Monthly Archives: February 2011

humor, life

The quiet death of good penmanship

I have thoughts that make me feel very, very old.  Today, I had a really devastating one:

Good penmanship is rapidly becoming obsolete, and that’s kind of a shame.

I was not taught handsome penmanship.  I was taught how to write, and if it was remotely legible, I got a passing grade.  I barely passed.  I remember one assignment where my words were so scrunched together that I put lines between them for clarity.  My teacher was not impressed by my consideration.

Here’s what I was taught:

adequate at best

Here’s what I wish I had been taught:

fucking brutal

How awesome would it be to be able to create something beautiful while writing something simple like a note to myself, or a quick letter to someone on a memo in the office?  It’s like being a word artist.  I’m working on sketching pictures of animals right now (so far I’ve adequately completed a fox and an otter) because being able to accurately draw whatever you want is an amazing ability that I don’t currently possess.  So I’m working on it.  But I wonder if I should be working on my penmanship too…

NO, of course not.  That would be pointless.  I will never hand-write as much as I type.  But it makes me sad that when I write, it’s bound to be a little scrawly and ugly.  I want to make pretty words look pretty.  I want to make ugly words look ironically pretty.  Haha, that would be hilarious; writing some cuss-filled, horrifyingly detailed medical report in perfect cursive.  New goal!

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humor, life

Fun with numbers

I discovered while walking to the car today that my grasp of the English language is, at times, tenuous at best.

i don't get it

I overheard a snippet of a conversation: “…by a twenty-year-old…” and I thought “huh, that kinda makes the number 20 an adjective.”

INITIATE LOGICAL INSANITY SPIRAL

But wait, 20 is describing how something is, not what something is (as in How old are you? 20).  Describing how is an adverb’s job (how did you do on that test?  I did well).  Describing what is an adjective’s job (What color is that?  Blue, old man!).  So what does that make 20 in this case?

Whenever I’m having trouble distinguishing adjectives from adverbs, I stick the color blue in the sentence to see if it makes sense.

How old are you?  I’m blue years old.

Ok so that doesn’t really work.  How about this:

How old are you?  I’m many years old.

The answer makes sense, even though it doesn’t answer the question.  So that makes many, and therefore any word you could logically stick in that position, an adjective, right?  Right.  Let’s do another example:

I have blue crayons.

I have many crayons.

I have 20 crayons.

They’re all adjectives!  Hurrah!  So why does the question How old lead to an adjective for an answer?

How old is really asking Please describe the number of years this person has been alive.  People are nouns, and adjectives describe nouns.  But wait!  That’s not really what we’re being asked to describe.  Look again:

Please describe the number of years…

How can years be described?  With numbers, yes, but with adjectives too, like difficult (adjective), blurry (adjective), and fucking (adverb) awesome (adjective).

But we’ve specifically been asked to describe the number of years.  The only way to answer that is with a number.  Answer: The number of years is twenty.  Wait a second, this makes twenty look like a noun!  Let’s use math to figure this out:

x = y

The number is twenty.

number = twenty

If number is a noun, twenty must be too.  So even though it sounds like twenty is describing the number, all it’s really doing is acting as an alternative for the concept of the number of years someone has been alive, which is a noun.

Mystery solved!

Note: I think about this kind of thing all the time, especially walking to or from my car, or while driving.  Anything that requires less than 80% of my attention automatically receives only 25% of my attention, while the other 75% works at figuring out whether numbers can be adjectives.  This is my life.

UPDATE: I just looked up twenty in the Oxford English Dictionary online.  Holy shit.  I love dictionaries, but holy shit.

this gentleman from the OED agrees... i win.

It sounds like they reach just about the same conclusion I reach, which is that twenty stands in the place of a noun, thereby allowing it to take on the properties of a noun.  Which of course means…

I WIN!!  TIME TO JUMP IN SOME PUDDLES!!  PET ALL THE CUTE DOGS!!  EVERYBODY JUMP IN THE POOL WITH YOUR CLOTHES ON!!  I WIN!!

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goodness, humor, life

Y’know what’s awesome?

Now and then I think, “Y’know what’s awesome?” followed by whatever just caught my fancy.  I should have started writing these down a long time ago, but I didn’t, so I’m starting a segment called…

Y’know what’s awesome?

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Building Romantic Tension

lopsided and mushy, this heart is completely accurate

I was reading this online comic today where these two friends (boy/girl) hang out.  The girl tells the guy he needs to start dating.  The next day the guy wakes up, looks at a photo of the two of them, and calls up some other girl for a date.  Ok, so not the most romantic setup in the world, but you know something’s gonna happen!  And I want it to!  Everyone loves that feeling.

fluffy!

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Clouds

I fucking hate getting soaked in my work clothes, but I genuinely don’t mind getting rained on in my normal, everyday attire.  Clouds are fucking beautiful, even if the rain they produce is occasionally a pain in my ass.  Whenever there’s any rain in LA, I find myself staring at the clouds (they’re pretty exotic here).  I don’t even realize I’m doing it sometimes.  Clouds always make me smile, even if things suck at the time, and rain is depressing or whatever.  Still, clouds are the best.  Especially those big billowy ones.

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goodness, humor

FedEx adventure!

I picked up a package from the FedEx facility downtown today.  It was like visiting a foreign dignitary in a third world country.  Hard to find, then there was a surprising amount of security, then it was a piece of shit.

I got off the freeway and followed my gut south (the directions the FedEx lady gave me were crap).  I passed over a bridge, turned onto the right street, drove past a set of railroad tracks…

were they even functioning?

and then past warehouse after seemingly abandoned warehouse until I reached what appeared to be a cul-de-sac.  But no!  There was this weird entrance with a small sign that said “Customer pickup” on the chain mail fence topped with razor sharp barbed wire surrounding the rest of the cul-de-sac.  On I drove toward what could only be an air strip, given all the chain mail fencing and open tarmac.

it was a quarter mile long

A parking lot!  With weird buildings on one side…

rusty and creepy

…and a train on another side…

it wasn't moving

…and a whole lot of nothing everywhere else.  I asked a man in a uniform walking past my car for directions.

“Excuse me, I’m here to pick up a package.”

Without looking at me, “Just park and head over to the guard building.”  Then he started walking away without pointing to where said building might be.

“Where is the guard building?”

“Over there.”  Then he walked away with certainty.

I looked toward where he had indicated.  A small shack with windows and a few doors surrounded by fencing and… more nothing.  I parked and decided this experience was too weird to not snap a few photos.

I headed to the shack, walked past the “Exit” door, past the sign that said “No weapons beyond this point” and into the “Entrance” door.  There I found two guards.  The White Guard was helping two other men through one of two metal detectors.

White Guard shot me a look

The other guard, Hispanic Guard, asked for a door tag, or something with the tracking number on it.  I gave it to him, he made a call, came back and asked for my ID.  “I need to check you in,” Hispanic Guard said.

I said, “Ok… Am I going somewhere?”

“Yeah, right across there to get your package.”  He indicated across the tarmac to a large building.  He politely took down my information, passed me through the metal detector, passed a wand over me, poked through and then closed my purse, double checked to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything, and told me to “follow the blue line.”

i lost track of it pretty quick

I followed the line to the building (after losing it once or twice while I wandered around), where my eyes needed to adjust to the darkness.  For a ground floor with no walls, this area was depressing and dark.  No one was around.  The stillness was eerie.  A few echoing clunks and clicks let me know that a machine somewhere was struggling to do its job.  I walked past a motionless conveyor belt with packages waiting to be processed on it.  It looked like a dead snake with a few mice taking a disappointing ride on its back.

it was pathetic

I kept following the blue line.

it collided with a green line, which led to the same place

It led me to an office where two dismal women checked my ID (again), had me sign something, beeped the bar code on the package, and sent me on my way.  I followed the blue line back to the guard station.  Hispanic Guard opened the door for me and passed me through the metal detector while White Guard chilled out.  I thanked him and left, feeling like I had just gone on a quick trip over the U.S./Mexico border and back.  Adventure!

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goodness, manfolk

Animal: A+

The LA Times does some great restaurant reviews, and recently they did one on a place called Animal.  It’s basically a carnivore’s heaven.  So I told Boyfriend about it, and we went.

the coolest purse i have ever owned

I have never had so many delicious meat dishes.  And my stomach was all, “Yes, yes, yes.”  How the fuck did it not occur to me to take a damn photo?  With my iPhone.  Which was in my tiny orange purse.  Frankly, I was too distracted by the delicious food, and the Abita beer which I love and haven’t had for years, and it went perfectly with every dish.  So while I really, really regret not taking any photos, I feel that this lapse in judgment is totally justified.

First thing: foie gras (liver), biscuit, maple sausage gravy
Ok, let me just get this part out of the way: DELICIOUS.  There it is, in caps.  Everything was delicious.  Now on to why.

So, this first dish was delic- I mean super good.  It was sweeter than I thought it would be, and not overcooked.  Texture was pleasant, not rubbery or too soft.  It had a bacon-ish, light sauce covering the whole thing.

Second thing: marrow bone, chimichurri, caramelized onions
This was my favorite dish of the night by far.  The marrow came in a giant bone cut in half with a small spoon to dish out the marrow and onion, covered in the chimichurri (a combo of parsley, garlic and olive oil).  We scooped out the marrow and put it on fluffy, sweet toast.  A completely unique experience which I loved.

Third thing: flat iron steak, sunchoke hash, truffle parmesan fondue
I’d never had a flat iron steak before.  It sounds like a bad idea, squeezing a tender piece of meat like that, but the results were great.  My favorite part of this dish was the revelation that came with it: I finally understand why people like truffles.  When Boyfriend suggested we order it, I was resistant, but because going to that restaurant was an adventure, I decided to give it a shot.  It’s the first time I’ve enjoyed truffle flavor in any dish.  So I’m pretty excited about that.

Fourth thing: poutine (french fries), ox tail gravy, cheddar
This was my least favorite, but it was still a good dish.  It tasted heavier than pot roast, but the visual resemblance was hilarious.  I thought, “We just got ripped off.  We’re totally eating a normal pot roast.  There’s definitely no ox in here, lol.”  Not a good dish to end on because it was so heavy.  But who cares, it was very tasty and hearty.

Technically, this was my birthday dinner with Boyfriend, so he drove to and from the restaurant, and paid for our meal (not cheap).  What a sweetheart.

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goodness, life

Birthday plans

My birthday is tomorrow!

sissy cake

My big plans so far are:

-Sleep in

-Go out for breakfast, maybe to BLD (I hear they have amazing blueberry pancakes; it’s all I’ve been thinking about lately.  They’re $13)

-Feel good about vacuuming my room (that rug is a deeper shade of blue than I remember)

-Watch a ton of Buffy with Boyfriend and my buddy Big Toe

-Do some sketching

-Pick up the strawberry ice cream I left at my friends house last weekend

-Eat strawberry ice cream

-Get dinner at Barney’s Beanery on the Promenade because it’s close to the outdoor ice rink (plus they serve apple cider, and I am not going ice skating sober this year)

-Go ice skating with friends

-Probably watch some Day9 replays while eating more ice cream

-Get to bed before midnight so I can stop being sick for ten minutes this year

February 12, 3:44pm

UPDATE: So far so good!  Slept in until 10 (Boyfriend’s alarm woke us up, grrr), got blueberry pancakes (delicious, really more like giant crepes than pancakes), bought a couple comics at Meltdown, gonna do some sketching and watch some Buffy if I can do both at once 🙂

Kinda hungry, gonna eat some spicy tuna I bought at Mitsuwa yesterday.  I’m in such an awesome mood.  Birthdays are the best.

February 22, 4:23pm

totally worth the $13

UPDATE: Those blueberry pancakes from BLD were amazing.  The best part about them is how well they kept.  I just finished them off twenty minutes ago.  So good!  This year’s birthday was the best I can remember, and not just because I can’t really remember any of my other ones.  I was in an awesome mood from start to finish, even when Boyfriend had to go meet another DP at an open house (and the guy didn’t even show; he had to work).  It was such a great day.

disregard our facial expressions. we had an awesome time.

I went to Barney’s Beanery with some friends, were I got a complimentary “Birthday shot” that tasted like sweet lemons.  Then I had an Abita beer, and another shot of Tequila, followed by a tiny lava cake with candles!  I was mostly drunk while ice skating, where I encountered this guy in a onesie.  He and his lady friend were really nice, and just starting to learn how to do couples skating.  I woke up around 4am to throw up because of all the alcohol (although that amount of alcohol never would have made me puke before), but that technically wasn’t my birthday anymore!  So who cares!  Yay!

free cake!

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goodness, humor

Essie beastlie!

Essie is just the sweetest little thing.  Her dark little spots and bright shining fangs make me smile every time I see her staring up at me.  What a cutie.

When I first saw her, I knew I had to have her.  I showed her to Diminutive Roommate, who then said, “Wait!  I’ll get her for you for xmas!”  And she did.

What a nice little family of creatures I have now!  I think, for balance, I’d like to have a bright yellow or orange beastlie, preferably a gargoyle type, so the other beastlies are aware of their various types of relations.  Maybe I can ask for a custom order?

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humor, life

My building is full of communist psycho hookers

I can’t believe it never occurred to me to write about my neighbors.  I’ve never really had any crazy neighbors.  Shitty landlords, yes.  Crazy landladies, yes.  But my neighbors have always been, for the most part, quiet, normal people.  The people who currently live directly adjacent to me are all weird in totally obvious, potentially explosive ways.

I live at the end of a hallway, so I only have three neighbors with whom I have any kind of interaction: across the hall, next door, and directly above me.  Let’s get started with…

Neighbor Across the Hall

The woman who lives across the hall from me is definitely a hooker.  She’s super nice, and has lots of male suitors.  I once came into the building to discover a man standing awkwardly at her door, gift in hand.  His head snapped toward me when I came into view, sporting a perfect deer-in-the-headlights expression.  I smiled and said hi, then tried to get into my apartment as quickly as possible.  Just as I was about to step out of the hall, her door opened, and, being the woman she is, instead of rushing him into the apartment and ignoring me, she sang out her usual, “Hey gurrrrl!  How are youuuu?”  I turned around to find her in a somewhat see-through teddy with matching fuzzy slip-on heels.  We chatted right in front of her John for a minute before I slipped inside.  The woman has serious… what’s the female version of balls?

suuuuper soft

Her apartment is on the tacky side, but it’s fucking decked out.  When I complimented her huge flatscreen TV, she said, “My boyfriend gave that to me.”  Her bedroom is covered in deep reds, leopard print duvets, and a giant gold-framed mirror covers the entire wall next to the bed.  Scented candles and small glass bottles of perfumes cover every counter top.  She breeds the fluffiest, friendliest, most talkative Siamese cats I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.  The kittens occasionally find their way onto our balcony, where they pass out and act cute (and get harassed lovingly by Boyfriend, who never had a pet growing up so he’s pretty taken with them).  She’s had a ton of plastic surgery, which includes enormous breasts, a tight face and puffy lips.  But she is by far the friendliest neighbor we have.  When we moved in, she offered to loan us her spare furniture (which we took her up on), brought us food, and invited us over all the time.  I don’t really know what to make of her, but she’s always been nice to us, and seems to run a pretty tight ship, so all I can say is thank you, Hooker Neighbor, for being so nice all the time.

Neighbor Next door

The guy who lives one door down the hall from me has a balcony that covers almost the whole side of the building, and inexplicably stretches past my bedroom window.  He could look right into my bedroom while smoking a cigar on the comfort of his patio.  The annoying bit is where he leaves his patio sliding glass door open and watches movies at full volume at all hours.  The sound bounces off the apartment next door, and into my bedroom (in addition to passing through the paper-thin wall our apartments share).  These must be pretty fucking funny movies too, because his laughter pierces the night occasionally, snapping me out of my simmering rage into a sharp fury, which is usually when I call the non-emergency LAPD line to make a noise complaint.

he shares noise like a good communist should

Once during the winter Olympics he had a party going until around 2am.  When I went over to ask him to quiet down, he said, “Sorry, sorry, our friend just won a ski thing, it’s very exciting!  You want some vodka?  We have so much!”  Ok, I thought, that’s a legitimate reason to celebrate.  Then the cops showed up to shut that shit it down.

He works in real-estate, so he’s constantly yelling into his phone about one emergency or another with clients who live halfway around the world.  Oh, did I not mention he’s Russian?  Yeah, he’s Russian.  So when I went over there to ask him to quiet down around midnight on a Wednesday, he apologized and explained that the people he’s talking to just woke up!  How quirky!  Have fun with that!  Quietly!

He also has had several loud fights with his wife.  When it gets really bad, the cops show up.  I can’t understand anything they say, because he always yells in Russian, which makes it scarier.  So when he offers me vodka, I decline, and tell him to quiet the fuck down.

UPDATE: March 14, 11:32am

This past week has not been good for my relationship with Russian Neighbor.  He was unreasonably loud around midnight on a weeknight (again), so I called management to quiet him down.  It worked.  The next night around 1:30am, he slammed the metal door to his balcony directly in front of my bedroom window three times over the course of about fifteen minutes.  The third time, I got up, booted up my compy, and email management who FINALLY gave him a verbal and written official first warning.  FINALLY.

Neighbor Directly Above Me

voopah, voopah, voopah

My favorite part about the guy who lives above me also happens to be the part that makes me a bit frightened of him: he’s very mysterious.  No one seems to know much about him.  In fact, I was so intrigued by him that when I saw a package on top of the mailbox with his apartment number on it, I snatched up the chance to interact with him and delivered it to his apartment myself.  The following interaction is exactly how I expect a serial killer to address me.  I knocked on the door, and he opened it about four inches.

Me: Hi there!  I live in the apartment below you.  I saw this package on top of the mail box when I was grabbing my mail.

Him: [squirly eyes]  Yeah, thanks.  [takes package, opens the door just enough to bring it inside and starts to close the door]

Me: [on tip toe]  What’cha doin’ in there?  Buildin’ somethin’?

Him: Yeah, I used to build things.

Me: Oh cool- [door closes]

So clearly he’s a serial killer, right?

According to the sounds that get drilled through his floor, we’ve gathered that he’s building something using wood, and power tools.  We can occasionally hear him using a hand saw (not a table saw, not an electric saw, the traditional kind) and hammer.  Once in a while, he’ll roll something that sounds like a giant wooden gear across the floor, making a very distinctive knocking sound across our ceiling.  I picture him building coffins.

So here’s the breakdown:

Hooker Neighbor: B+ Minus a full grade for whoring, but a + for being cool about it, and not bringing around a bunch of crackheads.

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.

Russian Neighbor: C- Minus one full grade for domestic abuse, and another for keeping me awake all the time, plus a – for being a non-exotic kind of foreigner (Communism is so 1991).

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Psycho Neighbor: B- Minus a full grade for being creepy, and a – for not telling us what he’s up to.

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life

Ogami Itto, the orphan

In early January I bought the entire Lone Wolf and Cub manga series on craigslist for $100.  Such a deal.  I finished it before the end of the month, which means that in about three weeks, I read 28 issues of manga about a samurai assassin and his infant son on their quest to destroy an enemy clan.  That’s one and a third manga per day, which doesn’t sound like much, but let me tell you there was a shit-ton of sword-slicing, blood spurting violence in every single issue.

It’s a really cool series though.  Lots of accurate depictions of various Edo-era lifestyles with plenty of bushido philosophy throughout.  The women though… yikes.  They get the shit end of the stick every time.  It’s pretty gross.

Regardless, what do I do with it now?  I have this whole series, which I was proud to finally own in its entirety.  I know I’ll want to go over it again some other time, but… it’s 28 little books.  Twenty-eight.  Where am I supposed to put them?  My parents bought my sister and I about a dozen books we used to read when we were kids, and I have no idea where to put those either.  Where am I supposed to find room for this stuff?

I’m going through a shedding phase, too.  I don’t want this stuff.  I want to get rid of it, but more than that, I want to not crave its company.  I tend to think of books as friends.  I don’t want to get rid of my friends, but they’re taking up so much fucking room.  Plus, I like the idea that someone else will then enjoy what I’ve given away (read: sold).

I really, really don’t want to get rid of this manga.  As a comic book reader, I take pride in being able to say I have a “manga collection.”  And to have the entire Lone Wolf and Cub series?  Braggin’ rights.  Mm’kay?  *sigh*  I have to find some place to put this shit.  Maybe get rid of the books I’m keeping just to feel smart (I’m looking at you right now, Women, Gender, Religion: A Reader).  But I can’t get rid of that, I’m totally gonna read that one day!  You see my dilemma.

I used to have just piles of books sitting around my room.  I thought buying a big ole’ bookshelf would solve this problem.  Surprisingly, it didn’t.  I forgot that I was also clearing up space in the lower shelves of the beautiful hutch my dad built when I was a kid to make room for my clothes, of which I also have too many (but I’ve made some significant progress in that department recently).

And y’know what I’ve been saying a lot lately?  “Tomorrow I’m gonna do some laundry, and vacuum my room.”  Lemme tell you, that shit does not do itself, because my hamper is over flowing, and my rug is still coated Diminutive Roommate’s cat’s (Calico) hair.  Calico is a sweetie and everything, but FUCK, the shedding.

So now we’ve come full circle: Manga, organization, cleanliness, cat hair, cussing.  And where do I find escape from the vacuum that stares at me as it sits next to my bedroom door?  Joss Whedon.  Specifically, Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Oh no!  Look at the time!  It’s almost ten on a weeknight!  Darn, can’t vacuum now!  The noise might disturb the neighbors!  Hahaha!

(Feb 10, 5:19pm)

UPDATE: I’m taking a break from vacuuming to update my blog to let everyone know I’m vacuuming.  If only this wasn’t a secret blog.  Oh well.

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badness, life

The winter break debacle

My first real vacation in three years was ruined by Continental Airlines.

[I was so broken up about this whole fiasco, I couldn’t write about it until now]

I was going to surprise Boyfriend on the east coast with a visit.  He’s been asking me to visit his family and friends with him for the past three years.  I’ve always been working.  I finally had more than three days in a row off.  Time for a real vacation.

I email his friends a month beforehand, and ask them if it’s ok if I visit for a few days, knowing it will distill the time he spends with them.  They’re all very enthusiastic and sweet.  Come visit, they say.  We’ll surprise him, they say.  So I book my flight.  Leaving Monday, returning home Thursday morning.

Los Angeles to Houston, Houston to Baltimore.  Simple enough.  I sit in the Los Angeles airport and wait for the flight to board.  40 minutes later, it’s finally ready.  We land in Houston.  We sit on the tarmac for a half hour.  I race to my gate only to discover it’s been changed, and my connecting flight left before my previous flight started disembarking.  I never had a chance.

Time to sit in line at the Continental desk with all the other poor jerks who missed their flights.  We average ten feet per hour (no joke).  I finally get to the front and the man says, “Ok.  Tell me your story.”  I tell him.  He says the earliest he can get me there is Wednesday evening, leaving me 15 hours of visitation time before I would have to leave to come back to LA.  I say that is unacceptable.  What else do you have, I say.  The next available flight after that would arrive in Baltimore on Thursday at 10am, just in time to make me miss my home-bound flight by three hours.  I’m speechless.

“What do you want to do?” he says.  Tears start to spill out of my eyes as I quietly think about all the fun we would have had, how surprised he would have been, how I would have complained about the cold, and he would have laughed and breathed on my hands.  My lost vacation with the man I love plays out before me as the man at the counter shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot, waiting for me to give up.  “I want to go home,” I mumble, eyes to the ground.

He says the next flight for LA is at 9:15.  I look at my watch.  It’s 9:13.

“So I won’t be making that,” I say.

“Uh, no actually it’s delayed, so you can still make it if you hurry.”  Then he looks me square in the face, and says, “See?  Sometimes delays are good.”  I didn’t bother drying my face as I stare at him in utter disbelief.  He cough and prints out my new boarding pass.  He tells me to hurry as he hands it to me.  “No,” I say.

“Pardon?”

“I’m not sprinting to a gate to make the flight back home.  Call them and tell them I’m coming.  Go ahead, I’ll wait while you do it.”

He makes the call, I walk away.  I feel bad for the people on the flight who might be waiting for me, so I pick up the pace.  I get there, and a woman makes me wait at the counter.  She takes my boarding pass and makes a face.  “What is this?”  I don’t answer.  If she doesn’t know what a boarding pass looks like, I’d rather not get on the plane.

I’m allowed to board.  I find my seat, a window, and cram my bag under the chair.  I sit down, buckle my seat belt, and start to sob.  I can’t hold it in any more.  I don’t care that the woman next to me is uncomfortable.  We take off.  The city lights distract me for a full thirty seconds before I start crying again.  I’m so full of self-pity that I don’t notice how long we’ve been flying when the woman next to me taps my arm so the stewardess can give me a cup of water.  Apparently they all think I need it.  It’s kinda sweet.

We land.  The woman next to me pulls her bag up from the floor and opens it.  A live dog pops out.  I laugh.  I can’t help it.  It’s so absurd.

Sister picks me up at LAX.  She gives me a hard time about putting on my seat belt.  I try to make a joke.  She gives me more crap about my seat belt.  I thank her for her support, and stare out the window.

I get home and call Boyfriend.  Immediately start to cry.  Tell him the whole story.  He feels loved and sorry for me.  But he knows I tried, and he’s happy about that.

Overall, worth it.

The Aftermath: Continental Airlines customer service call

1240pm on a Tuesday
Call Continental.  Computer lady tells me to push buttons to talk to a real person.

1250
Lady at Continental says, “Oh, you need to call United.”
“But you guys are the same company.”
“…True, we’re merging, but United has your ticket package.”
“…But it was a Continental flight.  You don’t have my ticket information for a flight on your own airline?”
“No ma’am, I’m very sorry about that.  Let me transfer you to United.”

1255
“Transferred” to United.  On hold.

102
Computer man tells me to push buttons to answer questions.  On hold for a representative.  “Your wait time will be greater than 30 minutes.”

135
Quick chat with lady (Mavie).  She puts me on hold.

150
Lady comes back!  Asks me to repeat my confirmation number.  Suddenly back on hold!  Ninja!

203
Lady comes back again!  Says she can only refund the flights I didn’t take.
“But the first flight is the one that caused me to miss all the other flights.  Why would I pay for a flight that ruined my trip?”
“Well, that was the flight you used-”
“Right, but it’s not the flight I booked.  The flight I booked was scheduled to leave on time, and arrive on time.  The one I “used” didn’t do that.  All it did was ensure that I would miss my remaining flights, and miss my first vacation in three years.”
“…Yes, I understand ma’am, but we can only refund you for flights you didn’t use.”
She tells me to call the travel agency through which I booked the flights.

208
Call Expedia.  Computer man insists on asking more dumb questions.  I push buttons until I get a person.  Explain the situation.  Lady says she needs to call United to confirm my story.  On hold.

238
Lady finally comes back.  Her supervisor is “working on it.”  She asks if I used my flight back to LA.  I wonder how much sleep she got last night if she thinks I somehow used a flight from San Francisco booked for Thursday to get home from Houston on a Monday night.  I explain the situation.  She says she’s gonna put me back on hold, but I tell her another half-hour hold is out of the question, and ask for a time estimate.  She says she’ll be back with me in less than 5 mins.  I say ok.  She puts me back on hold.

240
She’s back!  My total refund will be $352.60 out of $515.30.  A difference of $162.70, in theory the cost of the first, delayed flight I took that screwed up everything else.  I ask if that includes tax.  “What’s the cost of each flight?” I ask.  She can’t tell me.  On hold!

250
She says everything is done.  My case number is S18682291.

UPDATE: Friday, April 8, 10:28am

One of Boyfriend’s buddies told me to file a complaint on the Department of Transportation website, so I did, including the part about how I missed my first vacation in three years, etc.  A full two months have passed and I finally got a response from them.  Here’s a snippet:

In regards to your refund request it appears that your travel agency submitted your refund request on your behalf. As the refund request was not done by either Continental Airlines or United Airlines this explains why you were only provided a partial refund as an agent with either airline would have had to go in manually to refund the portion that was previously used.

This is bullshit.  I was specifically told to go through the travel agency through whom I booked the flights.  And what does manually mean?  Are they gonna get their hands dirty getting me my refund?  Ridiculous.

I have requested a refund with United Airlines of the used portion.

This part confused me.  Who is this person?  I thought I was already reading an email from someone from an airline.  Turns out it’s just someone who feels sorry for me?

I offer my heartfelt apology for your vacation being ruined [thanks a BUNCH]. Your feedback is a valuable resource and I have included your additional comments to in a formal complaint that is shared with Senior Management.

What is senior management going to do once they read my complaint?  Take pity on me and give me vouchers for flights I can’t book?  Karate Job doesn’t offer vacation time, so I would have to get someone to cover every single class I’d be missing (and losing money by not teaching), thereby making a vacation totally impossible until this one winter break comes along and everything serendipitously lines up.  I had family in town from Australia this week.  They asked me what my next travel plans are.  I don’t have any.  At all.  So depressing.

Sincerely,
Kimberly Hamilton
Customer Care Manager
Continental Airlines
Case ID Number 4775848

Hey, it is a person from an airline!  And my refund was more than I was told it would be:

Cost of flights: $515.30

Refund offered: $352.60

Refund given: $422.60 (a $70 difference)

Leftover: $92.70

So I have another ninety bucks coming my way, potentially, and I might finally getting a full refund.  So overall… I’m still pissed at Continental and United.  Fuck those guys.  Seriously.

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