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Merch Girl Rant #3: Airport Etiquette for Dummies

Everyone suddenly turns into an asshole when at the airport.  Even people who seem to be able to function as an acceptable human being normally, turn into a god damn spaz when traveling.  They seem to lose all common sense, spatial awareness and cognitive abilities.  It’s incredible.  I travel a lot, so please learn from this and don’t be one of those people.

Let’s start at the beginning.  Just pulling up to the drop-off area at airports, and it suddenly looks like a traffic jam in India.  There is no regard for lane lines, there are whistles and people walking in front of cars and the same person who kindly let you over while you were merging onto the highway to get to the airport, is suddenly blaring his horn in your face and cutting you off because he is worried that he won’t make it to the curb in time.  Chill out you motherfucker!  I am not afraid of walking twenty extra yards, so I’ll move for you.  I swear that people don’t understand that the airport is one big building.  Surprise!  You can get to any part of the airport from inside the airport!  When pulling up to the drop-off/pick-up area, people seem to forget that just because you’re flying Delta, doesn’t mean that you can only be dropped off immediately in front of the Delta sign.  Don’t worry, this isn’t platform 9 3/4, it’s not going to magically disappear.  Drop people off wherever there is an opening, and hopefully they can manage to walk a few meters to the Delta check-in, you freaks.

Before arriving to the airport, have your damn ID in your pocket.  Duh!  In your purse does not count because as we all know, women’s purses are all like Mary Poppin’s purse; endless.  If I have to wait for you to dig around in your bag because you seem to be dumbfounded when security or the airline agents asks for your ID, then you are a fool and deserve the ugly stares that you’re going to get from me.  Oh, and I will probably cut you in line.

The touch screen at the check-in counters seem to be a problem for people and this also blows my mind because it’s people who are drowning their lives in various technological touch screen devices, so how is it that you suddenly can’t figure out how to use a touch screen when it asks you for your friggen name?

Then, we move onto one of my worst pet-peeves.  Escalators/moving sidewalks.  These machines were developed to get you from point A to point B faster.  They are not there to enable all you lazy assholes who apparently find walking to be a hassle.  I cannot wrap my mind around how unaware everyone is.  Do you not realize that a lot of people are in a damn hurry at the airport?!  Essentially, everything you do at the airport needs to be done in the quickest, most efficient way as possible because people are waiting.  Paying for something?  Grab your change and move to the side so someone else can pay while you fumble around with your wallet.  Have plenty of time to get to your gate?  Then move over to the mother fucking right, and let me pass you on the left on the escalator.  Common damn sense.

Pack light and tight.  When we get to the security point, I always avoid people with kids, old people and people with headphones on.  That’s all obvious, but you also got to watch out for the people who have a bunch of shit hanging off of them.  I’m sure you can picture it.  There are those who travel and they look like a damn mobile closet.  There are pillows wrapped around their necks, lanyards hanging out of pockets, straps just everywhere, blankets protruding from overstuffed bags and they are always trying to get away with having two carry-on’s.  It’s such a shitshow.  I should never have to wait for you to pull everything from crinkled up cash to loose Tylenol tablets from your pocket when we approach the x-ray machine.  Be prepared!  Do that BEFORE the last second.  Fucking, duh!  And you never need a neck pillow.  Unless it is over a five hour flight, then I might have some sympathy, but on those flights, the airline has pillows, just ask.  You are not going to be comfortable on a plane no matter what, so just suck it up and get out of my way.

The only person who is allowed to have a neck pillow is the wrestler because he has the kind that fold into a little case that he shoves into his suitcase.  He’s a pro traveler due to the whole being a pro wrestler thing.  Him and I recently discussed the art of traveling, and decided that we hate 90% of people at airports.

I think that the older you get, the more comfortable you are with yourself and the less you’re concerned with what other people might think of you.  This notion simply disappears when people get on planes.  I watch all these middle aged people suddenly turn into those anxious adolescence with pimply faces and awkward haircuts.  People get so fucking nervous about putting their stupid carry-on bag in the overhead compartments.  Jesus Christ, chill out.  The only reason why we’re all staring at you is because you suddenly started talking to yourself, you’re blushing and you’re being frantic over a damn suitcase.

Also concerning the overhead compartments, don’t be that asshole who puts your jacket or fucking beach tote bag up there until everyone is settled.  Wait until everyone has their REAL carry-on’s stowed away, and then if there is room, you can shove your floppy shit on top.

The worst people on planes are the ones with headphones on who have no regard for how loud their music is.  I’m sorry, I know you’re enjoying your tunes, but I should not be subjected to your shitty Pandora’s top 40 playlists.  If the person is sitting next to me, I absolutely ask them to turn their music down.  If the person is sitting more than a row away, I ask the flight attendant to ask them to turn it down.  And I don’t feel bad about it even a little bit.  NOT using headphones at all while watching videos is a recent practice that I’ve noticed people participating in since wifi on planes has become a thing.  Hell no.  I won’t even waste my linguistic energy on why that is 100% unacceptable.

I recently went to Costa Rica with my sister, mom and a family friend.  I’m typing in the living room and my sister is in the dining room wearing an oversized Tupac shirt and playing with her toenails.  I just yelled to her, “what were some of the dumb things that people were doing at the airport?” and without hesitation she just yelled back, “they were just not fucking walking!”  It made me laugh out loud.  This sort of falls into the the category of being spatially aware, and even if you’re not in a hurry, act like you are.  I cannot get over the amount of people who just stop walking in the middle of the damn walkways to look at their phone.  Would you do that in the middle of the highway?  No.  There is absolutely the same traffic flow in the airport, and you are fucking it up and causing a traffic jam.  Just as you would if you were on the highway, if you need to stop, veer over to the right.

I hope this helps you.  I’m considering printing this out into pamphlet form, and distributing them at my local airport.

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2015 was Epic – Part 5

…continued from Part 4.

When we finally made it to Sofia, it was past midnight and the train station was closed, despite the arrival of trains.  You may be thinking that this means that the vendors are closed up and the ticket windows are dark.  What it means in Bulgaria is that ALL of the lights are off, all of the informative signs have been put away, there are zero employees and if someone stabs you, you will die because no one will find you until the morning.  If our trip was depicted in a cartoon, this would be the part when a tumbleweed blows by.

Maybe six other people got off the train with us and they seemed to know the route, so we just followed them with our fingers crossed.  We quickly realized that we were underground as we marched through this sketchy tunnel that immediately gave me the feeling of being led to a gas chamber.  Once we made it to open air without having our organs removed and sold to the black market, we were immediately met by robust men repeating “taxi” like they had Tourettes.

*Traveling Tip: Never use the cab drivers that are at the train stations.  Walk a few blocks away and pick up a cab, then make sure that they turn the meter on.  When possible, have the hostel arrange a taxi pick-up for you.

We said no to the taxi men, but I will admit that these mother-fuckers were pretty intimidating.  When you imagine a Bulgarian, that’s exactly how they were.  Those dudes had definitely cut off a finger or two in their time.  Possibly ripped out a human heart with their bare hands.  We hadn’t arranged for a place to stay in Sofia because it was a sort of last minute change of plans.  We spotted a Marriott sign off in the distance, so the three of us, and all of the wild fucking dogs, walked toward the light.

What stuck with me was how dark the city was.  In Romania and Bulgaria, when the people are asleep, the city is not only asleep, but it feels like a ghost town.  Insert tumbleweed again.  This was not the case so much in Budapest and Istanbul, but those are much bigger cities and have much more tourism.  That might sound scary, and at first, it kind of was nerve-racking walking around in the dead of night with no lights and little signs of human life.  But I very quickly grew to love it.  They don’t waste resources!  It’s a beautiful thing.  Even in the hotel, you had to insert your key card into the light switch to enable it to turn on.  Meaning, you can’t leave the lights on.

It’s not just electricity, it’s all resources.  They don’t blindly waste them the way we do in the First World.  I bet you would rarely see someone running water in Bulgaria and Romania to wash dishes.  They probably all fill a bowl with soapy water and then just use that.  And they aren’t obsessed with everything being disposable or convenient.  At the grocery store there were no bags.  “Paper or plastic?” is not a phrase that you hear there.  Bags were not at all available.  It was incredible.  I would stoked because I’m a hippie.  Well, my friends unfortunately call me that, but I just call it being right and smart.  How fucking hard is it to just bring your own bags to the grocery store?  Or cut your own damn apple?  When I see shit like apples pre-cut, so they need to be put in a plastic container that will immediately be thrown away, I get pissed.  When did we become such lazy assholes that we would rather suffocate the planet with plastic instead of simply cutting an apple, or god forbid, eat it straight?  When did we start believing that we are superior to the Earth?  I would LOVE to move to a Second World country so that I can contribute to a society that has common sense.

Pardon the rant.  Back to the hotel, which was dirty and dingy and just sad.  The hostels that we stayed at for approximately $12 USD a night, were WAY better.  I have no idea why people have such an aversion to hostels.  I think because of that damn movie.  Forget about that horror movie!  That would be like watching a zombie movie, and then being scared that every person you come across who coughs, may be infected with a ficticious zombie virus.

We only had the following afternoon in Bulgaria because we wanted to make sure to get four full days in Istanbul, which was the next and final stop.  Raven and I decided this would be a perfect day to get tattoos since we didn’t have time to do any real sightseeing.  I researched tattoo shops while Fat Face and Raven went back and forth showing each other funny videos on Vine, or whatever the hell it’s called, and I brainstormed on a design while she popped blackheads.

When we got to the shop, I explained that we just wanted a simple side view of a train and that we didn’t have much time because ironically, we had to be on a train in a few hours.  Our artist walked right over to us, squatted down on the floor and started sketching a little train.  It was really cool and unpretentious of him.  He, along with all of the people that we crossed paths with in Sofia were friendly and lively.  Very different from Bucharest, so it left us wondering why all of the Eastern European natives were telling us to do Bucharest instead of Sofia.

We got onto another fucking train, and headed East to Turkey.  Our experience on that train is a prime example of how travelers just have no idea of what is going on.  Before the border, we were cattled off of the train and wrangled into a concrete room that had border patrol men who didn’t even a little bit pretend to give a shit about our visas, and then we stood around for what I would guess was two hours, having no idea what in the hell was going on.  We were expecting to get on a train in Sofia and then get off in Istanbul.  Of course it was not that simple.  Smuggling Syrian refugees was involved as well as peeing in a hole in the ground… so stay tuned!

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Fat Face.  lol.

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2015 was Epic – Part 4

If you are just tuning in, please see Part 2, where our backpacking adventure started.

When I left of in Part 3, myself, my sister Raven and Fat Face were leaving Sibui, Romania (the Transylvania region) and heading toward Bucharest, the capital.  The main reason why I personally wanted to experience Eastern Europe was because I am fascinated by post Communist countries and envy Second World countries because they don’t take resources for granted, they are as baffled by capitalism as I am, and if you fall it’s your fault and you can’t sue someone because it rained and the sidewalk is wet.  Those characteristics somewhat define Eastern Europe and that’s why I am so drawn to it.

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A giant hold in the middle of the walkway.  An example of Romania giving zero fucks about liability.

With that being said, Bucharest was the only city that all three of us didn’t like.  For me, it happened to also be the city that provided the most insight and was a true learning experience because I would say that we were the most out of our element there. During this backpacking adventure, the three of us discovered that our favorite thing to do was to rent bikes.  We kept up the tradition and rented some in Bucharest.  We were riding around for maybe thirty minutes, and I found myself in this funk!  Out of nowhere I was depressed and at first, thought it was possible symptoms of PMS.  But then I noticed that Fat Face and Raven were the same.  Just by riding our bikes around the city we were all immediately sad for reasons that we couldn’t explain.  I later did some mild musing on the subject while Raven listened to Rihanna on her headphones and Fat Face created memes.  I theorized that our mood was due to the bleakness of the city.  There are no colors there.  At all.  The buildings, the clothing, the cars… everything seems to be this monochromatic tone of grey.  There was an occasional splash of color on a sign advertising an H&M or something, but that seemed even more depressing to me.  It was clear evidence of the city attempting to rid themselves of their oppressive past and conform to Western culture.  It felt contrived, not encouraging.  I will say however, that one of the best things I’ve ever eaten was in Bucharest.  It was essentially a hot pocket, but if hot pockets were good… and then add an orgasm.

*Side Note: Vegetarians, Vegans, Gluten-freers, Atkiners and actually anyone on any high maintenance First World diet, Eastern Europe may not be the place for you.  It’s a lot of meat, cheese and bread.  Just embrace it.  Love, a former vegetarian.

If I had to sum up Bucharest in one sentence, I would say that the people and the places all look like something that was beautiful once, but isn’t anymore.  The big “city center” had this giant fountain that stretched for blocks, with mosaic tiling on the floor and built in lights to illuminate the dancing water.  However, the fountain was not functional anymore, the mosaic tiling was littered with dead leaves, the water had long been dried up and the lights were broken.  The people were the same.  Everyone we passed looked worn and bruised and broken.  Mainstream cultural vibrancy was still dead though it seemed as if the city was attempting to fool you.  It felt like an outcast kid in middle school, trying to fit in with the cool kids crowd.  If that outcast kid were just himself, he’d be great, but he is using all of his energy on trying to convince everyone that he is something that he is not.  In an attempt to conform, his true beauty and uniquely perfect identity gets lost along the way.  What I’m getting at is, Eastern Europe tries very hard to rid itself of its’ oppressive past, but in Bucharest, the reminisce of oppression is very present.  I think that if they stopped trying to Westernize themselves, their true beauty would shine through.

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This is the only picture I took outside of the hostel in Bucharest.  There was very little obvious beauty, so I took this to try to capture the grey bleakness.

Luckily, the hostel that we stayed at in Bucharest, Doors Hostel, was the best hostel of the trip.  After three hours of attempting to explore the city and then wanting to slit our wrists  instead, we decided that making the most of Bucharest may mean just staying at the hostel.  So we spent a lot of time there, hanging out in their tea garden and chatting it up with an employee who looked like a character from a Tim Burton movie.  She had huge sunken eyes, wispy hair, porcelain skin and was heroin-chic skinny.  Fat Face was feeling her because they had similar music taste.  I was feeling her because she gave us shots of Palinka.  Plus, she was friggen cool.  If you find yourself in Bucharest, give Danielle at Doors Hostel a high five.

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Me failing at taking a selfie in the “tea garden” at the hostel.  

We did manage to have a good time at a bar called Control.  It was a walk up bar which immediately made us feel more comfortable because that is the norm in the States, but almost unheard of in Europe.  You don’t sit at a bar in bars in Europe.  Whoa, that was a tough sentence.  Anyway, we discovered that you’re expected to just grab a table and then a server will eventually come to you.  Eventually being the key word.  It requires a lot more time and effort to get drunk in other parts of the world.  (Australia was the same way and I discuss that trip in Part 1).

As much as I bitch about America, fucking high-five to us for producing the most efficient way of consuming a lot of alcohol quickly and at low prices.  In Europe and Australia, your drink could be empty for an hour and no one gives a fuck.  Servers will rarely approach you to see if you would like another drink.  In the States it’s kind of rude to flag down your waiter, but I learned that it is acceptable and expected in the not so touristy areas of Europe.  Still, after flagging down a server, it takes a hot minute before you actually receive your drink, and by then, you’ve sobered up and are over it.  Also, if you’re drinking liquor, their standard pours are only one ounce (about 28 grams for those of you who aren’t on our retarded system of measurement) but almost double the price compared to America.  I would need to order a quadruple shot at a time if I had any intention of even getting a buzz… but that’s not very cost efficient and the drinks aren’t served quickly enough to cross the “fuck money” threshold.  Even if I ordered a double, I would probably have to plan to chill on that for two hours because in Eastern Europe, two hours in the hospitality industry seems to be the equivalent to ten minutes in America’s hospitality service.

To get to Istanbul from Bucharest by train, we had to stop in Sofia, Bulgaria.  Like I said before, the trains have absolutely no indication of what city/station they are at, and there is no PA system.  On top of this, the trains will often stop en route for no reason that is evident to the passnegers, so you never know if you’re at a real stop, or a psych! stop.  Everyone just silently looks around to see if anyone else is getting off.  I swear to God, that’s how it works.  And if you do get off at the fake-out stop, there is absolutely no workers around to tell you that your Made in China Vans are not going to hold up during your trek to the next train station which is miles away.

*See Part 3 for a little more insight on the E. Europe trains.

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A skeleton train.

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With a Little Help from My Friends

I fucking started a fire with my bare hands.  I feel very primal and in touch with nature right now, and I think that I should go catch some game using a handmade booby trap Apocalypto style.  Side note, that is an excellent, and very underrated movie.  Trust me, I went to art school.  Anyway, I feel that I deserve so many cookies for starting that damn fire, but the delicious margarita Fat Face and I shared post fire session sufficed.

I was able to complete my 2014 New Year’s Resolution with a little help from my friends. Yes, I was a few days late, as I didn’t do this until January 5th of 2015… but that’s my style and it still counts because I feel like there is a week grace period with matters such as these. A lot of people are not into making yearly resolutions, but I think that’s because they set their sights too high and it generally just ends in feeling like a failure at the conclusion of the year. I feel like a failure for the majority of the year, so I like making small, realistic resolutions for my New Year’s goal so that I can at least feel accomplished for one of the 365 days.  I make resolutions such as floss more, learn to play a song on the piano, teach myself how to use photoshop, etc.  Pretty simple.  As I stated in Merch Girl Rant, my 2014 resolutions were to be nicer to strangers (which I truly believe I made progress in) and build a fire with my bare hands.

Here it was though, December of 2014 and I still had yet to build a fire. I mentioned this resolution to a couple of the guys who were on the crew bus with me and they were full supporters of helping me complete my goal. Monterey, who I spoke about in A Christmas Story, purchased a Swedish FireSteel igniter for me, and the LD of the crew gave me some helpful tips because he was a boy scout. Always trust a boy scout.

This is the sexy instrument that Monterey bought me which ignites the flame.

This is the sexy instrument that Monterey bought me which ignites the flame.

The three of us definitely would have made this happen, but the tour we were on together is a particularly grueling one with very little down time.  The only two days that we had off it was raining, and before we knew it, the tour was wrapped.  It ended  December 31, and then I went on a mini hiatus before returning home on the 4th of January.

I felt slightly disappointed in myself for not completing my 2014 resolution, and I knew that this was not going to help with my post tour blues.  “Post tour blues” is a term I think I’ve coined.  I won’t go into a lengthy description of what it is because I think it’s pretty self-explanatory, and anyone who tours will know exactly what I mean.  I’ll leave the discussion for another day.  I get the post tour blues BAD and while we were only days away from wrapping the gig, I asked Monterey if he experiences PTB.  He told me that he has, but he has taught himself how to avert it.  He makes sure to set himself little goals of what he needs to get done while he’s home.  Essentially a to-do list to keep yourself busy, but boys don’t make lists.  I thought that was great advice, and like a total female… I wrote out a list.  Number one, build a damn fire you piece of shit.

I will only be home for four days before heading out for the next tour, so I had already accepted that these days were going to be packed with real life shit.  I know that’s not a particularly eloquent way of putting it, but it gets the point across.  Real life shit is basically a bunch of errands that need to happen post tour, and is just stuff that you can’t get done on the road such as haircuts, teeth cleanings, taxes, make-out sessions, etc.  I put aside all of that garbage and made the fire my number one priority.

Step one, text Fat Face:
Me: “You want to try to build a fire with me?”
Fat Face: “I’m confused, is that a metaphor for something else?”
Like I’ve said, I suck at texting, so in my mind I answered him with details and a funny pun, but apparently I did not in fact text him back at all.   I got a call from him a few minutes later and I began to explain my predicament, but the long-winded explanation simply ended with, “I just need to build a fucking fire and you should do it with me.” And here is why I love Fat Face: “All right! Let’s build a fire! Fuck yeah!” He’s always down.

Step two was to get Fat Face awake and at my house at a reasonable hour. He generally sleeps until my day is half way over, but he surprised me with his 10:30am call. By 11:00am we were googling “how to build a fire” which he thought was cheating.  Considering that it wasn’t his resolution, he was very concerned with what was considered cheating and what wasn’t, and he was all about attempting to do it straight up caveman style. Um, no. He was delusional and thought we were going to walk outside, rub some sticks together, add some wood and BOOM!

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Step three was finding a place to do build this thing. I was concerned with finding a dry spot, a place semi secluded so that we wouldn’t be bothered by authorities and cultivating the appropriate materials. Fat Face was concerned with getting ice cream. He pretended to humor me for a moment while I thought out loud about the possible locations, then he said, “Cait, I feel like we can just build it on a sidewalk somewhere.” Oh God.

He went on to say that he thought this whole process would only take ten minutes. Once he said that, I knew I was on my own with packing a fire starting bag. I took my Mom’s GAP beach tote and put a knife, my gifted FireSteel and a shovel inside. Fat Face’s parents house sits at the edge of a wooded area, so we decided to go there. It was the best idea we have ever had.  If there is ever a zombie apocalypse, just go to Fat Face’s parents house.  I’ll give you the address, just remember to bring some champagne and Fat Face and I will supply the whiskey.

The backyard had EVERYTHING we needed. We needed to dig a shallow hole, then surround it with rocks, which we easily found. We also needed tinder, kindling, twigs and larger dry branches. Miraculously, we found all of this material within a 30 foot radius of where we decided to construct this fire.  I will say, Fat Face was looking pretty damn sexy as he was sitting in the dirt, being one with nature and using my flint fire starter to create a spark, the first marking of true human progression.  It was very primal and kind of made me want to either do him right there in the dirt or bite the head off of a squirrel and then roast it in the open fire while doing a sacrificial dance and chant.  I settled for a high-five.

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Monterey was there in spirit because he was kind of the fuel behind the fire (pun intended) and I was picturing him doing something on the other side of the country that is on his productivity list in that moment as well. He was probably doing something very adult, like making a business plan, or editing his reel… while I was crouched down, hoping that the city worker’s nearby might mistake Fat Face and I as children and not bother us. I mean, when is the last time you saw two almost 30 year old’s in a backyard playing with twigs and searching for rocks for no apparent reason.  I was banking on them assuming that we were just kids playing in a field so that they wouldn’t come over to inform us that what we were doing was very illegal.

The secret weapon to igniting the fire was the “fluff.” This is a term that Fat Face and I used to describe the saw dust we created. At first we were trying to ignite very thin peels of wood, but it just wasn’t thin enough. I was willing to resort to venturing to the nearby drying machine and retrieving some lint, but Fat Face considered that cheating, so I googled “tips on igniting a fire using FireSteel.” He considered my googling cheating also, but fuck him. I read that saw dust was the answer, and the fluffier the better. So, we created saw dust with my knife (thank god I brought that thing) and I kept saying, “we need more fluff!” I began getting a solid rhythm with my fluff creation, to which Fat Face said, “Ooooo girl, yeah, make that fluff.”  That made me laugh and I lost my rhythm so Fat Face had to finish creating the fluff. He was better at it anyway, as he made double what I did in about half of the time. After a solid half hour of trying to ignite the fluff, it finally caught.
From there, we just kept adding more fluff and then twigs and then branches and then we had a bona-fide fucking fire that we made with our bare hands.  YAY!!  We definitely had a moment. It felt extremely satisfying and a bunch of other adjectives I could throw at you, but most of all, if felt really good to share the moment with someone.  I feel better about beginning this new year now that I started that damn fire with a little help from Monterey, the LD and Fat Face.   2014 was a fucking ride, and now I feel okay about getting on the next one.

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This year’s resolution may sound far-fetched to some of you, but the more I travel the more obtainable it seems.  I want to leave the continent.  I’ve been to Europe before, but it was a long time ago now, and it’s just time to leave the continental US again. I’m pretty sure that I’ve been to every state multiple times now, and I’ve done cross-country Canada, so it’s time to cross an ocean. The more people you meet, it’s funny how the world starts to feel smaller. I know many people on different continents now, so obtaining the goal of visiting one of them does not seem so implausible.  With that being said, I will definitely need a little help from my friends to obtain this year’s resolution also.  I have a friend who lives in Australia, and we agreed to try to see each other sometime this year. Whether he comes here, or I go there, or we meet half way…. so he may be the friend who helps me realize this 2015 resolution.  And who knows, maybe there will be a story there.

What are your 2015 resolutions and did you complete last years?

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Texting is Not Real Life

Text message I just received from a boy:  “So can we hang out sometime?”

I don’t know what this means.  I think you just asked me out on a date by way of texting, which could not make you look more like a pussy.  This is a major “Caitlin fowl.”  Boys, after receiving a girl’s number, please for the love of God, call her, do not text.  It’s sad to say, but nowadays, it is a huge turn-on when a boy has the balls to make the first attempt at communication (since the awkward phone number exchange) with a real life, real-time, heart-racing phone call.

Caitlin Rule:  Texting is not real life.

So close your eyes, concentrate, and find your inner teenager, back before texting was running rampant and you still had to ask out girls to their face or by calling their house.  Then embrace the butterflies, and make the call.  Congratulations!  You’re already one step closer to getting laid.

Texting is acceptable only AFTER the first hang out session.  The day after the “first date,” assuming it went well, I would recommend a simple text stating, “Thinking of you.”  This will definitely get you laid.  You’re welcome.

Needless to say, the, “so can we hang out sometime,” boy is still waiting for a response.

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