It is not….ever…..appropriate to be awake at 4am and in the shower, unless you are 1. miserably drunk and 2. just ate some amazing IHOP pancakes, or Waffle House grilled cheese. If neither of these things have happened, and you are awake that early, actually planning on getting ready for the day, you will, obviously, forget your deodorant and maybe your mouth wash, but you will also want to partake in the four slaps rule for the remainder of the day.
Let me highlight the four slaps rule.
When I become Presidentress, which is what I will be called when I make president, I will ensue a four slaps rule. Every person will receive the honorary four slaps a day. You will be able to give and receives slaps for various activities, such as aggravation, stupidity, walking unbearably slow, wearing clothes that are way too small, blowing your cigarette smoke into other people’s faces, being unquestioningly rude, etc. I’m sure you get the point. You will be able to lay all your four smacks on one poor soul, or spread them out to the various outlets. For instance, BP CEO may get most of everyone’s four slaps for the next few years or until the dolphins, manatees, fish and pelicans are no longer covered in oil. Or, today on my flight to DC the stewardess who spoke like this, “please keep your knees, elbows, arms and even feet out of the isle when I am trying to push the beverage caaaaaaaaaaaart.” in a very high voice and ended every sentence with a drawn out word would get three, if not four of my slaps. It was pretty much unbearable. This wasn’t that damn CW television show that tricks us all into believing stewardesses are beautiful creatures handed down from God’s wonderful world of fairies and butterflies, it was real life stewardessing (yes, that’s an appropriate word). It was brutal, sun burnt and squawky.
There’s also a bird in my aunt’s house that is squawky, but animals are not included in the slaps rule because animal cruelty is not allowed in my presidentress governing.
She deserves a slap though, seriously. effin’ birds, who has birds anymore except old women? They should start calling cat ladies, bird ladies, because birds are like four million times worse.
This blog is turning into quite the rant. So, let me rant on for the sake of it. My father, if you know him, can be an asshole, plain and simple. I love him to death, but he’s old and blunt and a little vain (he keeps a picture in his wallet of his younger self, haha). My brother will back me up in this. We had one flight cancelled, one delayed, a bad stewardess, a shuttle to the tarmac, stairs, gates, walking, an hour to get a rental car, a rental car that smelled, too much food, too little food, and many another thing that will easily set my father up to blow. And blow he did on the through-way when he decided if we weren’t heading his way into Buffalo, we weren’t heading anyway. (This was basically for my brother to stop wishing he had come on this lovely family vacation and remember the father times. THIS is definitely one of them).
It has gotten better.
I saw my mom’s home when she was raising my older brother (5 Marlow). Took pictures of Blasedale and buffalo. Had my first buffalo, buffalo wing. Went to Francel’s for some custard and sherbert. But mostly, what I want to focus on here, is the walk with my mother around her old neighborhood. Buffalo isn’t run down and beat-up, the people are wonderful and the houses are adorable. I’d move into one of these unique, homemade, flower-bedded, porched houses any day of the week. Five Marlow had kids running around the streets and people out walking. It also had hoards of cats, it seems everyone in Buffalo wants to have a cat, or has one. Cat’s were even jumping out windows at one point, it was quite heroic to see them in mid-air. I saw the neighborhood police man’s house, Mr. Pollini, (who still lives in the exact same spot, probably still with his four boys) that my brother got all his wild Halloween tricks from when we moved to Florida. I saw the tree my mom and brother planted in the house in five marlow (that’s now huge, and wonderful, just like my mom and brother). I saw the McKinney boy’s dirty, rotten, pig-sty of a house, just as my mother always described it. I’m sure they still live there just looking at the rust on the cars. I just saw so much of my brother and mother here. And for how much my mom talks about struggling in raising my brother and how poor they were, she raised him really well and he’s an amazing man and she did pretty good for herself too. I mean she can tell a meaaaaan story about those McKinney boys. (hah). I just really loved seeing wear my brother grew up and how he was shaped, opposed to me in Boca, where boys wear only Ed Hardy shirts and think they’re guido’s. My brother though, even if he was poor, lived in a very friendly place with my a great mother and that’s something we’ll always share, her.
I can’t wait to update you on the rest of the Buffalo extravaganza as it goes. I know this post was pretty personal, but this is my life. The life of a Buffalonian, Floridian, Carolinian and how the Yank’s meets the Ya’lls in one little girl.
Have a good week in the hotness that is North Carolina. My best friend, Sarah who is traveling, have a safe flight love and I can’t wait to see the pictures of you and the handsome fiance all over my facebook. I will oggle them up. And my boyfriend, in the cold of Canberra, hope you stay warm with those football gloves babe.
Haha night everyone!