It’s here! It’s here!

I don’t know if it’s the 47 mini Snickers I ate yesterday, the incessant dripping of rain on the patio outside my bedroom, or just good old fashioned excitement, but I didn’t sleep at all last night. And that’s because after so many long months, Tequilacon 2010 is finally here! As always, Dave2 came through with a gorgeous poster for the event:


I just hope this rains slows down before tonight, otherwise I’m going to need to reserve a separate room for my hair…


There are several phrases you hope never to hear on a four-hour flight:

“Prepare for a water landing.”

“There’s mother*ckin’ snakes on the plane!”

“Today’s movie stars Robin Williams.”

But earlier this year, I heard the five words that struck more terror into my heart than all the others combined, as they were uttered in a hushed tone by the mother of the 8-year old boy seated next to me:

“Does your tummy still hurt?”

When his immediate response was, “Yeah – real bad,” and she handed him an air-sick bag, I knew I was in for the ride of my life.

The plane hadn’t even taken off yet when he began squirming in his seat. The second the seat belt sign was turned off, his father rushed him to the bathroom, but not before he threw up in the aisle opposite me.

After about a half hour, he returned to his seat, smelling of an acrid combination of vomit and airplane soap. Given that I am highly susceptible to stomach bugs, I focused all my energy on becoming as small and as light as a feather so as not to come into contact with his disease. My body floated above the armrests. My lungs would only inhale 100 molecules of air at a time. Eventually, he fell asleep and I allowed my body to land.

Midway through the flight, he began to stir. His mother was occupied with her infant daughter in the seat next to her, as the boy weakly said, “Mom? Mom?”

I immediately reached over and yanked her sleeve, pointing down at her now sweaty son. He sat up and searched for a bag, which I took as my cue to leap up, grab my book, kick my purse as far under the seat as it would go and make my escape.

I went to the galley up by first class and saw a stack of garbage bags, so I grabbed one and brought it back to the mom, ensuring that the boy had as large a target as possible. From there, it was just a waiting game. We had over two hours left in the flight, so I ran some quick mental calculations and determined that at his rate of vomiting every 30 minutes, and his estimated maximum stomach volume, I needed to stay in the galley for at least another 90 minutes.

As I stood there reading my book, one of the flight attendants – Joakim – asked if he could get me anything. I told him I was fine, and that I was just avoiding my seat-mate who was vomiting.

“Oh god, are you next to that little boy? Is he getting sick again? His dad tried to hand me the bag of vomit while I was delivering food service!”

I told him my story, and he apologized and said that unfortunately it was a totally full flight so there was nowhere for me to go. I said I was fine in the galley, far from the sounds and smells of my neighbor.

On his next galley run, he asked again if he could get me anything, “Bloody Mary? Screwdriver? Glass of wine?”

It was 10:00am. I hadn’t eaten anything other than a piece of toast four hours earlier. So I said hell yeah bring me some wine, and that’s when it became one of the best flights ever. Leaning up against the counter, sipping my wine and reading my book, I started to chat up everyone as they waited in line for the bathrooms. They would ask if I was in line, and I would say no, I was just trying to avoid getting vomit on me. Then we would talk, they would hang out in the galley for a while, some more people would join us – it was like a house party.

Every so often, Joakim would come back and hang out with me. He shared vomit and diaper horror stories from previous flights. He was my favorite flight attendant ever, and not just because he brought me two more glasses of wine during the two hours I stood there.

When the seat belt sign came on as we began our descent, I flashed Joakim a sad look and he shook his head. “Not yet,” he said. I could stay back there a few more minutes. Once it was truly time for me to take my seat, he handed me another garbage bag, “Just in case.”

The boy was again sleeping and my seat did not appear to be contaminated, so I quietly slid in, buckled my seat belt and closed my eyes. When I arrived in San Francisco, the text I sent my friend simply said, “Plane here. So drunk.” When life hands you lemons, sometimes you have to make Cabernet.


It was a wise Rolling Stone who once said something about not always getting what you want, but getting what you need. The line between want and need is often so blurred that it’s difficult to separate the two, but today it was crystal clear.

It was a beautiful day – one of those perfect sunny, almost 70 degree Saturdays after a week that dropped down in the 30’s. My neighborhood was packed with people desperate to blow the stink off of them after so many months inside. I wandered through bookstores, coffee shops and antique dealers until I finally made my way into the thrift store down the street.

I was just about to leave the store empty-handed when out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flash of something… spectacular. I took a photo and texted my friend Natasha.

“FYI – I’m buying this!”

An immediate response: “Oh no you’re not! You put that down right now!”

“Too late. I just did.”

Let me introduce you to Maude:


Maude is my new green-eyed, cross-dressing rooster marionette. Someone lovingly made Maude out of a cardboard tube for a body, papier mâché head and hands, and rolled up newspapers covered in terrycloth for legs. And then they dressed him in a floral muumuu. How could someone give away such a treasure?

There was a split second where I actually set Maude back on the shelf, worrying that with two cats and my ever-growing collection of vintage Girl Scout memorabilia, I was only a few suitcases full of old National Geographics away from being featured on the next episode of Hoarders. But then I came to my senses and proudly carried Maude up to the cashier.

“Well that’s something you can’t live without,” said the tattooed cashier as he flashed me a smile.

“EXACTLY! It’s like I’ve been waiting my entire life to find a papier mâché cross-dressing rooster marionette, and now I can die happy.”

“Enjoy your chicken!”

So far, Miso is getting along well with Maude. I suspect these boys will become fast friends.



Jasmine, on the other hand, seems indifferent. Maybe she’s jealous of the muumuu, maybe it’s the scent of basement, I can’t be certain. But she’ll come around eventually, because she needs Maude just as much as the rest of us do.

Goddamn 2010 Census

I’ve got to be honest – I really don’t appreciate the tone The 2010 Census is taking with me. I’ll answer my ten questions when I’m good and ready. Yeah, I know… I’ve seen the ads. My lack of participation is screwing things for all the other 39 year old white unmarried childless women out there, but I don’t even care. Just try to take away all our government funding for cat litter and box wine. I f*cking dare you! If anyone so much as thought about cutting our annual funds for retro-chic craft projects and skinny jeans that we knew were unflattering when we bought them but we bought them anyway, my people would rise up like a tsunami and level this country.

I’m *this* close to filing a restraining order against The 2010 Census. The post cards, the letters, the packets, the follow up letters, the second packet, the threats of legal action. What’s next? You gonna send Ed Begley over to my house to haul me off to jail in his solar car? Do you have any idea how many ironic folk renditions of classic pop songs we could have purchased on iTunes with the money you’re spending on postage alone? So many.

Frankly, I think this whole census thing is the reason I forgot to post the March 1960 Girl Scout calendar photo. The 2010 Census is screwing up my whole life! Laundry piling up? GODDAMN 2010 CENSUS! Taxes still due? GODDAMN 2010 CENSUS! Acid reflux? GODDAMN 2010 CENSUS! Computer crashed? GODDAMN 2010 CENSUS!

Well, I can’t let The 2010 Census ruin my life any longer. It’s time I took back control, so please accept these inspiring photos of sisters doing it for themselves as my sincerest apology. Goddamn 2010 census.

March 1960
March 1960
“The Investiture Ceremony is a high moment in a Girl Scout’s life… as she receives her official pin and repeats her Promise.”

April 1960
April 1960
“A spectacular display of poppies on this Arizona hillside makes a wonderful background for picture taking.”