Food on an Airplane: A Sit-Down Tragedy (Not to Be Confused With Airplane Food: A Stand-Up Comedy)

Here's a story that I tell you more as a warning than anything else. In fact there is no other reason I can (with an existing conscience) admit as to why I am sharing it.

I took a plane from Chicago back to D.C. today. I actually missed my original flight because I was the last person to check in so they bumped me and put me on a later flight. I graciously accepted my fate in the form of a complimentary voucher and some extra time.

As a consolation prize of sorts, I went and bought myself a burrito. Veggie with all the fixings if you must know! They stacked and packed that mound of nutrients; it was locked and loaded for deliciousness with an intent to satiate hunger.

So I got on the later flight, paper burrito sack in tow, and I promptly fell asleep. This action turned out to be great timing because the flight was delayed and I slept through most of the tarmac time including waiting in a queue of jets to take off. If you think waiting in line at the post office is bad, try waiting in a line of airplanes at the going postal office. Ok so nobody actually suddenly raged out, but the old lady next to me did put her head in her hands and sigh so heavily that the bookmark in her Sue Grafton novel slightly ruffled. I know!! Pretty crazy stuff.

Anyhoohaw, we eventually took off with no great fanfare and so did my appetite. My friend Joe warned me about not eating a complicated meal on the plane, but I brushed off his advice. The old lady next to me cracked into her Starbucks scone so, as far as I was concerned, it was game time for the stomach fiesta!

Burritos are always inhumanely large. I should have factored that into my calculations. I wonder if this guy did.
photo courtesy of Flickr and Dan Phiffer

Well, shortly into my foray down Guac n' Cheese Lane, something horrible happened. Salsa started dripping down my arms, or more accurately, into the sleeves of my jacket. I tried to prevent the leakage, but when I corked one tomato spout, another one would dribble out somewhere else. It was hopeless. I could barely eat that monster quick enough. And then, when it seemed like things couldn't get any worse, a single, bold black bean fell down my shirt.

Once I managed to sandbag most of the condiment flood and jam the rest of the soggy tortilla down my gullet, I decided to conduct a full-fledged bean investigation. I found it, lodged in the nook of my bra. Well, of course, as I tried to extricate it, it fell way down into the lower torso region. I searched everywhere, the seat, my person, and the persons next to me ("Excuse me, but have you seen a single, orphaned black bean? No? Well, thanks for nothing!"), but it was nowhere close to be-an found. Giving it up for lost, I went on with my seated life.

(Cut to three, suspenseful hours later...)

I was off the flight, bags in hand, and ready for the world! And then I went to the bathroom for a quick wash-up, and something bizarre and grotesque happened. I found the bean. Lodged in the holy sanctuary of my belly button, seeking asylum for the past (tomato and avocado) chunk of my life. I threw my fists at the sky yelling "Why! Why! Whyyyyyyyyyy!"

You guys think you're so fun and carefree. I'm never falling for it again.
photo courtesy of Flickr and Amy Grace Elizabeth

There were no answers. There still aren't. The black bean's family is still making inquiry as to his whereabouts. There was salsa all over the crime scene. [Roll Lawwww and Hors D'oeuvres credits].

P.S. Yes, I have an innie. How dare all of you.

I See Your Normalcy Request, and Raise You One Eyebrow and a Whirligig

I. Underblogged in New York

I spent this past weekend in NYC. Some people I am privileged to know live there.

I also got to do some shows (both way fun and hosted by way fun people). But in between all that hobnobbing and stagestomping, I got to experience this perky little thing called LIFE IN THE BIG CITY.

Here were the top three incidents of note.

1. Arrived in NYC and got off bus, walked about 2 blocks. Passed a man standing behind a homeless charity table. He yelled, "Help the homeless! (Aside to himself but still quite audibly) I forget how f$%kin' stupid they all are! (This was either directed at all of us, or at other homeless people, or at the voices in his head; it was unclear.) Heeeelp the homeless, New York!" It was quite an angry outburst in the name of charity.

2. Was walking and went into a Border's bookstore for a potty break, and the woman in line in front of me in the restroom is dancing a little! Granted, they were playing some club hit over the intercom system but then, as if my eyes were questioning their reality, she started really gettin' down. I mean, I guess something's gotta get the rhythm going and the pipes flowing before you enter the stall, or maybe it was straight up just her pee dance and she had added some flair to it. I might never know the answer, and I'm OK with that.

3. Was at a show in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, and two rappers stopped by for part of the show. And the comic onstage asked them who they were (naturally, because they sat right up in the front bursting with Brooklyn pride), and it turns out, it was Johnny Brooklyn himself and his "brother" (in his own words) Numbers. They were the perfect possible pair to show up at a comedy show in Brooklyn on that fated night, but alas they had to leave early to go watch their "brother" Beans perform at another venue nearby. Yes. Beans.

I am so content about the aforementioned events, I could just shimmy in the bathroom.

Who can stay neutral when it comes to the charms of the outer boroughs?!
photo courtesy of Flickr and laverrue

II. Panic at the Drop of a Gchat!

Even more Gchat issues...

I realized today that every time someone writes something on Gchat along the lines of:

I have to tell you something.

I gotta be honest with you.

OR

Hey listen...

I freak out and prepare for the worst, which usually turns out to be a) a link to a funny clip, b) a weird news story, or c) an admission of guilt about something ridiculous along the lines of not wearing socks that day.

I have to say though,it gets me every time! I don't know why I'm always waiting for the other shoe to drop. But I do kind of mentally batten down the hatches with morbid delight. Human nature is really something else, I'll tell you what!

The Drama Queen's Understudy Makes Her Amateur Debut

I thought you guys should know. I reordered a specialty coffee drink yesterday.

Yup.

I got the first one.

It tasted heavily of ashes and chocolate water slightly mixed with a hint of mint.

I considered my unassertive options. I actually didn't sample the brewed poison until I had vacated the vendor's premises.

I realized I couldn't afford two mid-priced luxury beverages in one day.

So I marched (more like tippytoed) back to the esteemed cafe, and I was all halfheartedly (as if it were out of my hands), "Something doesn't taste right!" and they were all "We're sorry! We're sorry!" And then I was all "Not as sorry as I am!"

Then I tried to change my drink order to something simpler, but the owner insisted that the barista remake my original drink. Which I then tasted in front of the whole staff, beaming, thrilled at how impossibly good it was...(and the Oscar weiner for Best Supporting Overactress, in a Tragicomedy, goes to...)

But hey, standing up for myself without having to make jokes about it, wasn't the end of me. I mean, I guess it was half bad, but it was half alright too. Insert witty half & half line here, and tie it in with coffee reference.

This is going to be me in a year. Block and punch, but verbally!
photo courtesy of Flickr and cheetah100

***

Today, continuing my aggressive streak, I almost took out a manchild on crutches.

Fittingly, he commented, "So sorry about that!"

Because he's the one who was clearly an imposition on the door I flung open all wild and crazylike. Riiight.

I'm Just Ballin'...Spitballin' Son!

I was at a restaurant with the sig otro the other night, and the following happened.

We got our check, and the our super-nice and thoughtful waitress had written, "Thank you!" on it in a cheerful, helpful script, and we were both like "Awwwww" but not in an annoying couply way (OBVI).

So then when I was signing my check (we split the bill like 21st century feminist astronauts), I wrote "Thank you!" on it.

And then boyfie was all, "Don't write that! It looks sarcastic!" Then I thought about underlining the "you" but that would have looked even more sarcastic.

So I had gotten myself in a real muddle, because he was right. I tried to one-up her sincere niceness game and I ended up looking like a perfunctory pickle trying to masquerade as a cool, collected cucumber. She probably took one look and ripped it up...with her teeth!

I am the straw that broke the customer servant's back!

Waitresses are people too! And how!
photo courtesy of Flickr and flattop341

***

In PWNED news, I had to IM the IT guy today to ask him an urgent question (hadn't happened in awhile), and his new AIM icon was a large, glaring tribal mask.

It doesn't take a symbology major to pick up on the subtlety there.

So naturally, the following conversation ensued:

Aparna: angry tiki mask
Aparna: really
IT Guy: That is its purpose.
IT Guy: It keeps away evil spirits.
IT Guy: Are you an evil spirit?
Aparna: how dare you

Anyway, things escalated and I ended up having to pay him an actual face-to-face visit for SUPER REAL help with a NOT IMAGINARY problem.

Sad story short, it ended up being a minor glitch that I could've fixed myself and IT Guy communicated this information to me very clearly using a language exclusively made up of snorts and eyerolls.

But then I looked at some of these (July 23 is perfection) to feel better about myself. And it worked. Of course.

This is me, actually.
photo courtesy of Flickr and rileyroxx

Help request? More like Self-Help request; am I right, Crazies?!

!!!

Other quick notes of (dis)interest:

I realize I'm ok with the stairwell at work smelling like urine. I know this because I didn't even flinch today when I noticed that the stairwell at work smelled like urine! Even though it's never smelled like that before!

Conclusion: I'm open-minded!

I have a bug-bite stigmata on my foot. It's a Bermuda triangle of itching and yellow skin pus caps. It seeps regularly, and all the bites operate as one trained unit in terms of ambiguous excretions.

Conclusion: Too much information? Not enough calamine!

I learned this new corporate drone term—spitballing! And I can't stop using it.

Conclusion: I'm not completely sold on it yet as breakout star of my new, as-yet-to-be-determined catchphrase but maybe toss some more popaway flys at me, and we'll touch base soon, chief! (sports metaphors dropped with casual enthuzed-ness are the only thing worse! *fist pumps and pounds all around*)

Let Me Just Put on My Introspectacles for a Minute Here...

My afternoon meal today was a straight-up callback-to-smellementary-school (remember the first time you smelled BO in 3rd or 4th grade? I do. How about farts? No? Nothing? I don't mean your own!) cafeteria lunch. The entree was slimy noodles, liquified tomato paste, and faux-ground round, and you had to peel back plastic and nuke sufficiently to get to it. I feel proud and slightly self-conscious, but mostly proud. I ate it by myself in an empty room without looking up...just like old times!

An all-ages treat!
photo courtesy of Flickr and foundphotoslj

***

I realized this inconclusive characteristic about myself today. Whenever someone makes eye contact with me in a hallway coming the other way, I routinely grin but I try to hold the smile and then fade it slowly (on my own time because I'm considerate) after we've passed each other.

Otherwise you get the compulsory flash-smile that suddenly shifts into the default grimace-frown, which reeks of fake boobiness (people being fake boobies, not real fake breasts. On second thought, real fake breasts sounds weird but you know what I mean). Also holding the smile makes you feel weirdly better about yourself and your honorable intentions with the world that day.

I also realized I immediately look at the ground after making eye contact with people as if to reacquaint myself with my position in the world. The way peasants would look down in the presence of royalty! I'm a real toegazer. And I don't even paint my toenails so it's not for aesthetic reasons. My toes are functional but they're not supermodels.

I'm going to try to look up instead from now on...at the sky! And wink at some stars or clouds. For your information, we have some inside jokes, the sky and I. I think the ground and I have even more though, but here's to deepening friendships with inanimate objects. In my new attempts at social climbing, the sky will be the limit (literally)! I'm afraid people might think I'm rolling my eyes though. Ah well, one must make sacrifices for self-esteem!

***

My sister is here for one night AND one night only (on loan from the other side of the world)! She has a long list of demands, and requires me to play the part of the earnest chauffeur all around and around we go. Hopefully, on the way, there will be some catch-up time. Between Barnes & Borders and Java the Hut, perhaps we can squeeze in a few cheek kisses and head pats. Best Buy is so unromantic for familial reunions. Oh, you need another plastic seat cover? Let me wrap it up in my current life journeys.

This is pure delight (there are seven other parts to watch if you need more):

(Via Will)

And forgive me because I might not say it everyday but love you and miss you, Alice.

Gimme a Break (Room)!

The items that are up for grabs in our office kitchen are getting weirder and weirder.

Today when I entered said kitchen to peel an old, dried up orange, this is the sight that met my eyes (but did not meet them halfway―to be fair to reality):

An empty plastic container that, at the prime of its life, used to be full of Biscotti. However the lid was screwed on tight as if to say, "The goodies are gone, but the vessel is still ripe for the pillaging!"

A basket containing one unopened 6-pack of regular-size Hershey milk chocolate bars, one pint of Half & Half, and some sort of a cleaning/cooking rag. Offensive.

Three supersized Pixy Stix. Nobody should consume anything of this size at work. Especially if said item is just concentrated sugar.

A small blue bucket full of raw peanuts (still in shells). No. Unacceptable.

Sad proof below...

Giant Pixy Stik up-close:

Giant Pixy Stik in all its glory: O rly, coworkers?! I know it's finally Friday, but sheesh. Dropping red flags like these right before the weekend is just unnecessarily cruel.

Anyway, it's time to eat my geriatric citrus snack.

UPDATE!!! The basket with the Half & Half and chocolate were actually not up for the taking! They were just part of a fondue assembly kit, and the basket has since been replaced with a tray of delectable strawberries and raspberries escorted by a earthernware pot of still-warm chocolate goo.

The raw peanut bucket, however, still remains untouched. (Where did it even come from? Someone's fever dream that happened to take place at an absurdist baseball game between Team Accounting and Team Sales?)

Real World Confessional/Depressional

This past weekend I was in Chi-town living in close quarters with my improv group (more on that later), and one of my dear cohorts said the following after a day or two spent in entirety together...

Anonymous Dear Cohort: Hey, do any of you guys ever listen to Aparna? You should! She says some really funny things.

Ho-hum! *auto-blushing* They listen sometimes. It warms the cold brittle cube located in the part of my body where most people's hearts are.

Aparnabot initiating smile sequence followed by mild inner core meltdown, bloop bleep bloop.
photo courtesy of Flickr and pusgums

Further Confirming My Superhumanity

I ate my morning banana with cream cheese today. Now I'm going to go sit in a corner and think about what I've done. To be fair, the cream cheese had walnuts in it. Ok fine, I'm going.

Oh wait, did I mention I'm a coffee psychic? I can tell if a cuppa joe is going to be tasty or wastey before I even have a sip of the voodoo brew. In the end I still drink it either way so it's basically a completely useless superpower. However, if a bank were being robbed somewhere in Surreal City, well, let's just say, I'd definitely be fully perked up and at the ready to call 9-1-1 on my veggie burger phone.

This picture is originally titled "Late for Work/Tarde p'al Trabajo"―fantastic.
photo courtesy of Flickr and Eneas
Original photo here.

Hey, so I found out yesterday, people actually read this thing!

Speaking of reading things (see what I did there?), new NBC blob is up. That's right, blob. Read it and sleep.

Caution: This month, the spacing is absent and there is a redundant phrase contained therein (i.e., "four quadrants"). You have been accordingly warned.

Let's Call It Even. Happy Early Mother's Day?

I am currently without a car (take that, gas prices!) so my mom drops me at the subway station in the morning as a means of me getting to work in a timely fashion.

Yesterday, I made her late to work in the process because I got ready too slowly and she had to wait for me.

So as I was getting in the car to the soundtrack of her snipping at me, she, in her haste, accidentally started driving before I was fully inside, and I got mildly dragged about a foot.

I yelped in protest and she stopped the car with a gasp.

This event quickly changed the balance of power wherein I quickly became the victim and she the perpetrator. However, instead of taking advantage of my newfound success, I instead sympathized with her even further. I, the former irresponsible jerk, had quickly become the unlikely hero.

Even I couldn't reap the entangled benefits of such a sordid state of affairs, and we both silently agreed never to speak of either event again.

Until now.

Ok, heads, you're an insensitive lug. Tails, I am. Call it.
photo courtesy of Flickr and Micah Sittig

Elevator Small Talk Is Most Awkward By Yourself

Today I found out I have to change offices next week. Not a huge problem except that my new office doesn't have a window (my current one has two...so I'll go mad quickly, but painlessly). The news confirms my intent to draw a giant picture of a window and hang it up in there.

Priorities, people!

Any suggestions for what kind of window to draw would be appreciated. I was thinking a submarine window with fish visible through it for one wall, and a window looking out on a deserted desert for the other wall. There's two more walls, but I think those are best kept for minimalism.

I was thinking of making a picture of an elevator console next to the door so that when you close the door, the feeling of completely encapsulated, claustrophobic space will be complete.

Hello, hello, hello, is there anybody in there?
photo courtesy of Flickr and DerrickT

Watch a video of a man trapped in an elevator for 41 hours here.

Three Unrelated Incidents Except I'm Relating Them to You Now

1. this happened today. i hate to state the obvious (to me) but there was a crime scene outside my office. when i went to get my (too soon?) morning jolt, i ran into some yellow tape quite literally. i'm not sure what happened but it was in front of a bank, so putting two 2 dollar bills together, i surmised a robbery, or a slobbery (poorly executed criminal operation). there wasn't any indication of imminent dangers or strangers, so i poked my head around for a nano bit. a small crowd of two (including the archetype of an old lady) had amassed around the incident upon a second viewing, as these things are wont to do.

there is no crowd surfing allowed around crime scenes though it would lighten things up, in my unwarranted opinion.
photo courtesy of Flickr and clagnut

2. also! this happened yesterday. i went to the hotel parking garage (where i park for work) to get my car, and at the exact same time that i am getting out of the elevator in the garage, a kid is zooming toward me on his skateboard. ok. let me back that up. not really a kid. one of those manchildren you see walking around from time to time (caught between adolescence and his thirties). dressed like a punk-hipster sort. playmobile/no country for good haircuts/prince valiant blonde hairdo, wire-frame glasses, a bit chubby though wearing skinny jeans, smoking a ciggie, and also happened to be making a direct tangent toward me on his skateboard.

oh snap! this was the haircut on the right!
photo courtesy of Flickr and d&e

oh snap! this is a skateboard punkin!
photo courtesy of Flickr and soylentgreen23

except i hadn't even gained but four feet of distance when he toppled over unceremoniously onto his non-ciggie hand, skateboard flipping out and flopping over to his side. the whole thing took place in slow motion. i practically saw it occurring even before it began to happen, and then, alas, it did happen.

"are you alright?!" i ventured one-quarter cautiously/three-quarters in disbelief. "oh yes," he says, picking himself up business-casually and nonchalantly, "this happens all the time." and i suppose by 'this' he meant falling. but what he actually meant was scaring parking garage denizens by practicing pratfalls in front of elevators on the regs. the punk lifestyle has very broad definitions (including taking mini-vacations from your mom's basement), and this guy's interpretation is more than welcome, comments the latest countercultural anthropologist.

3. also! this happened yesterday, with results today. i sent a happy birthday email to someone at work yesterday (on time, mind you), and she replied today morning with a "Thanks Aparana" but, as you can see, she spelled my name wrong. i believe the only proper response to this is a frowny face, so here goes:

photo courtesy of Flickr and tofslie

photo courtesy of Flickr and Joi

photo courtesy of Flickr and Just Taken Pics

it's one thing to have someone mispronounce your name but misspell it in an email regularly! when your name is spelt properly not one inch away! CAMMAN. and may i add another CAMMAN for good, nay great, measure.

Nominated for Another Awk-award

i have this new game i play at work. it's a game of risk.

i write someone an email who works near me, and then i hit send. then at about the approximate time they would be reading it (five seconds later), i get up to leave my office for the bathroom or whatever, and i avoid eye contact with the person (to whom i sent the email), and pretend i hardly remember writing it―oh, it was so long ago! (this involves acting)

the object of the game is to feel weird and to make other people feel that you're weird also.

my behavior is like an awkward hug. good intentions, poor execution.
photo courtesy of Flickr and allygirl520

LAST WEEKEND REC(r)AP, for no good reason:

friday night, i learned i can keep a good pout going for an entire evening, even through a comedy show! i should win a year's worth of smiles (or eyebrow raises)!

saturday night, i learned coffee can wake you up beyond coherency and usefulness.

sunday night, i learned movies about puppies and kittens can actually be terrifying to watch (multiple bear fights).

i have also been enjoying the idea of pie + hammock. the marriage of one to the other, if you will.

PIE
photo courtesy of Flickr and VirtualErn

HAMMOCK
photo courtesy of Flickr and heydrienne

spring called. it wants to meet up!

speaking of which, i've been hit with a new NBC LOVEBLUG!!!

lastly, a sort of coda!

WEIRD TEDDY BEARS/HIPPOS (this is a crowdpleaser/teaser)

I Rate This Blog Irrelevant

this past weekend included cameos from the concepts of awkward and silly-perfect!

snidbits + tippets (vs. snippets + tidbits) as follows--

i had a kitchen snafu. i was making cookies for some VIPs. usually, i take a whole afternoon for cookie preparation, but this was a last-minute endeavor attempted on a time crunch. in hindsight, i should have foreseen the haphazard nature of the situation.

things were progressing just right. all legions of cookies seemed ready for mouth combat. however, one batch was still a little soft around the edges. so i decided to send it back to oven boot camp for some slight toughening up. just as i was trying to place the floppy tray back in the barracks, all the half-formed dough bodies committed mass mutiny, and slid collectively in one precise unified squadron formation to the floor.

all structural integrity, if there had been any to begin with, collapsed! a mound of dough on the floor with a few lone survivors still on the pan, ghosts of their former well-shaped selves! i rate this event AWKWARD - i give it 3 out of 5 elevator small talks.


cookie d'oh!
photo courtesy of Flickr and MShades

i also rate all my recent comedy-related endeavors AWKWARD - i give these events 5 out of 5 elevator small talks.

however, in positively positive news, i found my latest comedic influence. while i had always suspected i'd be a fan, i didn't realize how much. my eyes and brain were recently massaged with a timely viewing of the SPONGEBOB SQUAREPANTS movie!!!


babies have good intuition
photo courtesy of Flickr and jerrroen

i am a convert. my new religion involves a yellow cleaning supply and his compadres. and i'm PROUD TO SAY IT. i rate this conversion event SILLY PERFECT - i give it 5 out of 5 teletubby pick up lines.