(Did you know the only city I've been to in California is Fresno? True story. Fresno is super awesome if you like meth*. I don't like meth.)
Am I nervous about flying? Hell no. A long time ago in a galaxy far far away, I piloted an airplane or twenty. Just when it was getting awesome (read; just when my instructor started taking us way up over The Rockies and stalling our Cessna, leaving ME to pull us out of the stall) they asked for my medical history. Did you know they frown upon pilots with two holes in their heart? I couldn't imagine why.
At 4:45 on Friday, I am scheduled to speak in front of 999 people, and Dooce. Am I nervous? Hell no. The best thing about growing up in a cult that likes to proselytize is the endless public speaking training they put you through. I could talk in front of the President, no prob. I know that's not saying much right now. Shut up; you know what I mean.
The rest of the weekend will be spent with those 1,000 people, some of which I know, some I don't. Am I nervous about meeting all these people, putting voices to their fonts? No, not really. I actually do really well in public settings now-a-days. I will sweat like a stuck pig in a sauna before I enter any room, and probably chain smoke when the whole thing's over, but in the thick of it, I can hang just fine. I guarantee you I'm going to pick my nose at some point, and I guarantee you I won't be the only one. Besides, my old next door neighbor will be there, so I know I'm a'ight.
For clarification, I:
- Pick my nose
- Chew my nails
- Stutter when I'm trying to say something dirty
- Say a lot of dirty things when I'm drunk
- Also cry when I'm drunk
- Am not so big into the whole shoe wearing thing
- Never shave far enough down my legs, leaving me with hairy ankles
- Sweat a lot
- Turn red for no reason
- Only really drink shots
- Have a horrid Philadelphia/Mid West hybrid accent
- Chew my hair
- Doodle on everything
- Will pick any underwear I am forced to wear out of my butt all day long
- Will then take it off and shove it in my briefcase after 1 1/2 shots
- Bypassed muffin top and went straight for mushroom cloud top
- Spin my nose ring when not busy picking said nose
There. I feel better. Am I nervous that 1,000 people I don't know, and who I'd really like to read my blog, will see all of that? Actually, no. Wanna know why? Because they all do too.
Wanna know what I am nervous about? I am nervous that I can't find my toothbrush. I have a toothbrush thing. And my good one, my best one, the Holy Grail of Toothbrushes, has gone missing. What is this magical toothbrush, you ask? I'll show you:
Oh, shut up. You don't even know what you're missing out on. See, I got my mother's, well, nothing, and my father's freaking awful pasty skin and his crinkle-cut front bottom teeth. It's crowded in there. No, I don't care that everyone's going to see that, either, it just comes with the territory, but I do worry that Kimmylyn is going to be a little frazzled when she staggers into our bathroom Friday morning and sees a kid's brush. Yes, I use kids brushes. TWO of them. One baby one that's really narrow for the crowding and one Strawberry Shortcake Reach Kids Toothbrush. SS Crew, representin', dawg. I am also nervous that my brand new toothbrush that The Donor picked up for me after I made him stand in the toothbrush aisle of the drugstore on the phone with me sifting through kids brushes which was totally more horrifying than making him buy me tampons will not work as well as my Strawberry Shortcake Reach toothbrush works. Because I have issues with my teeth.
Why yes, I am a neurotic freak of a mess, why do you ask?
Other than that, I have my hangover cure all ready to go (1 SlimFast, I glass of water, and 2 Midol before you pass out. Works like a charm) I have my Crocs packed just for Kelley and BusyDad, and I, with tears in my eyes, kissed my sweet if not slightly smelly children goodbye before they went to bed tonight.
And now, into the great wide open. With an average toothbrush. See y'all Monday, and please enjoy the guest posts in my absence.
*If you happen to be FROM Fresno, please don't be insulted. A LARGE chunk of my family is from there. Go Fresno State, yo! But seriously, admit it. Buying tinfoil in Fresno is just as hard as finding a virgin on the Disney Channel.