2010 was a very good year

Dear grown-ass man who we just saw riding a bicycle while dragging an office chair behind him on a rope,
   Exactly how drunk were you?
   Were you planning on carrying passengers? Because thats not safe.

Also, happy new year. I can only hope 2011 brings more of the same.
 

Thank you for flying

If airport security profiling exists, then I'm going to have to assume the TSA is keeping an eye out for small, white, blonde girls. I got pulled aside at every check point. I got a full body scan, then my laptop got swabbed to be tested for chemicals, then my carry-on got sent threw the scanner twice, and then after all that the carry on ended up having to be checked.

Its a good thing we show up early. Every time we plan to take a plane, we're there at least three hours before we need to board. Honestly, I really don't mind the wait; it gives me an opportunity to catch up on all that back-logged Facebook stalking and drink heavily without guilt. Not that I tend to carry a whole lot of guilt about that sort of thing, but an excuse never hurts. 

I was dreaming of a White Christmas

My holiday season has always ended up being a blur. I don't think I have ever had a Christmas Eve that I've remembered in my entire adult life. I have never be able to contribute to any story that started with "Remember last Christmas when.." Because the answer is always flatly "No." I could try to blame it on Christmas magic; or me getting black-out drunk, but its neither. Its actually a very precise formula, one that sometimes involves no alcohol at all. See, its one part brand new Christmas Eve jammies, one part giant traditional Christmas Eve dinner, a heavy dose of a roaring fire, and a generous helping of my mother telling me to "eat, eaat!", and churning out endless amounts of cookies and sweet breads. Suddenly, I drink a thimble of eggnog and I'm out like a light.  

And now its time to sip Cosmopolitans and watch "White Christmas" with my mom until we pass out, six minutes from now. God Bless us, every one. 

Keep on Travelin'

I hate packing. I think I spend so much time selecting my outfits before a trip because its easier for me to think, "But what if I step in something wet, and I need an extra pair of dry socks?" than, "But what if the plane goes down and we all die a terrible painful death?"

But my favorite part of getting ready to leave is eating all the food in the house. By the last day we've got nothing but milk, celery, a chunk of cheese, and apple juice. I feel like the Macgyver of dinners, if Macgyver just threw stuff out and bought pizza. We also have very similar hair.

Hot to Talented Ratio: Cartoonists

If theres one thing professional snowboarding has taught me, its that if you're a hot girl, you don't actually have to possess any raw natural talent to be wildly successful.

Well, it turns out the same goes for cartooning. If you're a girl who is even mildly attractive, any drunken scribble you create on Microsoft Paint can win you internet fame. Now, I'm not saying ugly people can't be famous; I'm just saying ugly women can't be famous. Men don't have to be pretty to be successful, in fact, sometimes just the opposite is true; look at Shawn White. When I asked my brother, a notable online cartoonist, if he'd noticed the trend of not very talented but popular female cartoonists, he confirmed, "yup, thats a thing". And thats all the investigative journalism I need. Its also all the investigative journalism I did.

I'm not even sure that a good female cartoonist can be hot. Cartoonists and their cartoon groupies are, as a general population, pale, awkward, basement dwellers. Which might explain why being a beautiful woman means more to them than being a good cartoonist, but I think hot female cartoonists might be like thin chefs. You have to be suspicious; they obviously aren't eating what they cook.

I've got Standards.

So, tomorrow is the big day. I take the standardized test that everyone in California has to take to be a substitute teacher. And I know that logically, the worst thing that could happen is that I fail, and I'd have to re-take the test. But emotionally, the worst thing that could happen is that I fail, and my whole life will be over. I'll wake up in a hell where every bathroom door is locked, and can only be unlocked by multiplying fractions.

Yes. Worst case scenario: I'd pee myself.