towards the outdoor assembly that was taking place, I noticed that all the delicious multi-shaded chocolate children donned white uniforms. To be clear, there were no off-white or eggshell colored outfits. These clothes were white like marshmallows. I felt blinded! It was truly amazing to see so many little nuggets like a little army of heaven  just glistening in their perfectly washed, white attire. I, of course, was blithely unaware of the fact that I had selected a tiny purple tank top to wear that afternoon with straps thinner than Nicole Ritchie with the Bird Flu. To be frank, my titties were out! I was practically was showing nipple. I didn't become aware of this until I saw all of these matching conservatively dressed Caribbean children. I felt slightly insecure at that moment but ultimately came to the conclusion that the nuggets probably didn't notice me. I was only there to simply sit and observe while Banana Tree made his speech.

                 Banana Tree was introduced at the assembly and quickly came forward to deliver a very inspiring speech about persistence and being studious. He talked about the fact that he too came from that same school and through motivation and hard work ended up to be in an American company thriving, doing what he had always dreamed of. After he finished, he introduced our boss, Queen Jemima. This is where things took a turn for the worst. She started off by introducing each of the additional members of the company. Keep in mind, my titties are still on display. "Please welcome Shoniqua!" she said. The audience of Caribbean nuggets modestly applauded as she approached the podium. I took a sigh of relief at that moment. I realized that these children were quite conservative. They wore uniforms after all. Thus, I felt that they would not to much more than gasp at my on display breasts. I need not worry about being set on fire. Queen Jemima than introduced B More who was greeted with the same response. "Last but not least we have Brown and Thin" she introduced me. I, as modestly as possible, approached the podium to join my co-workers. As soon as those young girls saw my tits, it was absolute pandemonium! These Caribbean nuggets completely lost their shit. They jumped out their seats and began screaming like they had just found out that their vaginas could spit out one hundred dollar bills. I was, of course, completely appalled. With my head slightly down, I waved conservatively as I adjusted my titty top to conceal my right nipple which I had realized was making a break away. The young girls kept clapping, screaming, and jumping up and down. "Am I Michael Jackson?" I thought to myself. After several awkward moments, the insanity finally died down.

            Queen Jemima clearly saw an opportunity from this foolish display of affection. "Let's have a dance contest!" she exclaimed. She invited up several audience members to the stage. Queen Jemima was having some difficulty getting people to volunteer. She is a very smart, business savvy woman, and when she sees an opportunity, she seizes it like Angelina Jolie. "If another girl comes up here to volunteer for the contest, Brown and Thin will dance for you!" she said. This is when the diarrhea began cultivating in my intestines. For the record, I was way too sober to be dancing in front of a crowd. It was eleven in the morning for Christ's sake and my buzz from the airplane was long gone. But alas, I jumped up on that stage and dropped it like it was hot (which it was by the way, it was at least 90 degrees outside). The nuggets went crazy. I think I saw a pair of panties fly past my head at one point. Quickly afterward I rushed towards  the exit to avoid the mob of hormone driven Caribbean children. I safely made it inside the pick-up truck. Malibu drove us back to the hotel.

            After successfully evading the Brown children of the corn, I made it my first priority (as I always do when I travel) to track down some hard liquor. Through Banana Tree, I learned about a delicious establishment called Brodie's which is supposedly the Caribbean equivalent of WAL-MART with the additional bonus of a wide selection of spirits. Naomi was game to go with me because of the fact of him being an alcoholic. The two of us paraded down Albert Street towards the establishment. The two of us bitches were completely overwhelmed with the variety of adult beverages that Brodie's had to offer. Naomi did not hesitate once he found a bottle that read "Extra Strong Rum". Upon further examination, I noticed that there was no alcoholic percentage or proof printed on the label, not to mention it was only five dollars. This was a red flag for me. Clearly this was an incredibly "urban" bottle of rum. The kind of liquor that will get you feeling tipsy rather immediately but probably tastes like gasoline. I chose a slightly different route. I figured "when in Rome....." So I purchased a bottle of genuine coconut rum which is over double the alcoholic content of Malibu with a delicious flavor of coconut. I grabbed that ho off the shelf and Naomi and I made our way back to the hotel.

           I served myself my first libation in the glass that I had also purchased at Brodie's. I enjoyed my coconut rum with just a splash of coke. It was pure heaven. I could barely contain my excitement. Once I moved onto drink number three, Naomi suggested I try some of his ghetto liquor. After just a whiff of that stuff, I felt like I had been slipped a rufie. After just a small taste of his beverage I thought I might follow in the footsteps of Courtney Love. This "extra strong rum" was absolutely blasphemous. It tasted like WD40. After just one taste, I returned the plastic cup to Naomi and put that ho to rest. I finished the rest of my third libation instead. I blacked out soon afterwards.

          Amidst my slumber, in my state of inebriation, I had no clue what would happen the next day as I woke up in my second day in Belize. I am glad that I was ignorant to my future for the fact that craziness was about to ensue. I thought that I had been through the worst of it by almost being mauled by the children of the corn earlier in the day. Only the Lord knew my true destiny. Apparently Jesus was about to get ready to test me. And he waited until my Caribbean arrival to do so. Stay tuned to find about the desperate antics that followed my copious drinking.

Sky Mall #2 (My Trip to Belize)

         Flying has always been an over dramatic ordeal. Since my first flight at 4 years old from Vancouver to Toronto when I jumped out of my seat and like a bull in a China shop I darted down the aisle and managed to knock over a flight attendant, I have never been the same. As I've become older I have resisted the temptation to wrestle strangers to the floor, yet the feeling of being overwhelmingly uncomfortable and concerned for my safety has not subsided. Thankfully, I have found a way to successfully cope with these feelings: alcohol. I discovered that drinking alone can simply resolve most of my problems. What I didn't realize is that in the case of flying, there are alternate remedies that when combined with alcohol not only make flying more tolerable but actually enjoyable. This little beacon of light is a little something called Sky Mall! This ridiculous in flight magazine takes advantage of the alcoholics on board. In their state of inebriation this magazine caters towards a flyer's every ridiculous need. The products are absolutely absurd. Once I've had a few drinks, Sky Mall becomes the most entertaining thing since Bananas in Pajamas. On my latest trip to Belize, Sky Mall absolutely delivered the goods! Here are some examples of the products sold in the latest issue of American Airlines' Sky Mall magazine!


The Slanket (Camouflage for Men)

"Stay cozy and keep your hands free in 13'' wide sleeves" says the advertisement. Yeah, stay cozy and SINGLE for the rest of your bloody life! What the hell is this abomination? This is the most atrocious article of clothing (if I can even call it that) that I have ever seen! The saddest part is that this also comes in a Siamese version where two people fit into one slanket! I immediately lunged for the sick bag located in the seat in front of me when I saw this monstrosity.
        
       
Hanukkah Tree Topper

This is "a must have for interfaith marriages". This is of course a Jewish star cleverly designed to fit a top of a Christmas tree. It is also referred to as a "Menorahment". Need I say more?

Video Pen

Ray J did just fine with a regular camera. There is clearly no need for this ridiculous "invention". The era of James bond is over and so is involuntary pornography!


The Original Crispy Bowl


This ingenious contraption separates the milk from the cereal so that each bite is deliciously crisp. Unless it takes you 5 days to finish your breakfast, I would suggest you save your $19.99 and just eat your Cinnamon Toast Crunch at an expedient pace.

Personal Oxygen Bar

An epidemic of oxygen deficiency has swept the nation. With the rejuvenating oxygen bar with turbo air flow, you can enjoy breathing clean, fresh, oxygen-enriched air anytime! The device also comes with a built in tranquil sounds music player! Yours for $499.99!

Flair Hair Visor

Men of the world, PLEASE just give in and sport the Sinead O'Conner look for the second half of your life span rather than wearing some ridiculous looking porcupine attached to a visor on top of your withering head! The ad instructs those who purchase the item to machine wash; air dry. Oy vey!


Fashion Boot Stand

At first glance, I thought this was the latest sexual device invented for women with Grand Canyon sized vaginas. I have come to find out that these phallic looking stuffed animals are made to be inserted into your boot to maintain the integrity of its shape. "Ends are angled for simple insertion" says the advertisement which lead me back to my original idea about the sexual possibilities of this product. Available in six colors.

Litter Robot Bubble Unit

This is a self cleaning litter box that activates 7 minutes after the feline leaves the contraption (using laser sensors). The machine sucks the waste through the debris into a hidden drawer leaving the "globe" fresh and clean. Just pray that poor Ms. Fluffy doesn't re-enter the box during a false alarm and accidentally gets sucked into the litter box, never to return!  May I also mention the fact that the feline in the advertisement appears to be quite bewildered by the fact that she is about to be launched into space. Yours for $359.99 (+$15 S&H)


Toilet Dog and Cat Waterbowl

"A hilarious conversation starter and pet pleaser". Really? I don't think it will be funny when your dumbass dog or cat becomes completely confused as to whether or not he/she is supposed to be drinking out of the toilet. You are just asking for trouble with this hideous idea of an inside joke!


The Upside Down Prelit Noble Fir Christmas Tree

The advertisement claims that a tree in its upside down orientation displays ornaments more visibly. I wasn't able to read any further into the ad on account of my crying and involuntarily shaking while laughing hysterically. Could you imagine having that in your house while people are over? My Grandmother would punch me in the face if I had that on display.


The Marshmallow Shooter
 
This device holds 25 edible marshmallows at a time. I am certain that I would need a minimum of ten shots of Goldschlager before I would ever find this contraption amusing.


The Bling String Hair Accessories

Two words: GHE-TTO!


Kenzie Covers

Show your patriotism and defend against potentially deadly gases at the same time! There's nothing that says "I love America!" more than sporting the nation's flag on your hazard mask while visiting a relative with a contagious disease or painting an accent wall.


Cast Iron Giraffe Paper Holder

I must confess that I would be the fool that would buy something this ridiculous.



Sock Monkey Hat and Mittens

The happy expression on this woman's face brings me great concern. Unless she's getting royalties for this bullshit, she has no reason to be smiling! And may I just ask, why in the Hell would anybody where this shit? Marijuana must be involved.


Dress Up Squirrel Magnets

$9.95 gets you one small squirrel figurine with a magnet on its ass for refrigerator attachment and 5 additional outfits representing different time periods. Should I ever become senile enough to purchase something like this, please put me in a rest home and buy me an endless supply of Grey Goose and a puppy.


         Ultimately I didn't end up buying any of these useless products. Yet, even without a purchase, each item brought me so much joy to my heart! I knew that Young Diva was off in another section of the plane cackling along with me. She has been enjoying Sky Mall magazine longer than I. What amazes me is that there are people who will actually buy such atrocious contraptions. I've decided that I need to invent men's undergarments with a special attachment cleans, skins, and de-bones saltwater fish. Clearly it would make a killing in the next addition of Sky Mall magazine! I landed in Belize with a smile on my face. Although I did slightly regret not buying the toilet paper holding giraffe.

Drunk On A Plane (My Trip To Belize)

             Welcome to the first of several installments of my blog series concerning my trip to Belize! Over the next week, I will be taking you step by step along my adventure with my co-workers to a far away land in Central America. In order to best inform you and include you in the hilarity, I must give you an overview of all the characters that will be mentioned on this trip. Several of these people have been blogged about previously. Please allow me to give you a recap of the idiosyncrasies of each of my delightfully colorful co-workers who joined me on this business adventure to Belize:

Applebum is a graduate of THE Ohio State University. She has a tukkus that looks like two Grannysmith apples in a wrestling match. Her short temper and quick wit are the most likely causes of your diarrhea.

Banana Tree is a Belize native, so he played double roles as both company member and tour guide. He has an adorable accent and dark chocolate covered skin. Imagine a raisinet that talks like Shaggy.

Caramel Barbie is exactly as the name denotes with the added bonus of a faux-hawk in the shade of a Strawberry starburst. Like an evergreen tree, Caramel Barbie is ageless.

Shoniqua is my longtime Caucasian friend who's ass clearly thinks she's Black.

Michelin Man is a company veteran. He has been a part of the organization for over 35 years and has grown to be the size of a small meteor. Any time I am need of shade from the sun, I know exactly where to go.

Evangeline has previously been referred to as the naked vegetable stealer. She is currently in a very serious relationship with my room mate whom she met on Match.com.

Charlie Brown, previously referred to as Buckwheat, has recently undergone a pretty amazing physical transformation. While slimming out his midsection, he has managed to maintain his medicine ball ass which could easily double as a coffee table. This is truly a feat I wish I could master.

Earth Mother, like most mothers, has a plethora of talents including but not limit
ed to: doctor, psychiatrist, police woman, therapist, thug, minister, and a comfortable lap to place my head on when I'm feeling down.

Daddy Long Legs, aka Green Bean, is a native of the District of Columbia. He has an adorably round tukkus that sits perched high above his giraffe like stems for legs. If Dallas became infested with Komodo dragons, I would certainly seek out his torso for refuge.

Naomi is a  man for the majority of the time but occasionally will morph into his alter-ego which is reminiscent of a certain super model (and/or Ru Paul). He is my room mate when my company travels. He is an alcoholic. We get along great.

Tuscaloosa, named after the city he is from, even though he claims to be from Atlanta, is a walking dichotomy. He has a wife and child at home yet seems to have these random moments of "queening out" as the kids say. It's like he has Turret's syndrome in the style of Clay Aiken. He has a pillow that looks like a ferret. Need I say more?

B More, also named after the city she is from, truly has an amazing lower body. Her calves are like chocolate tangerines. She also possesses the talent of making her own weaves. Her work is unbeweaveable.

Pilar is the Mexican.

Young Diva is my boss. She is the chocolate version of Vanna White. With a big pearly white smile and highly presentational demeanor, you would really think that she is the sweetest person ever. And she is. However, I always get this feeling that at any moment she is going to cut me with a knife. And I'm not talking about a butter knife. I mean a really sharp one from Williams & Sanoma.

Queen Jemima is my boss's boss; the big cheese! She has the ultimate power to cut off my paycheck at any given moment which why it is imperative that she be happy at every moment. She has an incessant habit of hitting her employees; this usually comes in the form of a back handed slap across the chest or mid thoracic spine (depending on your height). She also has a deep affinity for tracksuits.


           With the introductions out of the way, I can now begin my story which starts out, of course, at the airport. Now, if you have read previous blogs, you are well aware of the fact that I get what is referred to as "flyer's diarrhea" which is an epidemic sweeping across this great nation. There's something about the idea of a ten thousand pound machine floating over the Caribbean sea carrying hundreds of innocent passengers including yours truly that just makes my bowels loosen like Pamela Anderson around a football team. Needless to say, it requires well-timed and copious drinking to fully prepare myself for take off. The flight was departing at 5:30am. I was getting a ride from Young Diva, whom also lives in my building, and she suggested we meet at 3:15am. This was perfect for me. This would leave ample drinking time! I would simply begin my first libation around 7pm and keep the party going for 8 hours until I left! Perfect! I decided to begin with a chocolate martini or two or seven (which of course I prepare in my own home) and I would simply sip on that ho until all my bags were packed. Next, I moved on to three or four delicious cosmopolitans while I emptied the refrigerator of all perishable items that could not fit in the freezer and clearly would not be moldless by the time I returned to America. Lastly, I finished with a simple vodka cranberry cocktail which remained perched next to the bathroom sink while manscaping my pubic region to successfully to adapt to the needs of my newly purchased mankini (ie. a man's bikini). I had several additional mixed beverages on my way out the door with my neon pink suitcase in hand. I met Young Diva in the lobby and she kindly drove the two of us to the airport.

          Although I had some difficulty walking in a straight line once we arrived at the terminal, I did my very best to hold it together in front of Young Diva considering the fact that she is my boss. As I waddled my way into the airport, I managed to pull out my itinerary and insert the encrypted code into the self check-in kiosk. Clearly the Indian attendant standing on the side thought I was retarded (perhaps on account of my incessant staggering) and led me step by step through the process. After I printed my boarding pass, I met up with Applebum and helped her check a bag. She noticed immediately that I was beyond inebriated and began laughing uncontrollably at my unfortunate behaviour which was only about to get worse. I was behind Applebum while going through security. It's always a good idea to be behind her as to get the best view possible of the Grannysmith apples in action. I was quite disappointed to be separated from Applebum when I was directed to a separate line to place all of my belongings on the conveyor belt. I removed my belt, shoes, jacket, wallet, keys, and loose change (everything but my virginity) into the plastic blue bin and proceeded to wait to be called through the metal detector. I noticed, in my state of drunkenness, a small backpack perched upon the person in front of me. On it, there was a name tag that said "Jane". That was all the information I needed to entertain myself. "JANE!" I exclaimed with the up most enthusiasm! The stranger turned around, took one look at me, and without missing a beat said "I don't know you." and turned back around. What a bitch! I couldn't believe that she wouldn't even entertain, not even for a moment at 4 o'clock in the morning, that she might possibly know me. I knew her name for Christ's sake! The only thing that I can conclude to was the obvious fact that she has no thin friends and thus ruled out the possibility of knowing me immediately. I turned to look over at Applebum in the line adjacent to the one I was standing in, only to see her shaking her head in disbelief and shame. She was still laughing, and that's all that mattered. I made my way through, after Jane, into this new strange circular device they now have at airports to determine whether or not you have an AK47 in your vagina. I walked into the contraption, separated my legs like Kim Kardashian in the men's room at the Apollo as the invisible laser beams scanned my body for drugs, guns, and any of Osama bin Laden's offspring. Once they had confirmed that I was not smuggling any salmonella infected Mexican tomatoes into the Caribbean, they let me through. As I made my way towards the gate I was greeted by the rest of the company: Banana Tree, Shoniqua, Evangeline, Michelin Man, Earth Mother, Daddy Long Legs, Pilar, Charlie Brown, B More, Tuscaloosa, and Naomi. Each person more sleepy than next (a theme that develops well into the Belize trip) during the wee hours of the morning. I, however, was in party mode just ready for my next drink! This was exactly where I needed to be, completely aloof of the fact that I was about to board the death ship (my term I use for an airplane).

            As I waited patiently for the McDonald's in the airport to open, the last missing piece of the puzzle showed up. There she was in all her glory, Queen Jemima. My boss arrived to the airport in a black crushed velvet tracksuit completely covered rhinestones with a matching hat. I had to pray to keep from crying. To make matters worse, she emphasizes that as a company we must always be presentable when on business trips EVEN at the airport, and especially on international trips. So there she was, looking like the Grandmother of a Flava Flav contestant, flagged me down to say hello. On previous trips, she has stopped me in the airport to borrow cash from me in an effort to most efficiently purchase her favorite magazine of all time: Black Enterprise. She is in her seventies, so I try very hard to give her the up most respect. She gave me my job after all. But it is very difficult not to laugh at someone who looks like a Christmas present for Ru Paul. Thank God she only stopped me to stay hello. If any further conversation had followed, my cover as a raging alcoholic would have been blown.

           Once the McDonald's opened, pandemonium was about to ensue. You see, Daddy Long Legs and Charlie Brown, have a very abusive relationship with food, especially Charlie Brown. His violent interactions with fast food establishments are worse than a Chris Brown and Rihanna reunion. So when the restaurant did not open at 5am as it had been advertised, Charlie Brown was ready to bust a cap in somebody's ass. When the poor little Mexican cashier at McDonald's said "We open at five" (of course she couldn't pronounce the "v" part of "five"), this sent Charlie Brown into a tailspin of emotions. "WELL IT'S FIVE O FIVE RIGHT NOW!" he said as his head was about to explode. I immediately thought about seeking refuge in a garbage can to avoid the inevitable World War III that was about to take place behind the closed gates of the McDonald's at the International Airport in Dallas, Texas. But in my state of drunkenness I decided that it would be too much work for me to go to the effort of hiding myself. Even if I could successfully conceal my whereabouts inside a trash can, I would surely be discovered by my inevitable hiccups on account of the 8 previous hours of continuous, consistent drinking. Finally the little Mexican (clearly Pilar's relative) opened the gate and served Charlie Brown, Daddy Long Legs, a few other customers, and myself.

           As the time drew closer to departure, I made my way back to the gate. Not too far along did I run into Caramel Barbie who mysteriously had strings hanging from her outfit. Upon closer investigation I discovered that she was wearing a black corset. Here's how the full outfit went down. I'll start at the bottom and work my way up. She wore black shiny boots with a high heel, TIGHT (or "snatched" as the kids say) black pants, a black button dress shirt with pressed collar, black vest with a corset waist, and a black painter's hat to match. I should also mention that the face was slightly painted. I don't think I've ever seen someone look so glamorous at the airport, especially not at the 5 o'clock in the morning! Although, I must say that I have heard rumors that along with being ageless like an evergreen tree that Caramel Barbie also is an insomniac. She barely sleeps. Perhaps this explains the time that she has allotted to fully undergo a fashion transformation for any given event no matter how casual and no matter at what hour.

            Once they finally began boarding the plane, I was truly feeling my 10th alcoholic beverage. It took all of the will I had inside me and also Jesus to make it to my seat. Have you ever had so much to drink that you literally had to FORCE your eyes to stay open wide enough to read something. This coupled with the ridiculously small print written on my boarding pass proved to be quite an effortful scenario with me  making a struggling attempt to properly locate my seat. Thank God I had the wherewithal to tell the Indian attendant when putting in my record locater into the kiosk to place me in a seat as far away from the other members in the company as possible. This lead my drunk ass free to be as inappropriately belligerent as I felt fit. Jane was sitting a few rows ahead of me. "JANE!" I yelled one more time. No response. I sat down and awaited my favorite part of the flying experience (which ironically comes right before the worst part of the flying experience; takeoff!). My ultimate most enjoyable part of flying is of course the flight attendants. These women are like floating synchronized swimmers complete with  Russian Red lipstick and make up so thick it doubles as sunblock. Naturally I was hideously disappointed by the fact that the people at American Airlines geniusly decided that an electronic version of the instructions on how to properly vacate an aircraft was more suitable. I was devastated. There was nothing left to do but to fall asleep. As the engine started  I knew that I needed to be passed out by the time the airplane pointed diagonally towards heaven. I figured this wouldn't prove to be difficult considering that I drank so much alcohol that I practically slipped myself a ruffie. Just as my eyelids began to assemble, I saw, through my blurred vision, a beacon of light. There it was. SKYMALL! There is no way I could have imagined the ridiculous products that were to be advertised in the latest addition of this airborne catalogue. Stay tuned......