Don't even get me started on the woman who breathed onto my neck while I was waiting to get off the plane

There are a lot of things about airports that are unbearably frustrating. I won't list them all because I'm sure you know most of them; and plus, it would only make me mad and I'm trying to focus on being positive these days. But here's something travelers do that is just mindboggling idiotic and needs to be whined about:

There are assholes out there who are under the impression that 96% of the bags that come out onto the baggage claim could be theirs. I don't care if they have a bright fuscia suitcase with a pink polka dotted dragon embroidered on the front with an orange tongue, a green cape with a 'D' on it (for Dragon, obviously), and blue flames shooting out its nose. They will pick up every single suitcase and check all 4 handles for nametags, airport tags, rainbow pom poms, and duct tape to see if it's theirs. Then, when they realize that a black Samsonite isn't at all what their bag looks like, they will throw it back onto the conveyor belt...only to pick it up again when it comes back around.

This morning I saw a woman pick up a two-tone colored car seat (and I'm talkin' bright colors, not just like beige and black or something), inspect it carefully, and then put it back. Douchebag.

3 homeruns, 1 hot dog, one beach ball incident, and one drunk guy ralphing

Last night Nana and I went to the Red Sox vs. Angels game at Fenway Park. According to 96-year-old Ruth, our seats were along the first base line. In reality they were way out in right field. But for a price of zero dollars, I’d take Red Sox seats behind a fat guy challenging another fat guy to a hot dog eating contest. (Please don’t actually tempt me with this offer because I don’t know that I would actually follow through.)

Here are the highlights of the night….

Nana: “Do you know who’s pitching tonight?”
Lisa: “Actually I don’t. Who?”
Nana: “Dike-a-sake.”

Nana: “Is that Ortiz? Oooh, I hope he strikes a homerun!”

Nana (to the 115-pound college girl in front of us who dined on two meager slices of Papa Gino’s): “You ate too much pizza!”

Nana (to the same girl earlier in the game): “Can you scrunch down a bit? I can’t see.”

A beachball came our way during the 5th inning or so and miraculously landed in Nana’s lap. I told her to pick it up and hit it. So she took the ball and, with all her might (which isn’t a lot), pegged a guy sitting two rows in front of us right in the back of the head. So he took the ball and jokingly turned around and pretended like he was going to nail her in the face with it. I think that kinda scared her because she put her arms up in defense. The man then realized that he could possibly be responsible for an old woman having a heart attack and apologized profusely saying he didn’t really mean it. I told him that while maybe he was joking, she surely wasn’t and meant to hit him.

Then, when we were trying to find the bus after the game, I’m pretty sure I made Nana walk around the entire perimeter of Fenway Park. Probably not the best idea in the world, but I told her that at least she wouldn’t have to go to the gym the next day (and yes, she actually does go to the gym).

So while the Red Sox lost 7-5 to a team with a guy named Figgins, I certainly can’t complain about a lack of entertainment or fun.

A posting full of cats

Walter attacking Harvey attacking a trash can.

Harvey staring intently at nothing.

Their stares are intense.
Walter eating out of a cat.
Snugglemuffin.

We’re slowly falling out of reach

So there I am sitting on the sofa watching Men In Black II with my parents when a commercial for a dog and cat nail groomer comes on. The product advertises as a less painful way to trim your pet’s nails and, to prove their point, shows a cartoon clip of a regular nail clipper snipping off part of a dog’s toe in addition to the nail. It is at this point that both my parents scream at the top of their lungs (much like you’d hear during the Achilles tendon part of the movie Hostel) and my dad yells above my mother’s shrieking, “Change the channel! Change the channel!”

I’m back in Boston. And all is right with the world. I’ve been back for two weeks and haven’t had time to breathe let alone write down some of the fun things that have happened. For example, I was walking home one night and saw a middle-aged man coming out from behind a secluded building fiddling with his pants. I then saw a middle-aged woman, who I presumed to be his wife, coming from an altogether different direction saying, “Honey, don’t be a weirdo.” Or that time that I was walking to play tennis on Boston Commons at 8am on a Sunday morning and saw a man (who didn’t appear homeless and/or crazy) spinning around in circles with his arms out. He then tried to walk in a straight line and obviously couldn’t. What kind of grown man does this?

By far the most awesome thing that has happened since I got home, other than finally being able to watch the Food Network with my new cable, was acquiring my two new kittens, Walter and Harvey (pronounced Wahltah and Hahvey like a true Bostonian). They’re 5-month-old tabby cat brothers who I adopted from the Animal Rescue League through some help of my friend Courtney who, as the shelter manager, has the greatest job in the world. Sometimes it’s hard to tell them apart since their markings are very similar, but the one distinguishing feature is that Walter isn’t exactly weaned yet and likes to pretend that Harvey is his mom and suckles all over him - his shoulder, his neck, his back, and his non-milk producing belly. This was cute at first, but when combined with a tiny sucking sound and a mat of wet fur, it’s become just disturbing. While acquiring two cats is a much bigger step on the way to becoming a cat lady than merely adopting one, you need not worry just yet because I will never take them for a walk on leashes or in a stroller. The day I do that is the day you find 34 frozen cat bodies in my freezer. Or the day someone pays me $200 to do it…whichever comes first.