SO. where has Lizzie J been the past few days?
No. I'm not deathly ill, but thanks to all who pitched on the dozens of bouquets and installed the giant "Save Lizzie" balloon on my roof.
you're great.
Since my last blog posting of winter formal, I have been traveling.
Sunday morning began rudely, let's just say I wasn't feeling too hot from post winter formal celebrations.... But I still managed to wake up due to insane excitement. I was going to the natty baby. And I had a flight to catch.
DAY ONE
My sister and I began the drive to burbank airport. 15 minutes into the ride, my cell phone is missing. I reached for my phone to call the police and report this, but of course, it was no where to be found to make such call.
Meghan (sister for those of you unsure of this "Meghan" character): Wait, do I get on the 5 N or stay on the 134?
Me (in a panic unsure of where my beloved blackberry has disappeared to): 134! WHERE THE HELL IS MY PHONE?
well for those of you who know how to get to Burbank, we should have gotten on the 5. one hour till our flight leaves and where are we? By the LA Zoo. Zooming down a two lane street, divided of course by the hated double yellow... Keep driving... forest lawn cemetery on the right and a lovely pile of dirt on the left... no where to turn around...
she does it. she flips a bitch on the double yellow. back towards the freeway.
arrive at airport. park no problem in the lot closest to the terminals.
the shuttle is parked about 50 feet away. is it waiting for us? a woman in uniform (assumed by us to be the driver) exits the shuttle and starts walking in the opposite direction. I guess she really needs a stog or she is plain refusing us service... we turn and begin walking towards the airport, when the shuttle moves! who knew there were to be two drivers in ONE shuttle. of course, we change directions and start to chase the shuttle down the rows of cars, luggage and all.
I guess this isn't prototypical for the Burbank air port, as the shuttle driver begins to shout out the three inch space called a "window" STOP 5 STOP 5. eventually we sit at stop 5 like civilized humans and watch the shuttle finish its snake through the lot and it picks us up. classy.
in the airport. security check.
for those of you who do not know, Burbank does not yet have the high tech scanners that see you nudey. So don't bother to nervously laugh when you walk through them like I did. You will get followed by a TSA officer.... not kidding. the fact the officer followed me into the shop where I bought a soduko book and rollos and then promptly walked out without my purchases or change probably didn't help either... pretty sure I was classified as a threat. jambs.
board plane. of COURSE, I am flying southwest. for those new to the blog, I hate southwest. somehow, my sister and I are the very last to board the plane. There are virtually no seats, no game of who looks the most normal. Spotted. two seats against the very back of the plane open. I lock eye contact with the woman occupying the aisle seat. "CAN WE SIT WITH YOU? SAVE THOSE PLEASE!" (little did I know that this was a flight attendant... pretty sure I confirmed previous walkie reports about the deranged white Caucasian woman in the green dress...) by the way, we entered from the front of the plane not realizing you could also enter from the back so please feel free to visualize two idiotic struggling passengers each with two carry-ons working their way from the front of the plane to the very back. southwest allows for two way trafficking down the aisle, so I take this moment to sincerely apologize to all those who I bulldozed in an effort to get to the back of the plane.
also, little did I know that not only choosing your seat is a free- for- all with southwest, but overhead space is a commodity to gamble for.
guess who had to last minute check their bags due to lack of space? this guy.
plane lands. luggage is supposed to be at carousel four. well. it's not. anxiety builds... I hear a couple suits say "typical phoenix, of course the Burbank luggage is actually at six, not four". thank god for these suits. and for anyone traveling to Phoenix in the near future, remember its "typical Phoenix" to put your luggage on random carousels. Don't say I didn't warn you.
Also, all the doors in Phoenix are numbered. Our driver told us to exit door four, but signs dictated door two would have been the proper exit. Feeling a bit like a contestant on price is right, I couldn't help but wonder what was behind both number 2 and 4. I chose 4. I'll never know if there was a new living room set from ikea waiting for me behind door number 2.
Outside door number four though, was a town car. Trunk open with not one thing in it, with a female driver. Seemed to meet the criteria we were looking for... Well, let me tell you another thing about Phoenix. It's the social norm for women to drive black town cars with spotless trunks popped open outside door number four. That wasn't our driver, just some normal woman going to pick up her sister from the airport....
I'll just let you readers assume how uncomfortable was taken to the next level in that situation....
After an embarrassing number a few past several phone calls are made to our driver, we find her. Meet Martha. Martha proceeds to take us on the "scenic" route of Arizona, taking an hour and a half to travel all of 22 miles. Thank you, Martha. Tempe, Scottsdale, and Phoenix are truly beautiful cities. I kid you not, this woman thought we were touring the streets of London, expecting my sister and I to wag our heads out the window like wind-blown dogs and admire miles of cactus and adobe. I think not. At one point she said, ARE YOU GUYS SLEEPING BACK THERE? well, Martha, we were really trying to. Dream Big.
Finally, we arrive at the hotel. Our room is around several bends and takes longer than I'd like to walk to. I swear at one point I heard Morgan Freeman's voice narrating our walk. Maybe it was just exhaustion induced hallucinations. No one knows.
After a brief moment to settle, Meghan and I hit the town and head to Olive Garden (sarcasm). Meet Robert, our OCD server who "likes a clean table, here girls give me those straw wrappers. THOSE WRAPPERS... IS EVERYTHING OKAY?....here, let me pat your breadsticks one more time. mom i'm scared.
back to the hotel. maybe a nice walk around the gift shop? follow arrows. Walk by a room with three vending machines (one for drinks, one for snacks, and one for advil and tampons). keep walking. oh wait, that was the gift shop.
after one more adventure walking around the sketchy parking lot of a "metro mall" (right, what is that? metrosexuals only? we stayed clear and just cruised the parking lot on foot in an effort to find another entrance to the hotel, due to our excessive walking around the lobby to find the gift shop...) and we are in for the night.
DAY 2 (game day)
the day begins with a mile and a half trek to find breakfast. we see a woman go into cardiac arrest outside a CVS and talk to the same homeless man not once, but twice. good times.
back to the hotel. board a van, which takes us to another hotel, to board a bus, which then takes us to the game. we once again are the last people on the bus, those last two seats right near the bathroom are the only one left. between southwest and the busing, I really was beginning to feel a bit like Rosa. For real this time, not like on the party bus. lawlzy.
now pay close attention to this part, for those of you who have decidedly droned off and started foaming out the mouth, looking for office supplies to commit suicide with, or those just reading absentmindedly. we get off the bus and the driver says, "AFTER THE GAME, I WILL PICK YOU UP RIGHT HERE. I'M BUS NUMBER 17. WRITE THAT DOWN, (pen is passed between all 100 passengers) WRITE IT ON YOUR BUS TICKET."
we enter the espn sponsored tailgate. the majority of fans are aged 60 plus and in orange. our "complimentary" meal looks like pork sandwiches and potato salad that has been in the sun for god knows how long. we skip out of there to meet up with some friends of Meghan.
cars are parked in rows that are caged in by fencing...
we have to hop not one but two gates to make it over to the tailgate.
I see a man in a suite helping two older looking women traverse these gates.
he greets Meghan and I next and helps us over.
I thought he worked there until a lingering pat of the ass told me otherwise.
I really need to stop trusting men in suits.
We make it. I meet a few people including someone awesome who tells me all about their nipple piercings. it's all fun and games until someone passes out and is sprawled in a deep sleep in the car. I, of course, find it funny and take a picture. This guy's best friend doesn't.
let me tell ya, I thought I'd met some pretty angry drunks in my time, but this guy takes the cake. I thought the moment would pass after I deleted the picture and kept my distance, but I'm pretty sure that everyone in the nearby 10 mile radius eventually was told the story of the "bitch in the green tights" aka me. I can only imagine what kind of individual those who heard the story envisioned. I'm thinking along the lines of a little elf with green tights and a camera much too big for their body with a devilish grin and beady red eyes out to kill. so if word ever spreads as I assume it will (this guy was determined to make a satan worshipper out of me) I'm the bitch in the green tights. moving on.
pit stop at the bathroom before the game. lovely porta potties. PORTA POTTIES ARE OUT OF TOILET PAPER. I know right? exciting. There's a point I promise.
Meet Saint Toilet Paper.
I kid you not, there was a woman at the front of the line handing out toilet paper, but only to duck fans.
"free TP for duck fans! take as much as you need!"
What's funny about this is some people are saying "oh my god I don't need this much! so generous!" all the while auburn fans dart nervous glances at each other wondering if they will have to shake and dry, or pay five dollars per square of Saint TP's tp. Hilarious and mildly psychotic all at the same time. I do love bowl games.
I'm not to apt to give a full on re-cap of the game, although I can say that it was an emotional roller coaster no one was prepared for and it was a GREAT game to be in attendance for. oh, and that it took me about two risky plays to realize that people around me were actually chanting "BIG BALLS CHIP" and making suggestive groping hand motions, not yelling "WE LOVE CHIP." other than that, they gave away some free chips that tasted like black beans. pretty good.
game ends, tears fall. back to the bus we walk. number 17 right?
well, when we got there there was about 30 buses all parked with at least 10 feet of space in front, behind, and to each side of them.
the parking lot is now unrecognizable with about 250 buses all parked bumper to bumper.
so... where's #17?
chaos erupts. we are truly never getting back to the hotel. fear builds, sweat pours. I have no idea what color our bus even was.... OH SPOTTED. MAN WITH HEAD SET, BEANIE, AND LEGIT LOOKING FLEECE ZIP UP WITH SECURITY EMBROIDERY. Let me just tell you, if you ever see a man like this, do not trust him.
Untrustworthy security foe: where you guys headed? (looks at our tickets)
us: uhm bus number 17? back to the chaparral suites?
Untrustworthy security foe: Oh, right this way. (weaves through a mass of buses and people at a dead sprint.) KEEP UP, KEEP UP, OTHER PEOPLE NEED HELP.
arrive at bus which is not the bus we came on, nor is our driver "17" anywhere in sight
us: is this number 17?
USF: no, what the hell are u talking about?
us: uhm well our bus driver said he would meet us after the game, uhm bus 17.
enter group of drunk college boys, "ayooo where is dennis at?"
USF: oh dennis, two buses down.
us: wait, so this bus is going back to the chaparral?
USF: yes, get on.
once again, there are two seats left on the entire bus. do I even NEED to tell you where they were? back row.
we sit for an hour and a half waiting for all buses in front to move before we can.
awkward 50 year old man cracks jokes, "god it sounds like a morgue in here! jeez guys!!!"
no one responds.
it's a bus full of duck fans, we only just lost the national championship in the last two seconds of the game... did he not know?
sweaty hobo comes out of bathroom puking.
cute.
we drive, I fall asleep for a few moments, wake up, and realize we are near the airport.... why are we near the airport? maybe driving through to avoid traffic? no one knows.
bus stops at airport. oh maybe this is just a pit stop. yeah. no. everyone calmly exits the bus. it's just meghan, the driver and I?
me: is this going to the chaparall?
JERK BUS DRIVER: HAHAHAHAHA YOU MEAN TO TELL ME YOU GOT ON THE WRONG BUS HAHAHAHA GOOD LUCK.
btw, just for a time of reference its 1 am.
tears fall. we're. so. screwed.
go into airport.
where the hell is everyone who was just on the bus? are these people all catching red eyes? all flights into Alabama are canceled.... WHERE ARE ALL THOSE PEOPLE AND WHAT ARE THEY GOING TO DO?
frantically follow signs to cabs.
almost get killed jumping in front of cab.
cab stops.
cue this: random black guy gets up from official looking chair/ podium thing and hands me and my sister pieces of paper. "you guys need to fill these out."
me: what the f*@%, who the f*&^^ are you?
cab driver sports confused look.
get into cab.
Meghan is still outside talking to this guy.
we both still have no idea who he is or what he was saying, just for the record.
pay an insane fare back to the hotel, only to find out room service is closed, and the nearest food is two miles away.
well at least they have a gift shop...
oh wait.
nothing like a can of sprite and some Cheetos to comfort an exhausted and emotionally drained soul. jeez.
maybe a good tv show will be on? nope, only game high lights and no name comedian skits. why is that comedians are always on when you are staying in a hotel? it's uncanny.
for lack of anything better to do, I fall asleep.
DAY 3
wake up, get in car with two auburn fans who ramble the entire car ride about how great auburn is. WOOHOO.
(they actually were really nice and I was asking them questions, I just thought mentioning this outside of parentheses would kill the whole cynical planes, trains, and automobiles-esque theme I have going on...)
Meghan heads to the United Air Ways terminal.
I, of course, am still flying southwest.
Go through security. Phoenix actually does have the nude scanners.
Let me tell you, that lady gave me a smirk when I walked through. SHE DID.
who does that?
screw you tsa.
bags are through the machine... I think everything is fine until I am approached by a man wearing rubber gloves... oh my god, oh my god, why is he wearing rubber gloves? I KNEW THAT WOMAN SMIRKED AT ME.
rubber glove man: do you have a bottle of water in your bag?
me: yes, yes I do.
close call.
make it to my gate.
hmmm what to watch on tv? tuscon's own food network (spare me) or a cartoon show featuring blue squares that dress in yellow business attire...
maybe I'll read.
pull out Me talk Pretty One day by David Sedaris.
everyone go out and buy the book. its amazing.
(he also discusses how he writes using a type writer, inspiration for using courier new today as my font. who noticed the change of pace? LOL)
for once, I am not seated last on the plane, but actually one of the first. I pick a window seat in the middle of the cabin, keep reading, and hope someone picks me.
my two seat companions become a business man obsessed with his ipad and a woman reading a book called the help. pretty normal, no aussie hotties or someone that smells. I'll take them.
oh, before I forget, I should mention this. why is it that when you travel alone, the entire world is out to help you? it's wonderful. from the kindness of the rubber glove tsa officer, to the ipad man who helped me with my bag, to another man who carried my bag down the stairs to get off the plane... SO NICE. I've decided even when I'm not traveling alone to pretend I am, just because people are weirdly so nice to you.
I suggest you do the same.
Get off the plane, get on a shuttle with what I assumed to be a chubby Mexican man as the driver (there was a mustache, clearly groomed and very thick, meant to be noticed, turns out the bus driver was a woman? i think? her/his voice was definitely female? couldn't tell if it was a man with a sex change or a woman with one. either way, definitely interesting combination of facial hair and breast tissue...) get dropped off at my car and speed along home.
let me tell you,
there really is no place like home.
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