I'm a Member of the Mile High Club

Wikipedia says (so it much be true) that "The Mile High Club (or MHC) (<-- Seriously? MHC? It needs an acronym?) is a slang term applied collectively to individuals who have sex while on board an aircraft in flight."

Question: When was the last time you were in an airplane, and you were cruising at 5,280 feet? Probably NEVER. Because if you were, you'd CRASH right into the ROCKY MOUNTAINS. And it would be about half-way up the mountain, not just grazing the peak and rolling down the other side. No... you'd go SPLAT! Right into the side.

If being a member of the "MHC" (<-- so lame) means you've boned at a mile high, well, then, I'm a member, and have been for longer than I'd like to admit. Growing up at 6,700 feet will do a lot of things for you:

• Give you amazing stamina for sports/running/marathon-between-the-sheet nights due to the lack of oxygen your brain gets from being up so high
• The sun in a friendly reminder that it's hot. put some damn sunscreen on because you're 6,700 feet closer to the sun than you would be if you were at the beach and damn that shit is hot and intense.
• There's nothing to do above 5,280 feet because there are no decent sized cities, so you learn how to drink, and drink a lot.
• On the bright side, you can really booze it up if you even get down to sea-level.

I had a point to this post... oh! right. The MHC is lame and untrue and you don't have to bone in the micro-shitter on a plane to be a "member." How does that conversation go, anyway? "Hey... wanna put your ass on the counter inside that bathroom by aisle 24?" "Only if you're foot goes in the toilet" "But then it'll turn blue!" "Whatever, douche, my ass will forever be infected. "Oh hang on, I think that fat guy is taking a crap in there. He's been in there for a long-ass time" "Speaking of asses... get on the counter, biotch!" Ew. diseases. Gross.

And also, every single person I grew up with is also a member due to the need to entertain ourselves because the town was so small, and because we lived at such a high altitude. And when you have nothing to do at 16... you drink. Then eventually, you bone. It's the natural progression of things.

Mile High Club my disease-infested-ass.

Celine Dion, Pictures in Port-a-Potties and ME!

It seems I've taken a bit of a hiatus recently... I promise not to do that very often. I didn't mean to. I'm sorry. Please come back! Jack! Come back! Jaaaaaack! (insert Celine Dion music here)

Just to keep you up to date, some things I've done (and haven't done) while I haven't been blogging (and because I feel the need to use bullet points whenever possible): I...

• Marched in the 4th of July Parade, carried the Arizona flag, and did NOT have anything thrown at me over the AZ immigration law
• Went to Tahoe and rode 20+ miles on a bike over two days (this is good for me)
• Due to the above mileage, I bruised my taint on the damn bike seat
• Was convinced to join Weight Watchers (possibly because 20+ miles on a bike was considered to be pretty awesome)
• Have NOT attended a Weight Watchers meeting yet
• But HAVE looked at buying a food scale
• Have NOT bought the food scale
• Am rethinking why I just brewed beer if I'm going to join Weight Watchers and will not be allowed to drink any of it. Assholes.
• Finally got motivated to fix the array of random crap that is wrong with my car (and have agreed to hand over my first-born as payment)
• Wore a very short, low-cut dress to the dealer to try and get a deal on the work being done (did not work) (maybe it will work better after Weight Watchers actually starts) (also, if it's called a "dealer" why don't they actually cut DEALS? They should be called "Screwers" or "We Don't Actually Care About Keeping You Happy/Fed/Clothed/Sheltered")
• Ordered an iPhone 4
• Found out they are SUPER back-ordered and don't actually work that well. Damn.

 So... the sun finally came out. It's almost the middle of July and June Gloom has finally left us. Took long enough. It's supposed to be 100 degrees for the rest of the week. And that's the forecast for the area NEAR THE OCEAN. I plan to drink a lot. And also have some water. However, the unexpected visit of Mr. Sunshine has me in a particularly wonderful mood. It's like I've found my rainbow. The Lovers, The Dreamers, and Me. There's no leprechaun though. Double Damn.

As promised, here is the pic of me in the porta-a-potty at Country Jam... please keep in mind that at this time, I had already been drinking for 4 straight days, have been shitting in these very same port-a-potties for the same amount of time, and have also been camping, in a tent, with two other girls.

Calling in Burnt

Air humping, motor-boating, excessive boozing and really good time. Last weekend was an amazing one. In fact, it was so amazing, that I called in burnt to work on Monday. You see, some of the benefits of living in California are that you can get away with b.s. like calling in burnt. And the best part? I actually DO look like a lobster. I also like to eat lobster. But I would prefer not to eat myself. Wait... that just got SUPER dirty.

So Monday morning, there I was, laying a pool of my own drool, blinding slapping at the snooze button on my alarm clock feeling like death (and probably looking like it too). As I lay there contemplating what could possibly be worse than feeling the way I felt (hungover, burnt to a crisp, on 4 hours of sleep, etc), I realized that... I HAVE SICK DAYS! And... instead of calling in with some kind of illness and having to fake feeling like shit for the next week, I decided to tell the truth(ish). So I texted my boss (I love technology... like, more than a friend) and told her that I was all burnt and couldn't even put pants on and would really like to NOT come into the office. She promptly responded with the "no problem" text I was praying for. WHAT?! You mean I just called into the office telling them I'm an irresponsible asshole who can't even remember to slap on some SPF for my lily white ass and it's okay?! Sold.

So, I spent the rest of the day on my couch, soaked in aloe and lotion, watching the game show network and reliving the parts of the weekend that I remembered.

Upon reflection, I think it's absolutely necessary to share with you some very important lessons learned in just 36 short hours:

1. Don't waste your money on going out to sushi for dinner when you're already wasted and just walk directly out of the restaurant (after eating all the fish you can handle) and into Taco Bell for "dessert"
2. ALWAYS put sunscreen on your head and hairline so you don't end up with random scabbing grossness in your part and looking like a damn leper. (Have you ever looked at pictures of lepers? Because I just did for the first time and now I feel all creep'd out and also like an asshole)
3. While sitting at the beach ALL DAY long, remember to reapply sunscreen more than once. Because no matter how much you've had to drink and how invincible you think you may be to the devil-sun, you're not. 
4. There's a reason guys like to lay on girl's boobs... those things are damn comfortable! (I have some well-endowed girlfriends and put in some good "pillow" time... trust me on this)
5. The word "pussy" is amazing (I think we all knew that). But when it's said with a southern accent, it's EPIC, and impossible to overuse.
6. I'm pretty positive there were other lessons learned, but I drank too much and can't remember them. My bad.

Here's to being sober for a few days, but also to a FANTASTIC weekend.