The best best friend a girl could have.

On Friday evening as I was completing my nightly ritual of facewashing followed by 432,890,432 lotions and potions to prevent premature aging and wrinkles, I had the living shit scared out of me by a near 6 ft. ginger who just magically appeared in my bathroom.

OMG. My bestie circa 1995 hopped a plane from DC to surprise me for the weekend! I've never been so happy to almost crap my pants in all my life.

After I regained consciousness and started breathing again, we spent our weekend doing what all besties do: mani/pedis, copious amounts of shopping, delicious lunches and dinners, planning my next trip to DC and reading bedtime stories to one very special boy who was simply delighted to have Aunt Caitlin visiting.

If you ask me what happened the night this photo was taken, I will have to kill you. Have a nice day.

I realize that not everyone is lucky enough to have a friend who pretty much knows your whole life. It's an easy kind of friendship--you never have to explain stories or people from tour past, and whether it's been 40 minutes or 40 days since our last phone call, it honestly doesn't matter. As an added bonus, she just intuitively knows when to hop on a plane and scare the beans out of me. Probably because she's a lawyer. 

Hamsters On A Plane.

So Cait and I are sitting on the plane, ready for takeoff. Cabin doors are closed. Overhead bins are in lockdown mode. iPods and cell phones powered down. You know, the uge prep for takeoff.

We're chatting in our seats about the shenanigans we plan to cause, sights we plan to see, po boys we plan to eat, etc. etc. and all of the sudden, we notice some commotion in the row in front of us across the aisle.

Because we were deeply engaged in conversation, we missed the exacts of the initial confrontation, but here's basically how it went down:

Security officer (like, the real, scary deal): Sir, do you have it on the plane?
Man on plane: Yes, I can get it from overhead and place it under my seat. No problem.
Security officer (really, really pissed off): No. You cannot have it on the plane AT ALL. Gather your things and come with me immediately.

So the dude gets out of his seat and is a hot, sweaty mess. His shirt was literally dripping. Pretty sure the lady sitting next to him was real glad he got booted. Anyway, he grabbed a green bowling-bag-ish thing from the overhead and was escorted off the plane.

You can only imagine the buzz around our little seating area upon Mr. Schwetty's manhandled exit. Did he have drugs? A gun? Something else very illegal and dangerous? When the flight attendant came back to give us our exit row instructions we just had to ask what went down.

As you might have guessed, the man had a HAMSTER in the green bag. A HAMSTER. Obvi, our next question was, "How the heck did he get it through security?"

HE PUT IT ON HIS PERSON.  Like, down his shirt.

It makes perfect sense -- the X-Ray machine that all the luggage goes through would have caught it, but the metal detectors that people go through wouldn't have. And much to Mr. Schwetty's unluck, a flight attendant for OUR FLIGHT just happened to go through security right behind him and saw his trick.

I'm still uncertain as to why they let him get SO far through the process (literally, minutes before takeoff) before catching him, but it made for some really, really, really great entertainment all weekend. Cait only had to look at me and say "hamster" and I would literally laugh for 3 minutes.

And to make my life more entertaining, there was a gift shop at the gate when we landed and the featured "toy of the month" was none other than...

NOLA!

I have returned (though exhausted) from the dirrrrrty souf. And what a trip it was! I have so many stories to share - most of which will provide solid entertainment through at least next week. In the meantime, here are some initial highlights:

Michigan really needs to get a Jamba.

On the flip side, I'd probably gain 100 lbs., so

perhaps I'm better off with the occasional

travelling Jamba.

Brad Pitt's house in NOLA. Worth a cool $5.5M.

No one was home, but I may or may not have

done a little song and dance for the security cameras

and said 'Hi!' to the whole fam-damily.

Heeelarious onesie @ Hustler. There were also ones that

said 'I'm what happened in Vegas' and

'I'm hung like a 5 year old.' I'm obviously very mature and
could NOT stop laughing. Or taking pictures.

The St. Louis Cathedral.

Fun facts: the oldest established Catholic

Church in the U.S. and also Walt Disney's inspiration for

Cinderella's Castle. According to Kodak, it's the #2

picture uploaded to online albums.
Ironically, #1 is Cinderella's Castle.

I also have stories involving a hamster, public intoxication, an overzealous tour guide, nerd conventions, and of course, the (unexpected) naughtiness of NOLA.

And if that's not enough to entice you to keep coming back, Cait will be guest blogging in the weeks to come. She's decided her first entry will feature vintage 'Kristi & Caitlin' shenanigans. I can only assume she'll reference the St. Patty's Day when we literally drank all day, the period of time between 3 and 18 years of age where we wore more Wet 'N Wild bright blue eyeshadow than any woman should ever admit, or perhaps that one time we played Monopoly for six straight hours and I couldn't stop farting. Either way, you'll be amused.

Happy Friday!

Oh there is simply SO much to celebrate today. The first and most obvious, it's Friday. Word. Second, it's GIVEAWAY DAY! And third, I'm getting on a plane in about 18 hours for a weekend of shenanigans in NOLA with my bf, Caitlin. And the forecast in the dirty souf is sunny with a chance of AWESOME. For your visual entertainment today, here's some examples of what goes down when we're together:

Jim Joyce Sucks! GO TIGERS!

Putting on her makeup on my wedding day. Klassy.

My wedding day. I married my other best friend...

'cause, you know...marrying her would be awkward.

Spice Girls' World Tour. Yes, we're that awesome.

Based on the above, I can only image what pictures I'll be sharing on Tuesday from NOLA. It'll be epic, I'm sure.

In other news, who wants to know who won the giveaway?! I DO! I DO! Le winner is...

Kat from 800 months!

Congrats, girlie! Email me at kveedub{at}gmail{dot}com to claim your prize.

I'm out until Tuesday, childrens. Have a fun weekend...don't do anything I wouldn't do (which, let's be honest...probably is a short list this weekend). 

Weekend Shenanigans.

It was a kid-free kinda weekend at the VeeDub house. Thank you, Grammi and Poppi. And what did we do about it? Did we take hardcore advantage of the time to mow the yard that so desperately needs it? To prep the flower boxes for planting? Or any of the 964 other things on our "honey do" list?

Oh hellz-to-the-no. We slept until 10 am. Ate at restaurants where 12 month old children are generally frowned upon (here). Drank Red Bull & Vodka and chatted with friends over copious amounts of sushi (here). Watched CSI Miami on DVR until I could no longer take Horatio Caine and his overly dramatic one-liners seriously. Shopped without a stroller and diaper bag (here). AND IT WAS GLORIOUS.

But at the end of the weekend, it was nice to have Alex back and settle back in as a family over some Pizza Hut and Oberon. Oh, and about 5 loads of laundry that I successfully avoided until Sunday evening.

Which reminds me...it's Oberon Season, people. If you were born in a barn (or, alternatively, didn't receive an undergraduate degree from the great University that is Western Michigan), I urge you to hightail it on over to your local pub and holler to le bartender to fetch you a tall glass of ice cold heaven. Mmmmm, Oberon.

Little Known Facts.

I have a tendency to talk to myself. Yes, it's weird. And yes, I have actual conversations. What? It's just plain rude not to answer back!

Anyway, I find myself doing this a LOT at work lately. Perhaps it's because I'm in at a new division and have approximately zero people in my immediate surroundings that I can talk to intelligently about anything non-work related, but it's really starting to become a noticeable problem.

Like this morning, when I was washing my hands in the loo and mumbling something to myself about the urgent need to make a list, gather my coupons and go grocery shopping right as the crazy plant lady walked in and caught me.

I realize how this sounds. I call her the 'crazy plant lady' (for obvious reasons...she waters her plant within an inch of its life and would go so far as to murder someone with a well-manipulated paper clip should you even attempt to move it one inch to the left to see out the window) and yet I'm the crazy girl who talks to herself in the bathroom. I totally get it.

"Hi, Kettle? It's me, Pot."

Hot Mess.

I've just not been myself all week and I can't seem to find my mojo anywhere. My hair? A messy pile of a wash-and-go ponytail. Clothes? Standard sweaters and dress pants with no creativity in the realm of successories. Makeup? Foundation, mascara and lip gloss if you're lucky. Dinner? If it can be microwaved or ordered, I'm in. Exercise? Currently using the treadmill to hold the pizza boxes from Monday's dinner.

Basically, my life is a sight for sore eyes right now. Neverfear, though...'twill be back very, very soon. These funks usually last 4-5 days until I'm back to my cheerful, sarcastic self.

In the meantime, I shall tell a hilarious tale from the trenches of Corporate America. Allow me to set the stage for you: A co-worker (whom we shall refer to henceforth as "Tina") and I are desperately trying to hook a fellow friend and co-worker (whom we shall refer to as "Beth") up with an anonymous young chap from the 4th floor legal department. Yes, a lawyer. Yes, single. Yes, cute. Yes, snappy dresser. No, not gay.

So I'm telling "Beth" of my woes as listed above and she pipes back with, "Well, I personally wore a skirt today so we could go shopping for printer toner on the 4th floor."

HIGH-LARIOUS. I shall now spend my morning wandering to and fro the 4th floor supply room with Bethinaskirt so that we can scope out the goods.

Therapy.

I realize that I made this blog public. And that I openly share pictures. And use my real name.

But for the love of all things cheesy, I wish for just this moment that I hadn't.

I'm about to explode due to some of the ridiculous things that are going on around me at this exact moment. However, because this blog, its posts and author are very, very public, I cannot.

It really is a shame because I assure you the laughter such a post would bring could be heard the world ‘round.

Starbucks FAIL.

Holiday drinks are officially back at Starbucks. Woot!



Guess what's noticeably absent from the list?

My beloved Salted Caramel Hot Chocolate.

After whining inappropriately to my barista this morning, she assured me they could still make the "Caramel Hot Chocolate" part, just not the "Salted" part. Um...moron much? That's what makes it so deliciously delicious!

So, in an attempt to survive the season, I plan to head to Kroger tonight to pick up my own personal jar of sea salt, which will be kept innocuously in my purse so I can salt my own beverage. So much for the customer is always right.