Despite some silliness with the airport security people and their idiot rules about toiletries and lighters, the holidays with the fam were not so bad. I ate entirely too much and slept entirely too little, but overall, I’d have to mark this Christmas in the “non-suck” column.
(The airlines will now let you bring liquids, but only in 3-ounce containers. And only if they are in a Ziploc baggie. Well, I PUT my stuff in a fucking baggie. Mr. Security Moron informs me that (a) the baggie is not regulation size and (b) ONLY the liquids need to be in it, and things like eye drops and zit cream don’t count, because they are “medications.” He then proceeds to separate all of my toiletries into individual piles and re-Ziplocs the appropriate items. I then dump all the shit back in my bag. Also, I apparently left a lighter in my jeans pocket in my suitcase. Whoops. I volunteered to fish it out, since I knew what pocket and where the jeans were in my suitcase, but I was not allowed to TOUCH my suitcase until Mr. S.M. rooted through the whole thing and messed it all up in an effort to ensure that I didn’t set the plane on fire. He then, with a STRAIGHT FACE, informed me that I was free to keep the lighter, but that I would have to take it to my car. I told him to keep the 50 cent lighter which was almost empty anyway. Then, they have to send the bag back through the x-ray. WTF? They saw ONE LIGHTER and then DUG THROUGH THE WHOLE FUCKING THING. What did they expect to find? Seriously.)
My stepfather was actually being pleasant. I’m not sure if it’s because my mom threatened him with death, or what, but he silenced his Inner Asshat for a few days.
And my mom, my brother, and I spent some time looking through a bunch of old photos and laughing at each other’s bad hair and fashion choices. For your amusement, here are a few choice ones of me. Unfortunately, the pic of my brother sporting a mullet and really ugly glasses was a little blurry for scanning fun.
(Click on the thumbnail for full-size image.)
Me, age 5, riding my first bike. It was yellow and white and had a banana seat with these pink and purple flowers.
Me, age about 7, looking like I’m plotting the destruction of the world.
Me, age 8, at Disney World. Note the pigtails with those horrible little ball ponytail holders that usually popped me in the head at least twice before the pigtails were fully formed. I think they quit making those stupid things for a while, but like Strawberry Shortcake, the Transformers, and gaucho pants, they are now being manufactured again so that my generation can torment their own offspring.
Me, age 12-ish, before I learned that blue eyeshadow and sweater vests were bad.
Me, age 14-ish. God, that perm was horrible. As was that icky-ass sweater.
Me, sometime shortly post-college. Overalls. How cute.
And one of my parents in the 70’s…I love this. I love everything about it, from their outfits to the afro behind them.
That’s all the photo album you guys get for today. I have to actually work, and shit…it’s time for “Fun with PowerPoint!”, “How the Fuck Did You Graduate from Law School When You Cannot Construct a Simple Declarative Sentence?” and “Moving Paper from One Pile to Another in an Attempt to Look Busy.”