Suicide Monday-- I'm Still Here Tuesday.

I’m not so good at coming home from vacations. I get very depressed and angry at the world. No joke, I’ve been straight up pissed at every person/situation I've encountered since I left Cabo over 48 hours ago. The tan I worked so hard to get for seven days is already diminishing. I’m just freckled and peeling like a Ron Howard child now. My leggings are tight, it’s very humbling when elastic pants fight too tight. And by humbling I mean humiliating. It’s like wearing a pair of tight underwear, the elastic band leaving ridicule marks on your waist to ensure that even once you’ve taken them off you must still wear the mark of shame for a few more hours. I ate off every one of my “pretty” nails on the flight home, just gnawed away at them and then spit them in the flight attendants’ face as they walked by. What do I care. My life sucks. When I landed in America a fellow passenger so generously (glared at me as if I was stalling the entire plane from getting off on purpose) helped me get my bag from the overhead bin managing to drop it onto the floor breaking the gorgeous and very expensive pot I purchased on the beach for “twenty dolla? I give you for only twenty dollas,” “no, too expensive,” “okay, stop, stop, fifteen? You do fifteen?” “Ten or I walk.” So the beautiful hand crafted pot I purchased for $5 smashed in my bag thanks to the pushy people seated behind me who, like so many other passengers, seemed to be unaware of standard plane etiquette and thought that they would exit their seats before the people seated in rows ahead of them. No. That’s not how it works, one row goes then the next, so settle down Grandma, I don’t care if you require a wheelchair.

After I made it through customs, complaining the entire way about my awesome Mexican pot that was of no use to me now thanks to the idiot passenger behind me, I braced myself for a good old fashioned airport binge. I don’t care what anyone says, airport food is the best food there is. When I get married someday I’m going to have it catered by an airport. Salty trail mix for an appetizer, pizza as a side dish, a hamburger as a main course, maybe some Chinese, a little bit of spinach dip and chicken wings, TCBY and Rolos for dessert, then California Pizza Kitchen & Chilis To-Go as a late night snack. I munched on my burger and fries and people-watched as I sat at a lonely table-for-one. Who was just going on vacation and who was getting home?

Couples happily conversing: just going.
Couples conversing, but in tones such as- “why aren’t you listening to me? You never listen to me.” “Do you not see I’m watching the game? I have to see what Tebow does. Can you just chill out for just a minute?” : coming home.
Girls with makeup on: just going.
Girls looking like shit: coming home.
Wine drinkers: just going.
Vodka drinkers: coming home.
Adults with children: coming home. No one purposely arrives early for a flight with they’re towing along a couple of ugly eight-year-olds.

These are all just observations, of course. Observations from a "lastnight’s makeup hair in a greasy bun sitting alone face first in a buger"girl.

But anyway, hope Thanksgiving found all of you in a good binge-friendly kinda place. Before going to our big feast on Thursday night we joked about wearing loose clothing, having to unbutton our pants after dinner, making post-dinner bathroom trips, just the standard cliché holiday jokes. Well, Knox took these “jokes” a little too seriously apparently because before dinner was even over he had an official blow-out while still sitting at the table. If you have a baby, or have been around babies, you know what the term “blow-out” means. Gives the phrase “shit attack” an entire new meaning. Something tells me Knox might be the new “guy who shit at the Bar” guy in college. I mean if all goes well for him.

Well, just another Tuesday living the dream. I saw a special on Steve Jobs on the plane ride home, he said everyday he would look in the mirror upon getting up and ask himself, “if today was the last day of your life, are you really doing what you would want to be doing?” Thanks again Steve, thanks for making us all realize yet again how pathetic our lives are in comparison to the legacy you left behind. Someday I’m gonna answer yes. Yes I am.

26 days until Christmas. I'm already sad it's almost over.