F F F F F F R R R R R iday.
Okay, I have to tell you about my dream last night.
Wait, don’t go!
I was on my flight to Europe, but it wasn’t my flight to Europe, you know? It was this upcoming trip combined with a girl trip to Cabo that I’m taking later this summer. But it wasn’t even my girlfriends! It was like, the girl cast from Napoleon Dynamite. You know, Summer Wheatly and that crew. Side ponytails and everything.
So we were boarding the plane and it was H U G E. Bigger than any plane I’ve ever SEEN. Since I’ve never taken an international flight before, I only have the movies to reference, in regards to how spacious the planes are. Well, movies and this disturbing show called Air Disasters that we’re obsessed with, but I can’t even talk about that right now because I’m already a paranoid freak about the state of these planes and the flights and my life. “Something is wrong with the left phalange!”
So we boarded the plane, and the bottom floor was completely open, with recliners and treadmills and massage therapists. ???!!! AND, there was this woman standing up on this overhanging loft thing waving at us and making crepes. I think she had a wig on. And a unibrow?
Once we got situated we tried to decide what movie we wanted to watch on the flight. I was like, “LADIES, we really need to sleep. Jet lag is gonna kick us in the face if we don’t rest now.” And they go, “Shut UP, Bev. We want to watch MOVIES and DRINK MIXED DRINKS.”
I said, “Suit yourself, but if you do you’re going to be a bloated Shamu disaster in photos once we land.”
Aren’t I so nice?
And then we all piled into this big recliner while the unibrow crepe lady took a picture of us for Instagram. And Summer Wheatly elbowed me in the ribs.
Mawms, I need advice. (yes, again.)
We’re facing (hahaha! sorry.) a new era/slash crisis in toddlerdom. I think my kids are too big for their back-facing car seats. Can you even believe we’ve kept them in those things for this long!? I obey the law, man.
Their legs are like, way up the back of the seat and I can barely buckle them in anymore. I gotta get ’em turned around! But I haven’t even started researching brands or anything, and I keep putting it off because my hair needs to be washed. You know.
What are your fave brands? I want simple and sleek, but nothing that costs 175 million dollars per seat. Have you had good luck with anything in particular? I know I should just do my own research, but you know how I depend on your guiding light through this life.
That was weird. I won’t do that again.
Okay, I have a rather uncomfortable question to ask you all, but I’m a little nervous about the response. It’s a tender subject, and I don’t take these matters lightly. So, I’ll just ask. I’ll just put this out there for anyone to share their experience.
Don’t hate me…
Wheeeeere do we stand on spray tans?
BECAUSE I KIND OF WANT ONE. Ugh! Is that gross? Do they still exist? Are they bad? Are they scary? Are they toxic? Will I die? Do they work? Will I look like an Oompa Loompa? I mean, we all know what happened to poor Ross Geller.
Because hi, you see my head shot to the left? I’m basically transparent. I’m afraid no one can see me. Would it look weird to be tan on my trip? Not like, Magna-from-Something-About-Mary tan, but just a leeettle sun-kissed. And I’m talking about the mist thing, where you walk in and turn around.
Talk me out of it.
Wait! Talk me into it.
Wait! Talk me out of it.
What book should I read on the plane!?
Weekend plans? This morning I’m devoting to getting the insides of my house in good shape, and then once the babes go down at noon, we’re TACKLING the yards. Raking, bagging, rippin’ down the dead, trimming rose bushes, tilling the beds, visualizing what goes in pots, making sure the patio lights work, crankin’ up the tunes (<–gross). And theeeeeen a fat pinot gris in the late afternoon. 70 degrees today, you guys. S e v e n t y.
And then after that, gonna use this free burrito coupon in the mail from Chipotle. Those coupons make the world go ’round. I speak the truth on this.
You’re googling Magna from Something About Mary, aren’t you?