des the terrorist strikes back

Do I have a problem with authority figures? Apparently. You may remember a time when I almost couldn't go see the Statue Of Liberty because in my purse I had a manicure set that contained - heaven forfend! - cuticle scissors. I argued with the security guard about how A) these scissors couldn't kill anyone, and B) even if they could, why would I wait til I got on the island to do it? Eventually they let me go, scissors in hand, and no acts of terrorism were committed that day.

So cut to the present. I am leaving the Flint, MI airport before dawn so I can return to my big city ways and the job that leaves me less than thrilled after my recent lecture. My flight leaves at 6am, so I try to check in at 5:27. Flint is not as small as the TinyTown airport I was using during xmas (aka Eureka, which has a total of 2 gates, and one of those is devoted solely to cargo), but it is still much smaller than the airport-cities that I am used to (see JFK or SFO). What I've forgotten is that tiny airports are stricter than my normal haunts. The airport guy tells me I am late to check in. He still gives me my boarding pass, but lets me know that the airline doesn't usually go in for those kinds of shenanigans.

I proceed to security after giving my Jay a kiss for temporary goodbye,. I take off my hat, coat, scarf, mittens, shoes, belt, and whatever else the TSA can think of that might be concealing dangerous weapons. (Seriously, if I was going to hijack a plane, why would I be leaving from Flint, MI?) I go through security, and everyone is a little cranky. They probably want to be here even less than I do, but at least they're getting paid for it. Then they stop my purse and ask me to step aside so they can rummage. What's this? My lotion, my one liquid item, is not in a clear plastic bag. I need to exit the area so I can get a bag for my one bottle of lotion, which is clearly marked and within all size regulations. Then I need to go through security all over again.

I believe my exact words were "Are you fucking kidding me?"
I told them that they let me through on my way out here, and the guard's very clever power-trip response was "Well I don't know where you come from, but we do things a bit different here." Of course my reply was "I'm from New York fucking City! Now give me my goddam lotion and let me on the plane!" (ok, so don't quote me on that. But did I mention it was still the wee hours of the morn?)

I was then escorted outside the security area by the guard, who would not give me back my lotion until we were a safe distance away from the other passengers. He must have known that I only had the short-range exploding lotion with me this time. So I walked to the gift store and waited "patiently" for the employee-ladies to stop gossiping and give me my stupid ziploc bag. Then I went back to security and once again removed all my accouterments. I heard the loudspeaker announce that my flight was boarding, but here I am having my ticket double quadruple checked with my ID. Apparently during this time they also paged me specifically, but I was too busy being pissed off to hear.

I walk up to the gate and the person already knows I'm desiree. I apologized for having to go through security twice because of my deadly deadly lotion and joined the other 5 (five!) passengers on my plane. Of course I was the last to board, so they were obviously waiting for me. The security guard had given me the option of throwing my lotion away (and by that I mean that he walked to the trash can and deposited my lotion accordingly until I began to argue that it was brand new and cost me $17 so I wanted to keep it) but I would rather have just missed my flight and gone back to sleep than deal with this crap.

Lesson: Don't mess with a cranky girl's lotion.

Best Day Ever, complete with pictures

Waking up in a good mood is always, well, good. I had 2 days off in a row, so I wasn't tormented by waking up with xmas music already in my head. No Santa Baby for me, thanks. Then, I forgot to bleach my hair and eat breakfast. OK, so let's pretend the morning didn't happen, and combine the previous day into it. (Insert lots of tape editing noises here.)

I needed new mittens. I was in dire need of new mittens. See why?




Yeah, notice the thumb that is not even hanging by a thread. New mittens. Problem is, I'm very particular about my mittens. First off, they have to be the kind of mittens that pretend to be gloves. Finger holes. (ha ha ha - wait, you'll see why that is funny.) Because with regular gloves you have snowpuff hands and can't do anything, like dial a phone or get your metrocard out of your wallet. But with regular mitten cup hands, your hands stay impossibly warm while being even less functional. With the combo, your fingertips are exposed for you to do stuff with, but they remain toasty warm.

SO my quest for the perfect mittens began. And then it ended, shortly after, as I walked down Bleeker Street while chatting happily away. Then I yelled OHMYGODTHEYEHAVETHEBESTMITTENSEVER while my bf stayed confused. 5 seconds and $15 later, I had these.




I like things that are rainbow striped.

(This is the part that was seamlessly edited to make the 2 consecutive days blend into one.)

Time to hang out with my good buddy Suzanne. What else would we do but go to the Museum of Sex? (For a very good writeup on this, including what may be the best picture ever taken, also the reason I chuckled at "finger holes" earlier, go read Suzanne's account of it all.*) Hilarious and slightly disturbing times were had, except for the parts where we were walking to and from the museum when the world was full of horrible stupid slushy freezing rain that made my warm fuzzy boots, and as a result, my warm fuzzy socks, both very wet and not warm.

We trudged to a restaurant where I tried to redeem my free meal coupon. They took it, but gave me the 3rd degree on where I got it. I was like, I just want my damn stupid not so tasty food. For a drink, I considered hot chocolate until the menu description said "Hershey's syrup and whipped cream" which made me throw up a little. I went for the apple cider, then was very upset when they put whipped cream on that too. Seriously, who puts whipped cream on apple cider? Pukatronic. I scooped most of it out with my fingers, but the remnants looked like curdled milk, and try as I might, I just couldn't finish the drink. I would have taken a picture, but I chose not to so that I would never have to look at it again. Seriously, it was some nasty-ass funk.

Luckily it stopped being the Worst Weather Ever long enough for us to wander around accomplishing nothing until it was time for me to go see Royal Crown Revue, who is my current favorite swing jazz band. Doors opened at 7, so I figured the show would start at 8. My wet feet pushed me in there around 7:30. Luckily I have a sweet and loving boyfriend so I could wile away the more than 2 hours waiting for the show to start talking to him on the phone. But once the show did start, it was wicked good. There were so few people there, it felt kinda like the old punk shows I used to go to in Fresno. Everyone was having a blast, including the band, and especially the couple that was swing dancing in front of the stage. He was wearing a full suit with suspenders and wingtips, and she had a great swing dress with perfect pinup hair & makeup. I loved them, and had I a partner, I totally would have shown off my swing dancing skillz alongside them.

Here are some blurry photos of the band, because they are awesome and fun and you should go see them.




Afterwards, because this is how I roll, I met the band and bought their new cd, which was then signed by the drummer and the singer. The singer learned my name and sang me a song called "My Deserie" (which thanks to the magic of the internets, I can now listen to anytime I want). Then I chatted up the drummer, Daniel Glass, and told him that I love him a little bit and that he is my new favorite drummer. This is all true. Then he told me I should be a drummer too. And that's what he wrote on my cd. We started talking about one of his other bands that "is a little more 20s and 40s style, more dancable" and I was like I LOVE that so he wrote that down on my cd too. And told me to look them up on Youtube. So I did.



No, it's not the fanciest drumwork in that video, but that man was doing things with sticks that I never thought possible. Here's a picture of him playing the upright bass with drumsticks, which, yes, I have seen before, but I still love.



OK that's it for now. Good times.





*and it contains the line "Des is normal, and a sex museum promised fun." which is quite possibly the best statement ever.