Poor Picked on Me

I really should try to post every day because, like Jen, I have a lot to say and now that I am behind I will never catch up. I also know that sometimes long entries are hard to read so if you are going to skip one, make it this one it is unimportant.

The first thing I would like to do is complain about how hard my life is. I
want to acknowledge that most of my posts are this way but that is just
because I am acynic but I really do know that my life is simple and easy. I have it good, I get it.
That being said, I am going to complain about cleaning our hot tub. Why do
we have a hot tub? Because some real estate agent told someone who told
their brother-in-law who told his buddy that people are suckers for hot
tubs and no matter what else is wrong with your house, if there is a
hot tub they will look past the other faults. We did not fall into this
trap, we fell into a totally separate trap. Needless to say we ended up with this social gathering place in our back yard.




Hot tubs are great except they only need to be cleaned when the weather
sucks. The first time we had to completely empty and clean the hot tub
was after the New Year's Eve bash (unbelievably good time) and when we
opened it the next day the water was green. And I don't mean chlorine
green either.We had to pump all the water out using a special pump you get from the spa store, wipe the whole tub down and refill it using a half frozen hose that only drizzles. Sound hard? Add the fact that it was close to 20 degrees and you
are covered in water.
The long and short of it is that I opened the lid on Saturday to be sure all was well
with the water before an injured friend came to use it and the water
was green again. So, on Saturday when it was pouring down rain (that
while I was cleaning the spa turned to snow), I put on my rain pants,
rain hat, rain coat, knee high polka dot galoshes ($17 at Costco) and started the process.

Moral of the story: Hot tubs are a great social draw. They are hard to
maintain and you will not use it as much as you would like to. Don't
get in other people's hot tubs unless you know they take good care of
it, they get REALLY gross. Don't let kids get in your hot tub. Let me
repeat, do not let kids get in your hot tub!

Irony

While I was typing that last post, I missed my flight. Apparently they had paged me but I didn't hear.

For the love of God, stop talking. Please.

In the past two weeks I have spent far too much time in airports, specifically the Las Vegas airport. I wish my POS
phone worked so I could take a picture of myself sitting next to the drinking fountain on the floor charging my computer. This carpet is a little like aisle carpet in a movie theatre and I think my pants might
stick to it and pull them down when I try to stand up.Ew!
I feel like I have a little more control over my rage that resides just below my freckled skin these days. That is until I hear airport announcements. It is almost a comedy to me, this incessant distorted babbling through speakers that might as well be under water. I feel very grateful that they never have anything important to say and I often toy with the idea that it is some cruel plot by the airline industry to keep the masses beaten down and to make us feel like the people running these large organizations are actually communicating with each other and with the passengers. This, we know is not true so it must be an exercise of some kind, right? Some sort of lab experiment?

They start talking to you again through an even worse speaker. Please, for the love of God, stop talking. I must give credit where it is due. The timing of these announcements are impeccable. As soon as everyone gets on their phone to tell their ride on the other end that they are boarding the plane, they get on the loud speaker and YELL some useless BS so all the person on the other end can here is the aquatic jumble that fills the air.

Put all of these emotionally charged people who have been emotionally abused by the public service announcements
an enclosed space with small windows to the outside world and the tension rises. You can look, but don't touch and whatever you do, don't ask questions. Some of us are in a hurry, some are excited to go on a trip, some are returning home and are weary, some of us are hoping the plane is delayed so we don't have to deal with the life that awaits us at the other end of the
runway. Never would we cross paths with these people if we were not trapped and forced to coexist for an undetermined amount of time.

Then (and here is the kicker) they keep yelling at us through these useless underwater speakers. For the love of God (now read that really slowly with a pleading exasperation) PLEASE stop it.

Don't get your hopes up, it isn't going to stop. We have made technological advances that make my head spin (video ichat) but for some reason, public announce systems have remained untouched for 50 years. I mean that too, 50 years.
So you sit in the airport with all of these people and then you get on the flying can with them. You have already scoped out the people you don't want to sit next to and it now it is time to face your seating destiny. I fly Southwest a lot so there is some serious seating stress that can happen. I am not fancy like my older sister who gets to sit in the 1st Class lounge and gets reclining seats and complimentary refrigerator to take home if that is what she desires. In fact, on my flight from Kansas City toLas Vegas, they were out of peanuts. Classy operation. Once you have chosen your seat (this choice will backfire on you, mark my words) you sit down.

Once seated, you arrange your station just right, lay your head back grateful to be out of the airport and it all starts again, the yelling through the speakers over your head.