It’s probably not a good idea to fly with me. If, for some reason, you want to go on vacation with me (you don’t), it’s best to meet me somewhere, because flying with me is sort of like being in National Lampoon’s Vacation. Minus, of course, the Family Truckster. And THAT’S only because planes don’t have wood paneling. Mostly.
Bright and blurry, Thursday morning I stood in the Special Line at the TSA Screening just waiting to see what the morning would bring. A strip search? A trip to the back room? Would I be able to board this flight? I simply wasn’t sure, but was anxious to find out. Big Girl was HUNGRY and ready to move on with her day.
Thankfully, I didn’t have to wait long: my Barbie Pink bag was immediately singled out for Extra Searching, which was the least of my concerns, since, you know, I’d stopped packing my shotguns and napalm.
Turns out my BUSINESS CARDS, which I’d brought for no other reason than to explain that I was an Executive in AWESOMENESS, looked suspicious, and needed to be further investigated.
(shout out to my designer, who is amazing, reasonable and BRILLIANT: Robin, at Oppositional Design. You need her. I promise. I can also give you a recommendation for a printer if you need one, too. My cards are incredible. Mostly because I didn’t design them. Or they would suck balls.)
Got to NYC, and the hotel, of course, wasn’t ready. But when I finally got to my floor, it was the Suites Floor, where a shoe company was doing an expo. Which, hi, AWESOME, except that apparently a Sample Size for shoes is a size 6, which I am not. Apparently my size 8.5 makes me Bozo the freaking Clown in feet terms, so me and my boatish clown feet shuffled our canoe-like feet to our room.
Which was right across the hall from this:
What. The. Hell. Are. Restricted. Shoes?
I looked inside, because obviously, and I’m telling you, Pranksters, the shoes looked not like they were made of platinum and diamonds and nebulous black holes, but like…regular shoes.
I was so disappointed to realize that “Restricted Shoes” were also “Boring Shoes.”
I’d kind of hoped they were the shoes that ate your feet or gave you terrible rashes or were made out of the skin of dead saints or by extinct dodo bird feathers, but these shoes just looked…normal.
Talk about mislabeling AND misleading me. I considered suing them for misrepresentation until I realized that the shoe people were leaving that night.
My heart was sad. So were my gigantic boat feet.
I couldn’t believe I could even WALK in feet that big, now that I knew there were people out there walking around with a dainty size 6 foot. Then I wondered if they had toes. They couldn’t possibly have toes. My hugemongeous hobbit feet and I comforted ourselves knowing that the Size 6 people probably had no toes.
For the following (counts on fingers) bunch of hours, my super-sized feet and I got asked what our “plans” were.
Now, if you don’t know Your Aunt Becky, you wouldn’t know that she doesn’t really make plans. I’m more of a broad strokes person. I knew I would be GOING to NYC and going to my panel at 1:15 on Friday and an interview thing on Saturday at 11:00 and beyond that, *shrugs* I was going to see what happened.
What? The Type-A people on the other side of the screen are screaming. How could you not have any other PLANS beyond that?
And no, I didn’t. I never do. I always figure things will work out and I’ll have more fun if I wait and see what happens. There’s always SOMEONE around with the address of the party I’m supposed to attend and if not, well, I’ll do something else. I’m always content to make my own fun.
This, of course, drives my Planner Friends INSANE. Like, skull blowing off, brain matter spewing everywhere, insane. Which makes it all the more fun to be all, “uh, WHAT was I supposed to do next?”
So, when I came across this, at the Diesel Store, I was all, holy balls, Diesel took my motto:
And I laughed, because dude, Being Stupid is so much more fun. You should try it sometime.
Then, on the way back from dinner with my boss from Toy With Me (I love calling her my boss)(P.S. my column from yesterday is up about online dating), I saw what was on the SIDE of the Diesel Store and peed myself. And not just because I was drunk.
You’ll have to forgive the quality, but the iPhone 4 doesn’t take amazing night shots. It says:
Smart Has The Plans, Stupid Has The Stories.
You know what, Pranksters? I’ll take the stories any day. My ginormous feet and I will happily tread all over town like the village idiots that we are, plan-less and happy, making stories–and children cry–wherever we go.
Because if you’re stupid, you’ll never wish you were anywhere else.
Except not on a plane with me. Obviously.