I'm a Space Alien and you need to let me in the cockpit

So imagine that you're flying back to California after a nice visit with your family in Helena.  You're headed back with another friend of yours, nickname "Slappy" (and for once, I did NOT make this nickname up).  The flight takes off and you close your eyes for a little nappy-nappy time.

The next thing you know, you wake up and the airplane has made an emergency landing in Idaho Falls and your friend is in handcuffs for trying to gain access to the cockpit by claiming he is a space alien.

Yes, I said space alien.

Don't believe me?  Google "Space alien aircraft" and see what pops up.

I was actually going to write this post yesterday, but it hadn't filtered into the news outlets yet.  It's much more fun when I can link to the news article and then tell you the caveat to this whole story:

I know this guy.  And his friend.  This is why I can tell you that his nickname is Slappy and he's always been a little crazy but never in a million years did we think he would try and take over an aircraft by claiming to be an alien from outer space.'

Guess it shows what we knew, huh?

...Wisconsin?

Last week my husband and I were afforded the opportunity to go see the San Diego Padres play the Milwaukee Brewers, courtesy of a client.  We got to sit in the sky box and watch the game while munching on appetizers and reclining on a leater sofa.  Although it was a work thing, so we did have to talk about work stuff now and then with the client.

All in all, it was a pretty entertaining game.  And then there was the ride home.

Because of the scarcity of parking downtown, where the stadium is, a group of us from the office carpooled to the game.  One of those people happened to be a Really Important Person who was in town from our corporate office in Kansas City.  Like, my boss's boss's boss kind of person.  You know, the president of our whole company.

It turns out, the Padres had a pretty good game and soundly trounced the Brewers.  In the car ride back, I heard the boss's boss's boss ask one of my co-workers,

"Where is Milwaukee at?"

I thought about this question for a minute.  It occured to me that there was NO WAY he was actully asking what it sounded like he was asking.  I started to open my mouth to answer - and then thought better of it.  I closed my mouth.  The question wasn't being asked of me, after all. And I do have a history of making stupid comments before I think them through.

However, he then asked the question two more times.

"Do you know where Milkaukee is at?"

I couldn't help myself.  I just couldn't.  I mean, surely my boss's boss's boss, being the Really Important Person that he was in our company, knew where Milwaukee was at.  But he had asked the question three times and the poor man did not have an answer yet!  I had to at least tell him something.  Since I wasn't quite sure it was really the answer he was looking for, it came out more like a question:

"Wisconsin?"

He looked at me for a second, then said, deadpan, "Yeah, Krista I don't get out of Missourah much."

All I have to say is that THANK GOD my boss's boss's boss has a sense of humor.  He was, obviously, not asking in which state was the city of Milwaukee.  He simply wanted to know where they ranked in the baseball standings, so he could judge the weight of the Padre's sound victory at the game.

I believe everyone in that car was laughing at me for a full 10 minutes.  At least the boss's boss's boss was laughing as well.

The Clampetts move to Phoenix

Okay, so we might be a little redneck.  And I say "we" in that affectionate, my-husband-is-so-I-am-by-association sort of way.  I guess we have established already that we can light a fire with a blow torch and live in a trailer and enjoy NASCAR so it's not a far stretch to imagine the "formal entryway" to our new home.

Allow me to share a picture.

Oh, what is that in the corner?  Is that the arcade game Big Buck Hunter? Why yes, it does appear to be Big Buck Hunter.  Let's take a closer look...

Yep, definitely Big Buck Hunter (PRO! Open Season!).  It goes great with the brand-new keg fridge we installed in the kitchen.

To be fair, I should mention that we also installed a top-knotch wine fridge next to the keg fridge.  And also to be fair, the husband and I did make a deal regarding the Big Buck Hunter.

Husband got BBH.  I got a fancy new library in what used to be the breakfast nook.  And not just any fancy new library, but a library that my husband and his friends spent many hours perfecting into the beautiful, built-in materpiece that it is today.

Suddenly, our house is very popular with all of my husband's friends.  And I don't think it's because of the library...

It's a Coupon!

I know I've been sort of absent lately. There has been a lot of stuff to do at work and a lot of improvements on the new house and also last Sunday I was extremely occupied with reading a book by the pool and getting a pedicure. So sue me.

In lieu of an actual, intersting post, I'll share one of the tidbits I came across when cleaning house. As you may recall, I'm not very good at getting rid of things. So when I found this, it was not much of a surprise:

Maybe you might notice a few things wrong with this picture.  Let's start with the expiration date.  What is that, 2007?  I'm guessing they won't honor that $10 coupon anymore... oh WAIT, I forget, the entire chain WENT OUT OF BUSINESS this year.  I think I was so excited that Mervyn's knew my birthday in a pseudo-stalkerish kind of way, that I just couldn't bear to part with my $10 coupon.

Merry ChristmaVal 'O Easter

It's probably time to take down your Halloween decorations when you start putting up your Christmas ones...

P.S.  This photo was taken on Valentine's Day.

Crazy Cat Lady

I used to tell people that if I never met The One, I would grow up to be the “crazy cat lady.” You know, the weird sweet little old lady who lives down the block in a 2-bedroom craftsman-style house with her 5 million cats.

AND/OR: I’d be like the lady I encountered on an LA freeway last week, putzing along with multiple bumper stickers proclaiming her love for all things feline:


Thankfully for all involved, I did meet The One, and he has a strict “2-cat maximum” policy.

But I still love my cat.  A LOT.  I mean, if my cat were a baby, I’d be like the person who has to upgrade their online photo account because the entire free allotment is already filled with pictures of the baby's face. If my cat were a tiny dog, I would be the person who has to dress it in pink sweaters with little matching booties. You know, the borderline obsessive, totally-believe-everyone-else-cares-when-they-don't kind of love.

This is why even though I may take a lot of photos of my cat, I do not post many on the blog.

But sometimes I can’t help myself. Like when she is sleeping on top of the couch, upside-down with her paws in the air and her chubby white belly on display:



I had to share. I just couldn’t help it.  Call me crazy.

An Open Letter to Mr. Loud Talker

Dear Mr. Loud Talker:

I'm sure you probably don't realize that your voice carries so well through the hotel walls.  For your information, I can hear every single one of your phone conversations with crystal clarity. 

I really don't need to know that much about your business.  And I'm not trying to listen in, really I'm not.  You're just so LOUD it's unavoidable.  But here's the thing.  You know that really shrill, annoying, bell-like ring tone you chose?  And you know that time, at 5AM, when most people are sleeping?  That is a GOOD TIME for you to have your phone on vibrate. 

This morning I was jerked out of a sound sleep by a your voice echoing through the room:  "Hello, S___?  It's B___.  It's B___.  IT'S B___.  CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?  IT'S B___.  I'VE BEEN TRYING TO REACH YOU.  I'VE BEEN -- YES.  BECAUSE WE HAVE A MEETING AT 8AM AND I CAN'T SEEM TO LOCATE R___..." 

My husband would like to offer some friendly advice on why you couldn't locate R___ at the crack of dawn.  It is probably because the meeting wasn't scheduled for another three hours, so he was sleeping.  You know, like we were trying to do before you so rudely awakened us.  And of course, the shrill, bell-like ring tone that was going off every fifteen minutes didn't help much, either.

I will conclude this letter with a hope that you will exhibit more consideration tomorrow morning.  If I understood your conversation with your family this evening, you are going to be home around 6pm tomorrow night, which means that only tomorrow morning do I risk being woken by your loud voice or shrill ringtone.

Best wishes for a speedy trip home,

Your Frusterated and Slightly Sleep-Deprived Neighbor