Flighty Humor

Now I know what to put under job duties on my resume.

Travel + Leisure = Inevitable Runway Doom

Travel + Leisure just published a list of the scariest runways in the world.  Of course, by "just published" I mean "this is probably old news but you don't know any better anyway."  

This madness to the left is in St. Maarten.  Who the hell would want to be so GD close to an incoming airplane?  Nothing like a sunny day at the beach with a side of jet fumes and deafening turbojet hullabaloo.  What if I was flying my kite?  That beast would suck me up and spit me out faster than a foot-tapping airport stall occupant.  You might as well go lay out on the runway.  

Also on the list of scariest runways is JFK.  They must have also factored in the heinous experience of waiting for hours in this airport's terminals atop urine-stained carpeting.  Left off the list was any runway where Naomi Campbell is near.  Duck and cover when you see her whip out that cell.  

Palin's a bailin'

...well maybe not quite yet.  I can't quite figure out which is more entertaining:  the actual Sarah Palin interview with Katie Couric or Tina Fey and Amy Poehler's sendoff of it...

Which One Best Represents You?

The Good Witch

See more Kristin Chenoweth videos at Funny or Die

One of the many reasons why I love Kristin Chenoweth. 

And this, from Pushing Daisies.

And let's not forget this little show...

Life of the Young, Fabulous, and Broke

I recently have come to the realization that about 35% of my day is spent killing time.  You might even consider it homicide.  I kill time at the library, kill time on the computer, and kill time walking around town.  I suppose there are worse crimes to commit.  Considering I spend about 25% of my life sitting at the airport, 15% sitting in an airplane, and 25% sleeping/eating/private lights out time, that leaves little time for my true passion:  irresponsible spending.  Thus I am happy to report that yesterday I managed to consolidate TWO of these activities.  I was killing time in the house of the lovely Mr.'s Barnes & Noble when I came across "The Money Book for the Young, Fabulous, and Broke."  Why, I am all of these things!  The fact that the word "money" was thrown in only held my attention even longer.  And who was eerily open-mouthed smiling at me on the cover?  None other than the great Lady Suze Orman.  

Unfortunately, the book ran for $18 which seemed like a great start to my path of being young and broke ('cause let's face it, I've got the fabulous part down).  Even more unfortunate was the urge, and subsequent giving in to said urge, to purchase another book.  Who am I to deny my fabulous self a pleasure purchase?  

Though my original reasons for buying the book may not have been of the purest, I do have to admit that this is one cheap lesbian who knows her penny pinching.  The book features an easy, breezy (beautiful) writing style, and presents the reader with the solid facts, Orman style!  I would recommend it to any fellow Y, F&B'er if not solely for the pictures of Suze in her blisteringly loud attire/orange skin.  

Quarter-Life Quandary

"You are not a little boy.  Nobody is going to hold your hand anymore."

This painful nugget of information was abruptly brought to my attention last week.  My Dad wasn't going for any sort of profound effect with the statement.  In fact he was referring to my current boredom and inability to entertain myself.  But the echo of these words has been on repeat in my head ever since hearing them.  

I do realize I am nearly a quarter of a decade old, and 25 a boy does not make.  Yet, it was not until thinking about my Dad's casual comment that I realized how drastic things could change from those pre-graduate days to the early-to-mid twenties.  I consider myself not a pessimist but a realist, and it was possibly this characteristic that pointed me to the stark truth:  It is all up to me now.  The safety net has been worn and torn into nothingness.  When I make those inevitable, clumsy blunders there are no arms to catch me but my own.  

While some of you may have started walking the tightrope net-less when you gave up those Goosebumps books, I mature at a much slower pace, plodding along in my diapers when you were in your training pants.  My family is semi-regularly supportive of me, and I have close relationships with a generous amount of friends.  But I can no longer rely on them to drop everything when need be and come to my aid.  They have their own fumbles and flubs that they are frantically trying to recover from.  

It is not my intention for this view to make the outlook a bit bleak, and it shouldn't be too unsettling.  A certain sense of liberation comes with this realization.  I have been pointed in the right direction (hopefully) by those around me, and now it is my turn to take the wheel.  I am going to make wrong turns, and yes my car will probably break down once or twice, but these are the trials and tribulations of life and will be dealt with at that instant and not a second sooner.  And with this, I am enlivened...because it is all up to me now.