Are You Cat Mom Enough?

The times, they are a changing. The traditional family is no longer so traditional. Marriage is being fought over on an international level, and yet it seems fewer and fewer people want to enter into that contract.

Many women find that while having a healthy career, they don’t have time for a baby or don’t want a baby. Or perhaps their dating pool is genetically inferior. Or missing altogether. But women can always make room in their hearts for a cat baby!

 

Kittens are so cute! Who doesn’t like a kitten? If YouTube and the Internet is any proof, the WHOLE DAMN WORLD loves kittens. So why all the hate when kittens become cats…and they happen to live with women? There is a disturbing misogyny out there that permeates our society: why is a woman that has a cat baby weird, undesirable, or unfit to be wed? That woman you hate on is just a single mom!

Somehow being overly attached to a human baby you have is fine. Even a dog fetish seems acceptable. Nine out of ten times if someone is pushing a baby carriage through the streets of Los Angeles, you can bet there is a dog in it. In today’s society you can bring your baby or your dog to parties, games, movies, malls, even to restaurants. It’s called attachment parenting. However, if you brought your cat? You’re the eccentric, weird cat lady with issues. Society should think long and hard about the idea of bringing your baby everywhere. Mommy and me yoga classes? How unrelaxing.

Attachment parenting for a newborn kitten is an exception and should be practiced. I’m a proud cat mom. True, my kitten did not come from my loins, but that doesn’t make her any less loved. Adopted babies belong in a family just as much as birthed babies. And I won’t have anyone slight her for it.

I raised a colicky kitten. She cried and cried. I let her feed as much as she wanted, whenever she wanted. She shared my bed and still does. I try to teach her to use her own bed, but she just loves to sneak in with me and she’s just so sweet and cute. I can’t say no to her. It’s hard to say no to your baby!

People may talk about me or tell me I’m not doing my cat any favors. They say I’m raising her to be a monster. They say ‘what you permit you promote’. Well they aren’t raising her. It’s not their cat baby, so they can butt out!

My boyfriend does get annoyed sometimes, but he just has to deal with cat baby and me. She has been around longer, after all. And what happens if he doesn’t want to deal with it? Well, there are more men where he came from. And what if those men don’t want to deal with my baby, either? Well, I’ve been raising my life partner from the cradle. The cat’s cradle, if you will. So I’m covered any way you look at it.

Photo credit: Michael Rababy

Tags: adoption, ali maclean, attachment parenting, babies, breast feeding, cat baby, cat lady, dogs, families, pet parenting, satire, spoof, time magazine

Say Yes To My Dress

Hi, Babe!

Don’t hang up! Look I know we’re in a big fight right now and you need time to cool off, but I wanted to run something by you.

So I went and did a little shopping today. Yes, I know I don’t need to be out spending money I don’t have. Ugh, can we not start this whole thing again? Listen! I was out with Kristen and Sarah and we had brunch and some mimosas and then we switched to something a little harder, which you can’t really blame me for since I’ve had a hard week. You know why. You haven’t made it any easier, you know. Ok, I’m counting to ten. I wasn’t even going to bring that up. I didn’t call to fight. I called for a really, really, really good reason. Okay. So, I know we are in a fight but hear me out. I found a really amazing dress!

This dress isn’t just a regular dress. It’s…super fancy. It fits so amazingly. Like it was made for me and it’s haute couture. Which kind of means it is made for you. But anyways, it’s a Vivienne Westwood. Yeah, the ‘crazy looking lady’ on the book on my coffee table. Not true! Her dresses aren’t <em>weird</em>, they’re…avant-garde. That’s what haute couture IS. I’m not going to argue with you about what fashion is, okay? You duct tape your jacket together. Her dresses are very fancy and very special and very hard to come by. You can’t just pop into Target or the mall and pick up a Westwood. But I found one. And it FIT! It fit like a dream. Aaaand it was marked down. Like CRAZY marked down.

I know I haven’t paid my car insurance, but Kristen was driving today and she totally said she can drive me around if I need to go anywhere for the next few weeks. Plus, I have my emergency earthquake kit stocked with cans of tuna and crackers and stuff. What? Yeah, I bought the dress. Hmm? How does what relate to you? Weeeelll. It’s sort of a white dress. It’s a couture, white, Westwood, damask silk, floor-length gown. Yes, it sounds like it’s a wedding dress. I suppose it IS a wedding dress.

Hear me out. I know we aren’t engaged. We aren’t even speaking. But the dress is perfect and makes me look super skinny! I look eight times more gorgeous in it, if that is even possible. And it’s so classic and timeless. It could be any era or any location. You want a beach wedding? Perfect. Black-tie at the Plaza? Done. Great Gatsby style on a rolling lawn? The bees knees! We can plan any décor around this perfect, perfect dress and I will look gorgeous. So you see why I couldn’t pass it up.

Plus I saved us a TON of money. Some wedding dresses cost like, five grand. And I got this one for practically nothing. Sure, I wasn’t expecting to spend the money right now, but the opportunity came up and I couldn’t pass up such a great deal. Isn’t it a good example of how economical I am? I can help manage our money. I mean, your money. I spent all of mine on the dress. But it was sooo worth it. When you see it on me when we finally make up, you will totally agree.

Don’t hang up! Look, I could care less right now if you want to marry me and be with me forever. But you have to marry this dress. It’s fucking gorgeous. Also, I look gorgeous in it and I deserve to be seen in it! Everyone will be so jealous. My friends will be jealous I have such a pretty dress and your friends will be jealous that you have such a pretty wife – and really, isn’t that what weddings are all about? I won’t take no for an answer. It would be a crime against fashion. You would be murdering the existence of my beautiful pale skin brushing up against the soft silky geniused work of the nimble fingers of Ms. Westwood. I don’t think you want that blood on your hands. Do you? So say yes to the dress.

Hello?

Tags: ali maclean, ali on the air, avant garde, blackmail, fashion, haute couture, markdowns, money, sales, Say Yes to the Dress, the great gatsby, The Plaza, Vivienne Westwood, wedding dresses, weddings

What To Expect When You’re Expecting In Arizona

Hey, everybody! I’m pregnant! But if you’re a woman, so are you! That is, if you have a period and you live in Arizona. Sorry to the men out there who are reading this and don’t want to get into all this icky female stuff, but it’s official government news now. You know, since the government is in charge of when a woman is pregnant and when she isn’t.

Arizona has finally decreed it. They’ve had it up to here (if you can’t see me, I am holding my hand up to my forehead) with the fighting about conception and when is a baby a real baby. Or a real person. Or a person with rights. Or a little person with more rights than the person who is incubating it. Anyways, they’ve had it up to here (see above) with the infighting and the picketing and the liberal, baby-killing politicians, so they have made a decision! A woman is officially pregnant two weeks before conception. So that’s, like… almost all women!

I’m really proud of Arizona for their forward thinking. First of all, the government can now help get these expectant mothers the prenatal healthcare they need before they even conceive. Or maybe just healthcare for preventative measures. Or maybe just health care. That’s smart thinking, Arizona!

And imagine this: The partner can be there for their wife/girlfriend/one-night-stand before the baby is even thought of. Perhaps a dinner can be arranged before the actual deed is done. Maybe a conversation can be had? First names exchanged between the two people? I don’t want to push things too far…

You see, if the lawmakers decree a baby is a baby two weeks before conception, via bill HB 2036, this means the woman only has 18 weeks, not 20 weeks, to decide to terminate a pregnancy because the baby happened before she even had sex. The baby’s life would start the first day of the mother’s last period. The baby would exist before the mother committed the act. So it would be like a Minority Report baby!

What other events will Arizona retroactively date and call truth for their citizens? What documents can they fix to bend the laws to their favor? Am I always going to be pregnant from now on? I really could use the excuse to eat more frozen yogurt. If I’m already pregnant I’d like the state to start sending me my child benefits now. I get some sort of Mommy and Me discount on stuff, right? Do I get to pick which future dad is the one who is the father? Or does the State of Arizona already know?

I wonder if in Arizonaland you can get pregnant just by thinking about having sex with someone. Because there’s this guy I’m crazy about and he is really sexy… Uh oh. I think I feel morning sickness coming on.

My Life With Kitler

For the record, I am not a crazy cat lady. No matter how many cat calendars, cat magnets or cat notebooks my mother gives me, or how many cute LOL Cats people post on my Facebook wall…I’m really a dog person, I grew up with dogs. I’m not that into cats. I don’t even think I would like YOUR cat. But I’m obsessed with mine.

I live with a cat that runs my life. Sometimes, when money is tight, I buy myself food at the 99-cent store but she gets the expensive organic cat food. I’ve stolen toilet paper from public bathrooms, but she gets the pricey litter. She deserves neither because she is a total nightmare. But I would never leave her for two reasons. One, she thrown in a dumpster as a kitten and I could never abandon her again. Two, I am afraid of her.

Those that know Delilah, speak of her with reverence. And fear. A lot of fear. She’s only seven pounds of fluff, but she packs a lot of scary fury in that fluff. So much so, that my friends refer to her as Kitler.

That is, what friends I have left. I’ve gone through a lot of friends who I’ve asked to watch her when I’ve gone out of town. They weren’t my friends when I came back. I got so low in the friend pool I would have to go out to bars and pick up girls and make friends with them when I knew I had a trip coming up. You know, go shopping a couple times. Go to brunch. A few tears over margaritas about shitty boyfriends to really reel them in. And then casually ask them to watch my monster when I had to jet to a music festival or a family holiday or something. If I was smart, I didn’t give the girl my cell phone number. That way I wouldn’t get a barrage of texts featuring a play by play of my cat systematically destroying my apartment brick by brick, poop by poop. The texts would eventually devolve into a bunch of frowny faces with exclamation points and then radio silence.

Okay, most cats aren’t good when their owners are away, but mine isn’t good when I’m here. She has destroyed every piece of furniture I’ve owned. She is the reason I don’t have carpets or a cloth couch. I used to have a gorgeous collection of haute couture clothing. What’s left of it is vacuum packed and hidden away like Anne Frank in the back of my closet. My cat bites with malice. She scratches. She will eat your food off you plate. She steals sushi. She steals pillows. If you steal the pillow back from her she will piss on it so that no one gets it. God, she is smart.

She looks like a Disney villain sidekick cat if you mixed that with the creepy, haunting stare of those twins from the Shining. I once saw her attack a large Doberman about eight times her size. The sheer terror in the eyes of that dog – I will never forget it.

Every morning she wakes me up by swatting me in the face until I get up to feed her. If I ignore her, she uses her claws or eventually covers my mouth until I can’t breathe. I often have nightmares of drowning only to wake up with a paw shoved halfway down my throat. She is either trying to suffocate me or is urging me to become bulimic. The look in her eyes say: “If I had opposable thumbs and could open a can of tuna, you’d be dead.” That’s the difference between Delilah and all the dogs I’ve raised. If my dogs were three or four times their size, they’d still fetch and try to climb up on my lap to lick me. If Delilah were four times her size, she’d kill me and then play in my blood.

And there are the men! Delilah has gone through several of my boyfriends who decided they just couldn’t hang. I’m going to blame her on this one, although there is a very small chance it could have been the combination of both of us. Strangely enough, with all of Dee’s bad habits, most of my boyfriends found her endearing. It seemed the more badly she behaved, the better they liked her. She has always bewitched them.

I remember once after a three year live-in relationship was ending. This boyfriend, the one that bought the cat her own water fountain, was packing his things up to go after a big fight. He dragged a suitcase to the door and I heard him say “Goodbye, Sweetheart.” I turned to meet his gaze. Except he wasn’t looking at me. He was kneeling, holding the cat as she scratched and bit him.

Still, with Delilah’s evil Sith Lord demeanor, she puts up with all of my faults. She has been a constant in my life for years and has been kind of like a life partner. Not like a pet, like a dog that loves you, but like a mute roommate that never pays rent and shits on the floor. And believe me, when you’re all by yourself after the umpteenth break up, a mute roommate that shits on the floor is something to be thankful for.

I’ve had several people shove the “My Cat From Hell” TV show contact information into my hand. Yeah, right. You think I want the sheer humiliation of knowing that my cat brought down the career of Jackson Galaxy, the professional Cat Whisperer? I just can’t have that on my conscience.

However, I did once go see a pet psychic. It happened when I went with my life coach friend to some spiritual expo in Pasadena. I don’t usually believe in that stuff, but I DO believe in free massages, which were plentiful there. On my way through the convention center hall, I passed a table covered with framed pictures of animals. Behind the table sat a cute little old lady in a rocking chair looking up at me.

“Is your pet in distress? I can help. I talk to animals.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure my cat is beyond help.” I said.

“There’s no such thing. Anyone can be helped. Do you have a picture?” The little old lady said.

I blushed. For someone who isn’t sentimental about her cat, I carry around a picture on my keychain. It was a gift my sister gave me; a mini driver’s license picture with my cat’s photo and all her information. You know, in case she wants to take the convertible out for a spin.

“Uh, yeah. Here she is. That’s my cat.”

The old lady asked for forty dollars. FORTY DOLLARS! Jesus. I quickly gave her money so other people around me wouldn’t notice I was actually about to do this. I was about to talk to a freaking Pet Psychic. A frown came over the woman’s face as she held the keychain.

“Oh, it’s dark and she is very, very frightened.”

“Well, she was found in a dumpster as a kitten.”

“No! Not this life, a past life. Much further back. I see barbed wire. A prison. There are stripes. And mud. And tears. She is angry. I can’t make out the language…”

“Because she is a cat?”

“No, it’s German. She’s…I’m so sorry. I think she is at Dachau.”

I immediately crumbled inside. Was this lady trying to tell me my cat was in a concentration camp? She was in the Holocaust? Oh my poor fluff face! No wonder she is so messed up. Ever since she appeared on my doorstep stuffed in a Wendy’s cup, no bigger than a hamster, she has wormed her way into my heart. I forgave her for every ruined pillow, every lost friend. I’d give her extra tuna helpings from now on. I know I never said it but I loved that little beast more than anything! She was beautiful, demanding, bitchy, weird, and beguiling. We were soul mates!

From then on, I did my best to not only tolerate Delilah’s behavior, but celebrate it. Not only did she come from humble beginnings in this life, but she had come from such a nightmare in her previous one. She was a survivor. Cue Beyonce!

Not everyone agreed with my parenting skills. My mother muttered something like “what you permit you promote” and my friends stopped stopping over. Plus the Cat Sitter, aka the dude I was dating at the time, was pretty fed up with Delilah’s run of the house. I explained to him that she was a Shoah survivor and that he had to be sensitive to that. He wasn’t buying it.

“You spent money on a pet psychic for her to tell you that your cat is disturbed?” He said.

“Yes! She said Delilah was at a concentration camp at Dachau.” I said.

“Uh huh. Did you ever stop to think that maybe she was one of the guards?” He said and walked out. I looked over at Kitler who was dunking a mouse in her water dish.

One of the guards. Actually, that does make more sense.

Tags: Beyonce, break ups, cat lady, Cats, Dachau, disney, holocaust, LOL cats, My Cat From Hell, pet psychic, pet sitting, Sith Lord, sushi

Not Letting My Boyfriend Get In The Way Of Having The Perfect Valentines Day Date

I spoke with Psychic to the Stars, Psychic Girl, aka Jusstine Kenzer about who would make the perfect date for me on Valentines Day. 

ALI: I don’t have a date for Valentines Day. I have a boyfriend. Yet, I’m still dateless on Valentines Day.

JUSSTINE: You have a boyfriend.

A: Yeah. He is out of town, so I’m dateless. But I’m not going to let that get in my way. I want you to help me find the perfect Valentines Day date. You said you might be able to help me out and predict who could be a good match for me out of the men that I find…dreamy. That’s the technical term, right? Dreamy? So I chose men I think would be delighted to go out with me. But also men that I would say yes to. Maybe we can see who you get a hit on? That’s the lingo, right?

J: Yes, let’s see who I get a hit on for you.

A: Well, there’s Jude Law, whom I just adore, no matter what horrible things he does in his personal life. I think he is handsome and talented. There’s Jon Stewart. He’s a genius. There’s Daniel Craig. He’s Bond! C’mon.

J: He’s a little taken.

A: So is Jon Stewart. I am too, supposedly. Doesn’t mean I can’t go out for a nice Valentine’s dinner, right?

J: …Okay.

A: Okay? Let’s see. Hmm. Oh, Ryan Gosling. I think he’s also taken. Doesn’t mean he can’t take me out for Valentine’s Day. Oh and then there’s my first love. Han Solo.

J: Right. How about a real person?

A: He’s real. He has his own action figure. He saved the galaxy…

J: Okaaay. I’ve looked at lots of people who are delusional about things.

A: Are you talking about me? Or Han Solo? He awakened my sexuality at the age of six.

J: Let’s just say Harrison Ford.

A: You can call it Harrison Ford, but I’ll be thinking Han Solo.

J: Why don’t you start to ask me specific questions?

A: Let’s start with Jude Law. If I were with him, would he sleep with the nanny?

J: No.

A: Really. He’d be faithful to me?

J: I didn’t say that. I said he wouldn’t sleep with the nanny.

A: Damn. That’s cold. Ok, rephrasing. Would he be faithful?

J: I get yes.

A: Wow. So I could cure him of all his infidelities? Amazing. Would his hair grow back?

J: No.

A: Is he worth all the trouble he causes?

J: I get no.

A: So I would tire of him?

J: He’d get bored if things would be balanced.

A: Is he a drama queen?

J: Not a drama queen but he has issues with his mother.

A: Uuuuuugh. No. I can’t, nope. Next. I can’t. I CANNOT. No. No. No. Let’s talk about Jon Stewart. Is he funny off camera too? Or is he a crying on the inside clown?

J: He is funny off camera.

A: I figured. Is he married to his work?

J: No.

A: No? He can leave it at the office?

J: Looks like he is balanced. He used to not always be that way but it’s reached a point where he has found that balance.

A: So, he’s not married to his work but is he married to his wife?

J: Yes. He’s faithful and a good guy.

A: Aww, that’s why I love him. He’s a really good guy. But he’d still take me out for a dinner Valentines Day night. Right?

J: No.

A: No? Now I love him even more.

J: No, but he’d be very flattered and he would buy you a rose.

A: I am so in love right now. (whispering) Jon Stewart, I love you! I can tell he loves me too. Sigh. We will just have to work together someday.

J: I get yes on that.

A: Really? Oh my god. Now I’m in love with YOU too.

J: It will all work out.

A: OK, who is next? Oh yes, James Bond! Daniel Craig. Does he get really fat in between the Bond movies?

J: I get no. He is muscley. His constitution is pretty solid.

A: Is he emotionally muscley?

J: I get no.

A: So he is a softy? Does he cry a lot?

J: I get that he is romantic.

A: Does he make his date go dutch or does he pay?

J: No he always pays.

A: Good to know.

J: It seems like he is a good guy.

A: They can’t all be good guys.

J: The ones you are asking about are.

A: Wow. If I have such good radar then how did I end up dating all the asshole losers I’ve dated? Before my boyfriend, I mean. Honey, if you’re reading this, I love you. Just because I’m plotting a date with a big movie star doesn’t mean I don’t love you. Maybe I should have been dating big stars?

J: You’re asking about fantasy men who are your perfect type. In reality you don’t pick that type.

A: Pfft. “Fantasy”. Anyways. Ryan Gosling. Is he damaged from all those years in the Mickey Mouse Club with Justin Timberlake and Britney Spears?

J: No. It seems like a lifetime ago for him.

A: Is he hard to live with. I mean its just dinner, but just in case.

J: No, he’s a nice guy.

A: Again? Why am I picking all the famous nice guys?

J: Sometimes when we can’t have what we want, we pick things that fill the void that perpetuate that myth.

A: So I told my subconscious that since I can’t date James Bond I might as well date a second rate asshole musician?

J: Uhhh, maybe. Some people make that mistake. Or you can listen to my Heal Your Relationship download and change your subconscious beliefs and heal yourself. Find something fulfilling.

A: Define fulfilling. Oh, you mean like Daniel Craig. OK. Moving on. Han Solo.

J: OK. How am I going to do this? I guess we can look at him as that character. How should we approach this?

A: I dunno. You’re the psychic. Will Han let saving the galaxy get in the way of our relationship?

J: No.

A: Will he let his relationship with Chewbacca get in the way of our relationship?

J: For that I get yes.

A: FUCK! He’d let a Wookie get in the way. Believe me. I understand the love of a cat or a dog or a best friend. And I love Wookies. But how are you supposed to settle down with somebody if there’s a Wookie in your way?

J: For him, that relationship comes first.

A: Damn. I mean where is he even going to take me for Valentine’s Day? The motherfucking Cantina? With those freaks? Don’t I deserve somewhere special? Or clean at least? I’ve been to some dirty ass places before. Backstage of any place on the Sunset Strip is about as dirty as the Cantina. But it’s Valentine’s Day! I want somewhere I can wear an open toed shoe.

J: Maybe this is a relationship that could happen on EBay? I seeing a lot of merchandisers and collectors connected to the name Han Solo who hang out there.

A: I don’t see this one going anywhere. It’s not as promising as some of the other famous men. It’s so hard to find a nice guy in this day and millennium.

You can find out more about Jusstine at www.psychicgirl.com

Tags: ali maclean, star wars, sunset strip, daniel craig, Chewbacca, dating, Jude Law, Valentines Day, Britney Spears, psychic, John Stewart, James Bond, Ryan Gosling, Han Solo, EBay, boyfriend, dinner date, rose, Harrison Ford, Justin Timberlake, Psychic Girl, psychic readings

Stupid Cupid – A Workplace Valentines Survey

Ladies! The biggest day of the year is coming up. Don’t let another year of a flower-free desk or chocolate-less, barren, empty life make you miserable. If you don’t get a ring, a date, a kiss or even a hello come this 14th, you could be one step away from suicide. Or worse, a Marie Callender’s cheesecake!
It’s imperative that you line up something special NOW so you don’t look lonely to your friends, family and co-workers. You don’t want people feeling sorry for you. Especially your therapist. Especially after he turned you down.
Look on the bright side: there’s men at work. No, not the band Men At Work, but actual men at your place of work whom you’ve probably overlooked, pined for, ignored, or had awkward one night stands with. These are men who you can rekindle that passion with for one special Valentines night…and maybe a lifetime of uncomfortableness. But probably just for one night.
Are you unsure of whom your special someone in accounting might be? Looking for that knight in shining copy toner? Here’s a survey that just might help you out! Pass this out at work to anyone who is a possible valentine, dating, or life partner candidate (you can even tell them which category they fit in as you hand them this survey.) Have them fill out the form and hand it back to you.
Voila! You are on your way to attracting the cubicle-mate of your dreams and being fulfilled as a woman! Happy hunting! And Happy Valentines Day, Miss Cupid!

WORKPLACE DATING SURVEY

I hereby decree that I ____________________ have been a suitor, beau, lover, cubicle mate or all around good guy to ________________. I also hereby swear that I have not impregnated her (cross this out if necessary) or any other woman during the time of our relationship/tryst/working relationship. I also note that I am of sound mind and body or as good as it’s going to get anyway, and I am fully capable of answering this questionnaire.

Signed,

_____________________________

PLEASE CHECK ONE:

1)    I care for ___________ so much as a friend that it pains me to think that us having sex may ruin our close bond. I need time to figure out what to do.

2)    I used to think of __________ as just another gal, but she’s kind of growing on me.

3)    I am not interested in _________ as a friend or a fuck. I don’t know where she got that idea and I wish she’d leave me alone before I get a restraining order.

4)    I think  _________ is cool. Yeah, man. She’s definitely great for a lay or a laugh. But I don’t  think it will go past that because I am too self absorbed and slick for my own good.

5)    My girlfriend is pressuring me to get engaged but I don’t want to give up having sex with   _________ on the side. I’m going to keep doing both and see how this plays out.

6)    I really do like __________. I think I’m falling for her. But my
a) emotional immaturity
b) job/career
c) ego
d) buddies
keeps me from taking the next step.

7)    I have had a crush on _________ for sometime but her fast lane lifestyle scares me a bit. She could have any guy she wants. Why would she want to fuck me? Not that I want to fuck her. I mean, I do. But it’s more than that. I want to love her too. Behind all that mascara and sack-lunch meth, I bet she breaks just like a little girl. I want to spoon her in my Papasan and tell her it’s going to be all right.

8)    Supply room closet. But never in public.

9)    Honey, for the thousandth time. I’m GAY!

10)    Who?

Tags: cubicle mate, cupid, dating, dating in the workplace, dating tips, marie callenders, office romance, sex, valentine, Valentines Day

American Has Baggage

Okay, I was never good at math, but 60 pounds equals 60 pounds. Right?  If you have 60 pounds in one bag, and then take fifteen pounds out and put it in another bag and both of those bags are going on a plane you are still taking 60 pounds of your precious belongings onto a plane…Right?

Please don’t tune me out because I sound like some SAT question you may have skipped on the test. Okay, I skipped on the test. I’m just checking my facts here because I’m just a traveling layman, not a aerospace scientist, or a conglomerate corporation whose primary focus it is to calculate numbers such as these: 60=60. Which is maybe why this corporation has filed for bankruptcy.

Welcome to American Airlines.

As I scrambled at the American counter to remove a sweater, two books, three magazines, a package of Starbucks coffee, my toiletries (but not the hair pomade) and my make up bag, my jewelry, and a pair of shoes and fit them in my purse and carry on, the question dawned on me…all the items are all going on the plane. What freaking difference does it make?

Yes, my bag is heavy. I’ve been away for over a month plus I’ve accumulated several books, and there’s Christmas…but it’s all going on the plane. 60 pounds is 60 pounds.

Well, not according to American Airlines. 60 pounds checked is an extra one hundred dollars bag fee. So actually 60 equals 100! Me carrying odd packages slung over my shoulder like a Sherpa, a stack of books like a college grad at finals, clothing tied around my waist like a hipster bag lady  - through the terminal, in and out of the bins at security and on and off the plane? Only twenty-five dollars.  So 45 equals 25. And sore shoulders. Are you still with me?

When I boarded everyone was told no coats in the overhead bin. No shopping bags in the overhead bin. Only wheelies in the overhead bin. So, basically, only heavy suitcases in the overhead bin? 60 pounds is 60 pounds. I stuffed everything around me and below me like an economy class scarecrow, unable to move, unable to tweet about it because American didn’t even have wifi on the flight. I’m lucky I got a light over my seat. I wasn’t so lucky when I asked for some sugar for my tea.

The surly, bitchy, caustic flightie rolled her eyes at me and tossed a pack of sugar my way. Just like something I would have done to her, except I don’t get paid to be pleasant and helpful because I know better than to work in a job where I would be nasty to people strapped into confined spaces who need me (you’re welcome, Humans). She was so testy, I was tempted to turn on my phone and play a rousing game of Words With Friends. Alec, are you free?

I have to admit I am spoiled. I’d just traveled overseas via Virgin, with the choice of over 40 movies at my fingertips, seats that recline like a lounger and free bags checked. Yes I said FREE. That Branson is a goddamned communist or something!

Plus the food. Oh my God, the food.  All served with a smile. A pre-drink snack. Free wine. Then a post-drink snack. Then dinner (mine consisted of Christmas dinner with all the trimmings). Then another round of wine, mulled wine, spiked cider or tea. Then they came around with ice cream. Then they brought around tea and chocolate mousse. And then came teatime with cakes, scones and clotted cream, chocolates and mince pies. And then we had tea.  That’s sixty extra pounds right there.

Plus they give you little goodie bags with toothbrushes and socks and a sleep mask and a pen. They GIVE it to you. No questions asked about shoplifting. They don’t bill you for it later. Wow. Virgin really knows how to treat a gal on a date. Their name is deceiving because by the end of the trip I was willing to go as far as they wanted.

AND it was all included with your economy ticketed flight. None of this swipe your credit card to pay seven dollars for a stack of Pringles bullshit. Plus they didn’t ask us to pay eight dollars for our very own pillow and blanket that we can “take with us” either. Please. Who are you trying to kid? Unless we are deplaning and marching directly to our closest Occupy campsite, your thin blankets and flimsy pillows with dental cape covers are not needed for purchase, thanks.

Oh! And two dollars for head phones? To see Real Steel?

Screw you, American.  You should be paying us as a focus group to sit through that.

Tags: Alec Baldwin, American Airlines, economy, flight, headphones, Occupy, pringles, Richard Branson, starbucks, suitcase, trip, Virgin, Words With Friends