San Francisco is Awesome

So we read in the paper that there was going to be an Alt-Right rally last weekend and the counter protesters were going to be clowns, the SF gay men's choir and drag queens.  Both John and I were like, fuck yeah, we gotta go! Mainly for the signs.  Oh, do you think we could call someone to see if we can be in charge of the signs?

"CLOWN LIVES MATTER"

"I SHOULD HAVE CHANGED THAT STUPID LOCK. 

I SHOULD HAVE MADE YOU LEAVE YOUR KEY"

"ONE WORLD, ONE CAR"

We were sooooo disappointed when the rally was called off even though it was done for the best of reasons.  The Right group, whose name alludes me at the moment, was concerned about violence and they had no way of knowing/controlling who would show up. So bully for them but damn, the signs......

"THESE BOOTS ARE MADE FOR WALKING, ALL OVER YOUR FACE"

"HOLD MY LIPSTICK. I'VE GOT THIS"

Good Morning

So, Tom's at the fridge, holding a tub of cream cheese,

Tom, "Is this cream cheese?"
Me, "Yup." and I'm thinking sure, you can ask me, or you could just read the damn label, jeez.

Later, I pick up the tub and you know what? No where on it does it say 'cream cheese'. Nowhere.

                   

Clearly I don't read labels at the grocery store. I just wander around like a trained monkey, grabbing items that are the right color.

And then.....

John was leaving for a business trip and from the hall he said,
John, "My plane leaves around 1:00 so I won't be home before I leave. Back in the afternoon on Wednesday."
Me, "Okay, see you tomorrow."
Now I was only half listening because I was reading 'It' and it's really good and I'm on a deadline because I want to finish it before the movie comes out on the 8th.
Sam, <standing at the toaster, wearing head phones> "He's back on Thursday."
Me, "Huh?"
Sam, "He's not back tomorrow, but he'll be by this afternoon."
Me, "What? John, you're heading straight to the airport, right?"
John, "Yes."
Me, "And you're back tomorrow?"
John, "Yes."
Me, <talking to Sam> "You got everything wrong. And you're wearing headphones! Wha....how....why are you correc...."
Sam, <shrug> "Meh." and walks away.

These types of conversations happen several times a day.
God, I hope he listens better in class.

I don't know what your kid did last week.....

But a couple of mom's have won the bragging rights to their sons becoming the new faces of racism.

That's gonna be one hell of a Christmas letter.

"Gary finally retired and is spending more and more time fishing, and just loving it.  I finally converted that old den into the craft room of my dreams. And, oh yeah, Doug's a racist."

California is the Stupidest State

Yesterday, I took the boys to the DMV to get their learner's permits.  We had schedules appointments ahead of time and we were armed with all the forms and documentation necessary.  Oh so I thought.

First, hiccup, only one of the appointments showed up on the DMV's computer system.  The same system I used to schedule the appointments and the same system that send me a receipt with both names listed.  See, right there, both boys.  But that's okay, they can work around that. How gracious of you.

Second problem and where I completely lost my shit and why California is the stupidest state in the entire union.  I've gotten driver's licenses and registered cars in Washington, Oregon and Arizona and have never had problems like I've had here in California.

So, I was required to present two documents as proof of residency.  I had the registration document for one of the cars (complete with my name and address) and my California State Driver's License (with my name, address and a photo). I received that California State Driver's License from the vary office we were standing in and at that time I had to provide two documents as proof of residency in order to receive said California State Driver's License.

Me, <presenting my two documents as proof of residency> "Here ya go."
DMV Worker <whose poor life decisions have led her to her current position working a window at the fucking DMV, stay in school kids> "We can't accept a driver's license as proof of residency."
Me, "But....I got the license here. It's the license you gave me."
DMV Worker, "We can't accept a driver's license as proof of residency."
Me, "I had to provide proof of residency to GET this license. You guys accepted that proof and issued this license. You already have the proof of residency somewhere in all of those file cabinets <waving my hands at the area beyond Window #10 and please why in hell is the first window number 10?>"
DMV bitch, "We can't accept that."
Me, <my voice has been getting gradually louder and by now I'm quite heated> "So identification cards issued by your department are not recognized as identification by your department. That's ridiculous!
DMV asshat, "We can accept this" <holding up the car registration document>
Me, "This, this registration, <holding it up with one hand> also issued by this department, after presenting the same two residency documents that were used to issue this driver's license <holding it up with the other hand> that IS NOT ACCEPTABLE!?!? Whaaa....how the hell does that make any fucking sense?!?!"
DMV fucking cunt, "That language is really not necessary. We can accept a medical bill or electric bill with your name and address."
Me, "Two organizations that I provided this driver's license to after writing my street address on an intake form.  Sure, why not..."

And we stormed out. And I swore at the top of my lungs all the way across the parking lot.  It was a very proud moment. Mother of The Year, once again.  Really, I'm running out of room on my walls to hang all these plaques.

Spirit Animal

I picked up this card at Blue Moon Pottery, unaware that it would become my new Spirit Animal.

Currency Exchange

So for some reason, while we were in Canada, this kept happening:

I am partial to charm bracelets so while we were wandering around downtown Newfoundland, I ducked into a jewelry store to see what they had to offer.  There was one bracelet made with old Newfoundland coins that I really liked and I asked to see it.  The gal took it out of the display case and told me some details about it and said, "It's $880".  As I was hooking it around my wrist, I must have been concentrating really hard because all I heard were the 8's. Huh, $88, a little more than I was expecting but it's really cool. At this time, John walked in and joined me.  While I was admiring my new bracelet, John asked the price and she again said, "$880".  This time it sounded a little different. Huh, did she just say $88? It didn't sound like $88, it sounded like $880 but that's nuts. She continued explaining the features to John. "It's sterling silver" blah blah blah. Oh, sterling silver, that totally makes it worth $880.  And then I noticed that John was not moving, at all.  He was like totally frozen. And never in my life have I been so psychic. I could clearly hear his every thought. <Put down the bracelet. We Are Leaving.> Back out of the sidewalk, "You know I think that bracelet was $800." John, "Keep walking."

A few days later we went to a local comic book store.  I thought we could use a few board games, perhaps they had a Game of Thrones Clue.  It turned out to be a really great store and Sam and I ended up getting a little carried away.  Okay, I got a little carried away. Sam only picked out one comic.  I brought my treasures up to the register and the gal working started ringing everything up.  So I was standing there next to Sam, pleased as punch that they did have a Game of Thrones Clue, and the gal says, "That'll be $328."  I immediately turned to Sam to see if he thought that was as odd of a number as I did.  He just stood there with his mouth open.
Me, "Excuse me?"
Gal, "$328"
Me <still looking from her to Sam and back> "I'm sorry, what was that again?"
Gal, "$328"
Me, "Well, that's not going to happen. That's just insane."
Then I had her keep deleting items until the number got down to double digits. I've gotten carried away in a comic book store before but that was ridiculous.  It's like all the prices were in yen.

And lastly, John and I went to Blue Moon Pottery, located down on Jelly Bean Row.  Very picturesque little area of the Battery.

The store, which was on one floor of the owner's house, had a painting in the window that we both liked. We had been by the previous day but it was closed. We knew this because there was a sign on the door that read, "Closed".  John, who'd slipped fully into "down home Newfoundland, I knows yer mutter" mode, tried the door knob.
Me, "What are you doing?"
John, "It's not locked."
Me, "It's still closed."
John, <stepping into the doorway> "Hello!"
Me, "John, it's closed."
John, <another step inside> "HELLO! HELLO!"
After a couple more Hello's, an old lady in a house coat walked into the hallway.
John, "Hi, we were just wondering if you were open."
Lady, "No" <pointing to the 'closed' sign that just happened to be exactly at John's eye level> "We're closed."
So we returned the next day, when it was Open.  I walked over to the painting that I liked and noticed that there was another one along the same...theme?...is that right? Anyway, they'd look great hanging next to each other behind my couch. And would you look at that, they're only $1250, each. What the hell? Is this some kind of a prank? Has something gone wrong with decimals on this island? I'm done. No more shopping. I'm just going back to our room and read my book. $1200, my ass. grumble grumble grumble.....

I'M ON VACATION! Epilogue

Things I Forgot Earlier

Boston-Logan Airport, Air Canada Security Line:
The one that is in an actual doorway and has its line wrapping around and out another doorway and down a hallway. That one.  The line is manned with a tiny, angry woman who aggressively asks to see your ticket and then shouts you into the line you were already heading towards because it's the only reason any of us are even at that ass end of the airport.  She was a delight.
Also delightful were the two 20-something blonds who came around the corner and whined, "Uhh, isn't there a Pre-Check line?" "Yes! Yes, for you there is a special Pre-Check line down that corridor in Terminal C" C for, well, no that's too much, how about D for Dumb Ass.

Exit Rows:
On one flight, we somehow all ended up in the same row and it was an exit row. Extra leg room, hell yes! As we were sitting there, John told the boys, "This is an exit row. The flight attendant is going to ask some questions about helping in an emergency. It's just procedure. She needs a verbal response so when she asks a question say 'yes'. Okay?"
Both boys, "yeah, yeah, yeah, we know."
John, "If she doesn't think we can handle things she will move us and I want the extra leg room."
Boys, "We know."
John, "Just say 'yes'"
Boys, "Gawd, jeez, we get it."
Flight Attendant, "Do you realize that you are in an exit row and in the unlikely event of an emergency you may be asked to assist. Are you able to do this?"
John, "yes"
Me, "yes"
Tom, "yes"
Sam, "huh?"
Sweet Jesus.
John, "I'm going to kill him."

Customs:
The final time we went through US Customs somewhere around hour 68, we had a very thorough Customs Agent.  He held up each passport and visibly compared the photo to the person; looking from the photo to the person several times.  John had to take off his glasses. Each boy had to turn face-on to him.  By the time it was my turn I was ready; I was standing straight and looking directly at him.  And he threw me a curve ball. Up until this point, none of the customs agents, either US or Canadian, had asked me any questions.  This guy looked me straight in the eye and asked, "Jennifer, what are the last four digits of your social security number?"

Me, "Wait, what now? Are you fucking kidding me?  I have as good of a chance of coming up with YOUR social security number. I've worn the same pair of underwear for two days.  I don't know my middle name right now.  Did you say four numbers? Is it four? I think there's a seven. I'm definitely seeing a seven."

But I didn't say that, I said, "uuuuhhhh" <looking at John then back to the agent> "uuuuhhhhhh" <more looks towards John, honestly how are we not getting arrested at this point>.  I eventually rattle off four numbers which were apparently correct because we were passed through.

Half of Life is Paying Attention:
Neither boy is good at paying attention yet they excel at righteous indignation when they are told to "listen". I honestly don't know what angers me more.

I don't know about other folks but when we travel Day Three is always the tough day. Day Three is when everyone is pissed off at each other and we each have to retreat to a neutral corner and regroup.  This trip had two Day Threes.  Yippee. The first during the vacation portion of the program and the second during our return trip. So when we were walking out of the hotel and explaining that we were going to take the bus downtown, where we were going, etc, etc,  only to have each kid ask 30 seconds later what we were doing, I was over it. Again.
I turned to John and said, "I'm ready to give them each $50 and drop them downtown. They can find their own way back."
John, "It's not a bad idea."
Me, "If I felt, at all, that it wouldn't turn into Taken 4, Morons in Montreal. I'd totally do it."

I'M ON VACATION! part two

So, to recap, not so great trip to the vacation, then there was a vacation and then the trip back from the vacation. And this is were it gets good.

Remember this was the plan:

Return Route:
St. Johns Newfoundland --> Ottawa --> Boston (via Air Canada)
Boston --> L.A. --> Oakland (via Delta)
(The carriers will become important later on.)

Thursday:
Before we left St. Johns, John received a text that our flight from Ottawa to Boston had been cancelled but it didn't include the flight we had been rerouted on so he went up to the gate agent.

This, class, is the difference between socialism and capitalism.  Canada has one major airlines and they're the only game in town.

So John walks up to the gate agent and has the following conversation. I'm paraphrasing but this was the gist.

John, "My flight from Ottawa to Boston was cancelled."
Agent, "Uh huh."
John, "We need to get on another flight."
Agent, "Uh huh."
John, "Can you use the computer that you are standing in front of and get us on another flight."
Agent, "No."
John, "It is a real computer not one of those fake IKEA ones, right?"
Agent, "Yes."
John, "And you have the training and authority to use it, right?"
Agent, "Yes."
John, "But you won't?"
Agent. "Right. You'll have to find someone in Ottawa to do it."
John, "But you could if you weren't a jackass?
Agent, "Oh, sure. Now please fuck off."

Flight to Ottawa is delayed which really doesn't matter because we don't have a connection. In Ottawa, they put us on a 10:00 am flight to Toronto and put us up in a nice hotel downtown.  John gets a rental car on points and we regroup.

Friday:
The next morning, we are showered, refreshed and ready to face another day. As we are about to leave the room, our flight is cancelled.  Now we are on a 5:00 pm flight to Toronto and have a day to kill in Ottawa, luckily we have aforementioned rental car. We get to the airport and our flight to Toronto is cancelled. We are now on a later flight to Montreal. Note at this point in time we could have driven to Boston. And, we are no longer looking at spending a day in Boston, we are just hoping to make our connection out on Saturday. We eventually boarded the plane, the door closed and we pushed back only to have the pilot tell us that we'll be waiting on the tarmac for around an hour due to thunderstorms in Montreal. They were opening and closing the air space, like when you'd lock the car door just as your sister went to open it and then unlock so she thought she could get in but at the last minute you lock it again because it is just so damn funny. That was air traffic control in Montreal.

Since the flight to Montreal was delayed, we ended up running the entire length of the airport to catch our connection to Boston. Side note, when flying from Canada to the US, you clear customs in the Canadian airport and are considered to be in the US after that point.  So we cleared customs, got to the gate and the flight was cancelled. Here is how we learned this bit of information and it is my very favorite part of the trip:

Gate Agent, who had been making unpleasant announcements to angry passengers all day, got on the p.a. system and said this and I kid you not, "Madams and Messrs, Air Canada Flight......shit" followed by silence.  And the sound of laughter was once again heard in the Montreal-Trudeau International Airport.
Me,"Isn't she required to make all announcements in English and French? Where's the Merde?"
We didn't get a 'merde' because she left for a shift change and who could blame her.

Now we needed to go back through customs to 'enter' Canada.
Custom's Agent, "you been here 10 days."
John, "no, we just got here."
Agent,"But you've been in Canada for 10 days"
John, "yes, we were originally here for 10 days. We just left but our flight was cancelled so now we are back."
Agent, "What is the purpose of your trip?"
John, "jesus h christ"

Down to baggage claim.  So here something interesting.  Typically when claiming bags, you have arrived at your destination, i.e. Boston, and your  bags are marked Boston. In this case you are not in Boston but your bags are marked Boston, and some of the carousals are marked with arriving flights and others are marked with fantasy destinations and the only way to feel like you are most likely in the right place is by following the guy in the green sweater that you know was on your flight. When you lose track of him, you look for the two dutch guys with the blond girl. They were definitely on our flight, right? And you don't totally and fully lose your shit until you're told that you will not be able to get your bags so you'll have to come back in the morning for them. Unfortunately there is already a line of passengers waiting to take a piece out of that Air Canada employee so you have to make due with swearing loudly.

So we were in stuck in Montreal but we were in good company because along with our flight all other flights to the eastern seaboard were cancelled.  John spent around 30 minutes on the phone with Air Canada before saying 'fuck it' and called Delta.  There was no way to make our Boston flight so we had to scrap that.  Delta got us on a flight to Minneapolis on Sunday morning. That meant two nights, well one and a half because this night was almost over, in Montreal.  John managed to get us one of the last hotel rooms in Montreal but every single rental car in the province was booked and heading to the border.  Fine, the hotel had a shuttle so off we went.

And yet another interesting fact about the Montreal-Trudeau International Airport, the shuttle pick up is on the same level as the departures drop-off so people are trying to enter the airport at the same place that tired and angry people are trying to exit it. Furthermore all the signage is angled towards the people entering the airport so once you're outside you can't tell where the hell you're supposed to be. This was made clear the next day when we arrived back at the airport. "Oh, look, there's the sign for the shuttle pick-up." That seemed like a flaw in the system but what do I know.

Saturday:
Our last night in Canada was spent at the Marriott located At The Airport. The one attached to the airport and 100 yards from the ticket counters. Why? Because as my friend Suzanne says, "At a certain age, when a problem crops up, you just throw money at it." And we did. We got a big ass room, with room service and a view of all the planes flying away home. 'One day, boys, that will be us. Just work hard and keep dreaming.'

So by now, clean clothes were a thing of the past and the boys' suitcases smelt of feet.  Sam's suitcase took things one step further and decided to blow out the zipper.  We ended up taking the bus into the city and buying a new suitcase, clean t-shirts, and socks for Sam because he somehow managed to pack for a 10 day trip with only one pair of socks.

Sunday:
We made it to the United States and I want to make it absolutely clear that NO ONE is pouring over our borders. 

On the second leg of the flight, I used one of our drink vouchers for a white wine.
John, "Are you drinking wine?"
Me, "Yes."
John, "It's 10:30 in the morning."
Me, "No it's not. It's hour 76 1/2 of our return flight."
John, "Cheers"

Original flight plan:
St. Johns --> Ottawa --> Boston --> L.A. --> Oakland

Actual flight plan:
St. Johns --> Ottawa --> Toronto --> Toronto -->Montreal --> Boston --> Minneapolis --> Salt Lake City --> Oakland

And it only took 80 hours. Give or take.

I'M ON VACATION! part one

So we just got back from Newfoundland.  It was a 10 day trip to visit John's family. And yes, it was lovely, people were seen, places were visited and events were....uh....done...unfolded? whatever, let's talk about the trip itself.  For those of you how have never been to Newfoundland, take out your atlas, I'll wait, now find the page that reads "Middle of Nowhere, North Atlantic Section" and there you have it.  If the gods are smiling at you, you can find a flight with only one stopover for under $1000. If you're using air miles, it gets a little trickier.  The best route would take us through Boston; the boys have never been to Boston so John thought we'd send a day there on the return trip.  So our itinerary looked like this:

Oakland --> Salt Lake City --> Boston --> Halifax --> St. Johns Newfoundland

Return Route:
St. Johns Newfoundland --> Ottawa --> Boston (via Air Canada)
Boston --> L.A. --> Oakland (via Delta)
(The carriers will become important later on.)

So the flights out were uneventful once you get past the 6:00 am take-off out of Oakland. The problems started to emerge when we arrived at Boston Logan International Airport. Now I don't know what Canada did to piss off Mr. Logan of Boston but I suspect it had something to do with hockey.  The architects, engineers and city planners designed and built a beautiful airport then said, 'Oh shit, we forgot Air Canada. No worries, we'll stick it down here by the parking garage and call it Terminal B (B for bullshit) Oh, but wait, they'll have to exit security so we'll need another checkpoint. Okay, let's see, we'll put it in this doorway, throw up a partial wall and have them line up down the hallway. (I am completely serious.) Okay, okay, that'll work but it's a rather long walk should we put in a moving sidewalk? No, fuck em. In fact let's make them check in again at a ticket counter and we'll make the ticketing area really pretty so they'll think everything is okay but it's not because we'll have all three Air Canada gates shoved in a corner that really only accommodates one gate and we'll have five flights departing within 45 minutes of each other and, wait for it, one gate agent. Should we provide some type of food and beverage service? Jesus Christ, Jillian, you're such a bleeding heart, this is why we don't promote women. Fine, we'll give a couple of coolers and a sketchy guy at the register who keeps going in and out of the service closet for god knows what reason and hey, that will create another ill placed queue so well done, Jillian, well done.

Ladies and Gentleman, I give you Boston Logan's Air Canada Gates:

Note the pile of empty cardboard boxes and the saddest, dirtiest American Flag you've ever seen. Why is there an American Flag at the gate when no where else in the country are there flags at international gates? Because, fuck you, Canada.

The flight was, naturally, delayed so we arrived at the Halifax airport with very little time to make our connection and had to run from one end of the airport to the other. This became a recurring theme.  If there was a medal event for running the length of as many airports as possible during one vacation, we would be Team USA.

So we left Oakland at 6:00 am and arrived in Newfoundland at 2:00 am.  Bright and fresh and ready to start our vacation, with the in-laws.