Big things are happening for LA-based, Philly-born booze writer, Dan Dunn.Fox announced the green light to shoot single-camera comedy pilot, Living Loaded, based on Dunn’s book of the same name. Hilarity can be expected, as this pilot comes from the guys of FX’s comedy series, It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, Rob McElhenney and Rob Rosell. Living Loaded follows the wild, never-ending party life of booze writer (Dunn) who’s forced to make a career change when he’s offered a serious radio gig.

Co-written by Dunn, McElhenney and Rosell, the pilot hails from FX producers. McElhenney will be the showrunner, while Rosell will be executive producer (along with Sunny’s Charlie Day and Glenn Howerton and 3 Arts’ Nick Frenkel and Michael Rotenberg) and Dunn will act as supervising producer. Both McElhenney and Rosell are also executive producers on FX’s upcoming animated series Unsupervised (premieres January 19th). Fox announced yesterday that they’ve picked up three other pilots in addition to Living Loaded: Dana Fox’s Ben Fox is My Manny, Greg Berlanti and Marc Guggenheim’s Guilty and an untitled serial killer project from Kevin Williamson.

Living Loaded was published February 2011 by Random House.

Nick Cannon & Ingrid Hoffmann celebrate the holidays with Skyy Vodka

Nick Cannon – most recently known as husband of Mariah Carey and father of their two brand new babies – is adding another title to his resume among Singer, Comedian, Actor and DJ: Expert Party Thrower. He recently teamed up with Skyy Vodka and Ingrid Hoffmann of the Food Network to learn how to throw a holiday soiree in style. The duo met in West Hollywood on December 1st to cook and cocktail with Skyy Vodka products. Hoffmann taught Cannon how to make quick, easy recipes such as Mini Chipotle Meatballs, Skyy Vodka Infused Snappy Scallop Ceviche, Chorizo Empanadas, Domino Brownies and Skyy Infusions Cherry Vodka Infused Chocolate Mousse. Behind the bar, Cannon learned how to play with infusions, creating a menu fit to deck the halls and warm things up faster than chestnuts on an open fire. Check out the do-it-yourself recipes below, including Cannon’s specialty cocktail, Nick’s Naughty Punch (Skyy Infusions Ginger, sugar, apples, champagne, white wine and apple juice).

For insight on party-throwing with expert entertainer, Cannon, watch The Imbiber video interview below.

Cocktail Recipes You Can Try At Home:

Pomegranate Caipiroska (A Caipirinha made with vodka)

Serves 8 glasses

8  limes, cut in 8 pieces each, plus more for garnish

1 cup sugar

2 cups Skyy Vodka

½ cup pomegranate liquor

¼ cup pomegranate juice

Pomegranate seeds for garnish

Crushed ice or cubes

In a heavy glass container, combine the limes and the sugar. With a meddler or pestle, crush the limes with the sugar, extracting the juice. Place the mix in a pitcher. Add the vodka, the pomegranate liquor and juice and mix.

Serve it in glasses full with crushed ice or cubes. Garnish with pomegranate seeds and a lime wedge.

Ncredible Mistletini

Serves 1

2 oz Skyy Infusions Blood Orange, chilled

1 oz frozen passion fruit pulp, thawed

1 oz orange liqueur

1 oz rosemary infused simple syrup, cooled

3 oz ginger ale, chilled

Rosemary Sprigs for garnish

Raspberries for garnish

For the simple syrup:

In a small saucepan, boil the water, sugar and 3 rosemary sprigs. Remove from heat and let rest until it cools. Remove the Rosemary sprigs and strain. Refrigerate until Ready to use.

In a cocktail shaker, mix the vodka, passion fruit and rosemary infused simple syrup. Pour in a martini glass and top with ginger ale.

Take a raspberry and skewer it with a 3-inch rosemary sprig and garnish drink with it.

Nick’s Naughty Punch

Serves 12 to 14.

2 cups Skyy Infusions Ginger

1 cup sugar

1 pound apples, cored and in 1 inch dice

1 bottle chilled champagne

1 bottle chilled light white wine

1 liter chilled apple juice

1. Whisk the sugar and the vodka together in a large bowl. Pour into a resealable plastic bag, add the apples, and macerate overnight.

2. When you’re ready to serve, transfer the apples and liquid to a large punch bowl. Add the champagne, wine and apple juice. Ladle a few macerated apples into each glass as you serve.

Chica Tip: To keep your drink from watering down, make ice cubes out of a mix of champagne, white wine and club soda.

For more on partying tips with Nick Cannon and Ingrid Hoffman, check out The Imbiber recap.

Cocktails and Jenga go well together at The Spare Room in Hollywood

Over recent months spent trolling Los Angeles, wearing down barstool after barstool and downing many a craft cocktail in the name of work for online magazine CitySip.com, I’ve grown fond of several bars along the way. However, one in particular stands out among the masses: The Spare Room at the Roosevelt Hotel in Hollywood. I went there a few weeks ago and have been yammering on about it to anyone who’ll listen to me, ever since. The mezzanine-level lounge not only has a well-stocked bar with educated bartenders who turn mixing drinks into an art, but they have vintage, hand-crafted games and a couple of bowling lanes to boot. Check out some of the other reasons this Hollywood haven is worth a gander, in my recent CitySip article below. It’s like reliving your childhood rainy days, except now you’re actually old enough to drink and it’s completely socially acceptable to play a board game in a bar.

The Spare Room We All Wish We Had

Tiny blocks of wood crash to the table and a crowd gathered round cries out, Jenga! At a nearby booth, two men strategically drop small wooden circles into slots, vying to be first with four in a row. Over by the bronzed industrial bar, a group of young, aspiring actors huddles around a wooden board, lying down lettered game pieces in hopes to earn a triple word score. And there are bowling lanes that flank the gaming tables, run by an official suspender-clad bowling attendant who keeps score on a wall-hanging chalkboard.

Hard to believe all this was once a dusty storage space on the mezzanine level of the historic Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel. Quite aptly named, The Spare Room, the stylish gaming parlor and cocktail lounge opened last January, and quickly established itself as one of the area’s most popular upscale nightlife destinations. Like so many other recent additions to the local craft cocktail scene, The Spare Room draws heavily upon the past, modeled after the private gaming parlors found in 1920s Rockefeller and Vanderbilt properties. It’s replete with vintage furnishing, flatiron style arched windows, custom-designed games and an old-school photo booth.

The Ode to Aude is one helluva cocktail

“We’re trying to emphasize social interaction,” said Med Abrous, co-founder of The Spare Room. “The best way to do that is to get groups together, especially with games. You never really get to know someone until you’ve competed with them.”

Abrous and his team are also keen on providing high quality cocktails. The recently released fall menu, designed by Beverage Director Naomi Schimek boasts a variety of warm, seasonal variations on classic cocktails that comprise a broad spectrum of spirits.

“The basis of our cocktail menu is spirit forward,” Abrous said. “We work with high volume but also incorporate fresh juices and appreciate the craft of cocktails. Our goal is to educate – not only the staff here but people who come in, and turn them onto gins and ryes; it’s not just Jack and Cokes.”

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All smiles before the big race

The idea of running used to make me cringe. The familiar tearing and throbbing aches my mind conjured simply with the thought of my sneakers hitting the pavement was enough to keep me far away from anything beyond a brisk walk. After surgical tendon repair to my right ankle from a bad college soccer injury, I furiously rehabbed for hours each day for months on end, determined to play the upcoming season. Building back strength and pushing through double sessions in the preseason, all of my rehabbing and training came to a screeching halt when I went up for a ball and landed on my opponent’s foot during a scrimmage – ripping the tendons once again and fracturing the bone. The unnatural, bloodcurdling sound that came out of my mouth echoed off surrounding trees, forever marking the instant I was convinced my cleats would finally be retired.

And so my senior year season began on crutches and sitting on the sidelines of every practice and game, then graduated to daily physical therapy sessions, fighting through emotional breakdowns and relentlessly convincing myself it was plausible to actually play one game before my college career was over. I knew I wasn’t anywhere near 100 percent, but begged my trainer and coaches to let me start practicing when the final games of the season crept up on the calendar. The day my coach announced to the team that I’d be in the starting lineup of the last home game of the season – Senior Day – made me believe it as all worth it. To finally be able to hear my name announced, run out on the field with my teammates and play the sport I loved more than anything was all I wanted.

Ewwwww

I played with more heart than body than ever before, because I truly had no other option. The fragility of my feeble ankle and my severely out of shape limbs were obstacles I had to block out and muscle through. The electrifying sensation of power, bliss and exhaustion with each time the ball graced my feet was amplified and made me so thankful for the 90 minutes I had always taken for granted. After college, I played in a women’s league for one season until finally accepting that I was doing more harm than good to my body by playing when I simply wasn’t built for the sport anymore. The faded pink scar and inflamed tissue surrounding my ankle is a daily reminder of the pain, suffering and glory the sport branded me with. For years, wearing heals induced tears, accidentally brushing up against a hard object caused my ankle to swell and standing for hours at a time turned the skin gory shades of purple, blue and yellow. So for years I did not run.

And if you told me one day I would run a half marathon, I would slap you silly. That would be impossible. 13.1 miles of pounding pavement, grinding joints, throbbing muscles and limping strides were so low on my list of To-Dos that it never crossed my mind. Instead, these last few years I’ve immersed myself in yoga, spinning and other non-impact exercise classes, but I never ran and I never played soccer. Until recently when I tried going for a two-mile run. Though horribly out of breath and out of shape, my body surprisingly did not punish me for testing it out on the harsh pavement. So the following week I tried for three miles, anxiously anticipating some form of shooting pain in my ankle, knees or lower back; my body’s way of saying “F#%! you; who do you think you are, trying to run again?” But it didn’t happen.

So when a friend told me about the Los Angeles Dodge Rock N’ Roll Half Marathon coming up in a few months, I thought, maybe I could actually do this. Each week I did one run, starting slow and steady, running just enough to challenge without overextending myself. After all the years I’ve spent playing sports and being active, I’ve finally learned to listen to my body and have become in tune with what works and what does not. The “push yourself ‘til you collapse, throwing caution to the wind” mentality I once had is now gone. Instead, the foreboding, and very real idea that arthritis and a lifetime of limping and chronic pain could be in future is enough motivation to push my body while understanding and respecting its limitations.

When October 30^th approached, my training had reached 12 miles of running without stopping. Now all I had to do was add on another 1.1 miles and that finish line was as good as mine. The friends I was supposed to run the race with all dropped out, causing me to second guess my own participation at several points in my training. But the fact that my body was actually allowing me to run this much was so shocking to me, I really had not other choice but to run. It was very possible I’d never be able to run this much again, so I submitted my $100 entry fee and picked up my race number while praying to God that I was doing the right thing. Images of me rolling around in a wheelchair or limping around the house intruded my thoughts every now and then, but my decision was made and I was determined to take on this beast.

Mind Over Body

Something I’ve always known on a superficial level but never truly understood and appreciated until this race is the power of the mind. As cliché as it sounds, if you truly want to do something, it comes down to mind over matter. What got me through those 13.1 miles was almost entirely my mindset: positive thinking, focus and self-encouragement. Looking back, those miles seemed to fly by. At the finish line, my boyfriend asked me, do you think you could do another one today? And without hesitation I said, yeah, of course. The adrenaline that pumps through your veins creates a sensation unlike any other high, and apparently it makes you feel like Superman.

Regardless of how warm it was that morning and how much I was sweating, for the entire two hours and six minutes I was touring downtown LA, my body was covered in goosebumps. Looking around me at the thousands of other runners pushing their bodies to the limits while complete strangers cheered for us on the sidelines, I felt an overwhelming sense of community. I’m not in this alone, I thought. And my God, I’m actually out here running with these strangers and there’s no turning back now. About half way through, the magnitude of what I was doing struck me and I had to fight back tears of happiness. To think of how far I had come, and all of the shitty obstacles that once stood in my way, I set my mind on a goal and was now accomplishing it. That sense of competitiveness I once knew so well was welcoming me back and I felt stronger, faster and more confident than I had in a very long time. With any pang of pain that shot up my back or cramp that stung my ribcage, I breathed through it and refocused my energy, assuring myself I could do this. When I looked up to see the 12 mile marker ahead, my stride opened up and all I could think about was finishing strong and leaving everything I had out on that course. The last half-mile turned into a sprint, and crossing the finish line is somewhat of a blur to me now. Holy shit, I actually did it.

Holding me up so I didn't collapse after the race

My chest heaving, limbs throbbing and adrenaline pumping through every part of my body, everything fell away when I saw my boyfriend and friends screaming my name and cheering for me on the sideline. Even now I am still in a sort of shock that it happened and that it’s over. I’m still sore and a little stiff, but the entire experience seems surreal. Some people say when you’re in a situation where you’re so amped up and consumed by what you’re doing, you have this sort of out-of-body experience. That’s the best way I can describe it. I feel the remnants of what running a race would feel like, but when I look back and think about the process of actually running it, I was so engrossed in each stride, each breath, and every movement of my body that I’m not really sure it even happened.

Sweaty and gross, but so happy to have my girls with me

To experience that sense of motivation, competitiveness and determination was such an overwhelming, powerful feeling for me. It gave me a sense of what I used to feel like every day when I played soccer and competed on a regular basis. It reminded me that I can kick some ass when I want to, and that I can do whatever I commit to and especially, that the mind is such an amazingly, intense, powerful tool that we sometimes underappreciate. I’m forever grateful to my support system of friends and family for all of their encouragement. And I’m especially grateful for that innate sense of commitment and determination I still have from playing sports as a kid. It was tucked away in a dark place for a while, but sitting here now and reliving these past few months and Sunday’s race, I know I’ve triggered that spark once again.

Bib #: 8595

Distance: 13.1 miles

Time: 2:06

Avg. Pace: 9:37

Overall: 2380 out of 7738

Division: 142 out of 870

Gender: 773 out of 4439

Rounding up some of LA’s top bartending talent, the finals took place on the 21st floor at Elevate Lounge in Downtown Los Angeles, overlooking a picturesque cityscape above a sea of racing cyclists and the shooting of the next Batman movie. Tons of Gotham police, yet sadly, no sign of Christian Bale for this girl. But I digress. All the shaking, stirring, socializing and imbibing upon high made for a night of solid entertainment and well deserved celebration of these five city drink slingers. Check out my recap below, and if you’re an LA-based reader or happen to be traveling here soon, stop in for a drink or two at the stomping grounds of these rockstars. Stellar drinks, quick, knowledgeable service and great bar conversation and/or witty banter await your arrival…

LA's Best Bartender Winner: Justin Pike, of The Tasting Kitchen in Venice (photo courtesy of Table20)

THE CREME DE LA CROP: INTRODUCING LA’S BEST BARTENDER

For many, bartending begins as a job that serves as means to an end. All too often, we see struggling college students take to the craft as a quick way to pay off student loans. But for those who get immersed in the creativity of mixing and muddling behind the stick or for those who can strike and hold conversations with any Joe Schmoe that parks it on their barstool, bartending is much more. Beyond the taste of the cocktail, the art of bartending is about the overall experience. To celebrate those who’ve achieve status in the industry and a reputation for providing stellar service, some of the top bartenders in Los Angeles recently gathered to battle in the Second Annual LA’s Best Bartender Competition.

Among the best of the best, a winner was named, inheriting the crown from last year’s champ, Matthew Biancaniello, of Library Bar. Sponsored by Karlsson’s Gold Vodka and Table20.com, the competition drew five bartending finalists to Elevate Lounge in Downtown Los Angeles on Sunday, along with roughly 200 guests and a panel of six judges. Bartenders were nominated online by their fans and voting was open to the public for 21 days until the People’s Choice winner was announced and automatically named a finalist in the competition: Joe Brooke of Next Door Lounge.  As for the four finalists, the judges chose two by taste testing their submitted recipes (using Karlsson’s Gold Vodka) and hand picking the final two bartenders.

In an effort to recreate the “bar experience,” the competition was designed so that each bartender individually faced the judges from behind the bar and had 20 minutes to memorize their individual drink orders, whip them up in a creative, efficient way and engage them in conversation as if they were bar patrons on a regular working night.

“We get to interact with each bartender one on one and get the full experience this way,” said Bricia Lopez, one of the judges and owner of LA restaurant, Guelaguetza. “A bartender’s competition shouldn’t just be about the cocktail, it’s about the whole experience of being with them at the bar.”

Continue Reading…

First off, that is the first time someone has ever called me lady. I look like I’m eighteen years old, so I was kind of flattered. Secondly, by the time I marched over to my car I saw a nice little puddle next to my passenger side door, but sure enough no pee on the car. That I could detect anyways.

I drove off thinking to myself, do I really want to live in Santa Monica? Where I have to worry about parking my car and returning to puddles of homeless people urine surrounding it. What else do they do when you’re not looking? Maybe roll around on the hood with their grimy, sweaty booze-infused skin? Or use my mirrors to pop their zits? Gross, I don’t want to be around to find out. Nevertheless, I’m apartment hunting again and Santa Monica is on the list of potential spots to relocate. It’s beautiful (in most areas), close to the beach, near a gazillion coffee shops and in close proximity to plenty of shopping. Sounds like a dream town. But man, the homeless people are ev-ery-where. Literally everywhere. It’s like having a pet in your yard that you don’t really want, but it always shows up begging for food, booze or use of your bathroom.

I took this picture of two drunk, unconscious homeless people being taken away by paramedics on Lincoln Blvd in Venice. Happens a lot on this corner.

Venice is not much better. Where I work, I’m privy to a front row seat to the crazies that inhabit Venice, including drunks, homeless people, thugs or drunk, homeless thugs. I routinely see people overdose or drink themselves into a coma by the bus stop where several cop cars, ambulances and a token fire truck show up to whisk them off to the hospital to bathe in our tax dollars. Or then there’s the insane, jacked white guy who always has his shirt off and often feels the need to karate chop the nearby bike shop’s sign on the sidewalk or harass the neighboring salon customers as they get their hair did. On slow days at work, this kind of behavior serves as great entertainment. As a place where I’d consider relocating, I don’t think Venice makes the cut.

Then there’s Marina del Rey, where I currently reside and absolutely love. It’s peaceful, quiet, close to the beach and nearby quaint sailboats and massive obnoxious yachts. I live near people who have a lot of money and I like to pretend I do too. Sometimes I go home and cry at night because I actually have no money. But I digress. Living here is damn expensive. I am a young twenty-something girl who has needs, among the most important of which are: need to be by the beach, obviously, and also, need to be somewhere safe so I don’t need to drop kick a mugger’s ass at night when I go to my car. Oh, did I mention I’m a writer? Which should help to further paint my picture of poorness. But! I’ve played sports since the age of nine, so in case I do get attacked or someone is chasing me at night in the ghetto where I will likely be relocating to, at least I can take solace in my ability to run like the dickens. Thanks mom and dad, for making me play soccer as a kid against my will.

For more details check out my recent Night Tap profile below on citYsip.com. And quit being so poor and lame!

Tap Into Exclusive Nightlife Deals With Night Tap

By Jessica Borges

We know you love the nightlife scene and being in on the latest hot spots and trends, but sometimes it can be tough to muster up motivation to hit the bars and clubs. Or maybe your wallet just needs a break from excessive bar tabs. Which is why we’re introducing you to Night Tap: your ticket to nightlife motivation and saving some of your hard earned cash. Think Groupon for the party scene postulant in Los Angeles.

Sign up online and each week you’ll get a Night Tap nudge in your inbox revealing some happening location with drink specials, exclusive access to events and tastings, or VIP treatment at the club. Look at this as your excuse to check out a new bar or impress friends with your thriftiness and knack for nightlife know-how. But don’t just expect a bunch of weekly two-for-one drink specials or happy hour promotions. Night Tap is much more than your typical beverage coupon.

“We want to offer features on all types of nightlife activities, comedy shows, sporting events, hotels, bars, roller skating, bowling and other activities you can do at night,” says Founder and CEO Kenny Kadar. “We want to be that all-encompassing site, so no matter what you’re looking to do, you can get that on Night Tap.”

Continue Reading Story on citYsip.com

The Macchu Pisco Sour Competition inspired a colorful and flavorful variety of pisco cocktails

Recently inducted as one of the 7 New Wonders of the World, Machu Picchu stands as a stunning, historical monument in Peru. Last week was the 100th anniversary of its rediscovery – meaning its introduction to the Western World when American historian Hiram Bingham discovered it. So naturally, Macchu Pisco LLC found it timely to team up with the Consulate of Peru in San Francisco to coordinate a celebration of this milestone, as well as the creation of pisco. Last week Macchu Pisco challenged bartenders in major cities across the U.S. to create their own version of the Pisco Sour (invented in Peru) to represent this historic landmark in presentation, relevance and especially taste.

Check out my CitySip coverage below from the Los Angeles competition, including the badass video montage of bartenders hard at work. And they worked especially hard, knowing there was a grand prize free trip to Lima, Peru to compete against the other city winners. Read on to see the winner and runner ups.

Macchu Pisco Sours Competition, Los Angeles

By Jessica Borges

Zach Patterson - STK, Black Market Liquor Bar

We, as human beings are always looking for reasons to throw a party. The 4^th of July has come and gone and Bastille Day is right around the corner but what else can we use for an excuse to celebrate in between those dreadfully long two weeks?

Fortunately, Macchu Pisco has come to the rescue. In celebration of the 100^th anniversary of the encounter of famed Peruvian monument Machu Picchu to the Western World, this pisco brand hosted a Macchu Pisco Sour competition spanning the United States. In search of the ultimate liquid incarnation of Machu Picchu to honor the history and reverence of this 7^th New Wonder of the World, Macchu Pisco challenged bartenders to create the ultimate representative cocktail. Competitions were held in D.C., Boston, New York, San Francisco and Los Angeles, culminating in Las Vegas on July 7, 2011.

Last week’s Los Angeles competition was held in the Beverly Hills SLS Hotel, hosting twelve LA bartenders, a judges’ panel and a small public audience.  Challenged to whip up unique versions of the Pisco Sour using Macchu Pisco, the bartenders were asked to consider not only taste and appearance of the cocktails, but also historical relevance and representation of this Peruvian monument and milestone. After all, a free trip to Lima, Peru to compete against winners in the other cities for the grand pisco sours competition was on the line. 

Read More About the LA Macchu Pisco Sour Competition

Minutes before take off, she’s jacking around on her iPhone and I glance over to see her obsessively updating the score on the ongoing Yankee/Texas game. I was overwhelmed with a sense of sadness and helplessness knowing I’d have to endure a six-hour flight with a pinstripe lover.

Soon we’re up in the air, bidding adieu to June-gloomy Los Angeles and bound for sticky humidity-ridden Boston. Anxious to delve into my latest reading material: “The Bedwetter: Stories of Courage, Redemption and Pee,” by Sarah Silverman, I cozy up to it only to notice I’m being brushed against every few minutes by an enormously oversized purple hoodie with the zipper gnawing at my elbow. Headphones in, glasses-clad eyeballs glued to the TV and feverishly flipping the channels or shifting the volume up and down a hundred thousand times, this girl was all up in my armrest grill the entire flight. I hate JetBlue for putting her TV buttons on the shared armrest. Who wears their hoodie with just the sleeves on anyways?? Was it too difficult to put the whole thing on so that your zipper teeth didn’t chomp at my skin with your every move?

Intent to not let this bother me (which I’m sure you can see, clearly it WAS bothering me), I tried focusing on the hilarity that is Sarah Silverman, only to again be distracted by my new friend to the left. She was plowing through bags of chips like a chipmunk stocking up on food for the winter. Her behavior actually reminded me of the hamster I had as a child, who shoved food into his mouth at lightning speed and passed out minutes later with bulging food-filled cheeks. I knew she was going to be interesting to observe when I noticed several pretzels lying on her sweatpants-clad man-style crossed legs (you know, the kind of crossed legs where your ankle is at your knee? Not the girl kind of crossed legs) as she dove her hand into the bag every five seconds, eyes still glued to the tiny TV screen inches from her face. This is hilarious, I thought.

Not so hilarious, was the fact that her little trail of junk food bags were accumulating on the floor and slowly migrating over to my two feet of space. Every time I glanced down or woke up from a little snooze, there was another bag nestled against my feet. And speaking of feet, this girl had no qualms at all about bearing her brightly blue painted toenails (sans shoes) up against the seat in front of her. I think she was a hippie. At one point in the flight when she finally decided to stop stuffing her face and watching trash TV (I qualify “Two and a Half Men” to fit that category) she dozes off and I jump on the opportunity to take a picture of what validated my assumption of her being a Yankee fan (see picture below).

Ewww. But at least her shoes were back on.

Her nap was short lived, and in no time she was at the point where instead of moving her arm to press armrest buttons every two minutes, she’d rather just leave her pudgy little arm hanging over the armrest with her hand neatly clasped to the edge. Just in case. Because you can never be too prepared to press airplane TV buttons at a moment’s notice. I think we can all learn something from her.

At one point her boarding pass made it to the floor and also tried nuzzling my feet, relentlessly returning to me despite my semi-polite attempts to push it back to her side with my left foot. Why I was trying to be polite and discrete about this, I don’t know. I should have made it more obvious and maybe she would have tried to contain her sloppiness.

While my ranting and smartass comments about enduring bicoastal travel with this frumpy, perpetually hungry, blue-toed, Teva sandal circa 1990-wearing girl, can you blame me? She was a YANKEE fan. Oh, and while we’re still on the subject of this girl, I think it’s appropriate to note she ordered not just one free snack, but TWO! “Hi, I’ll have the Blue Chips and a bag of Animal Crackers.” I looked at her like, excuse me; you are the reason we have to pay luggage fees and ten dollars for a glass of shitty in-flight wine. I think it’s safe to assume her overzealous snack demands are responsible for jacked fees at airlines everywhere.

Compared to other flights I’ve had in the past, this one actually wasn’t so bad. At least I wasn’t in the middle seat. Or sitting by that screaming baby or the incontinent elderly woman. I suppose I really should be more grateful I was next to the sloppy, armrest-hogging Yankee fan.