Thursday, May 26, 2005

Spring break 2005 (part 2)

The flight to Charlotte NC was uneventful. We were all hungry, so we stopped at the California Pizza Kitchen in the terminal. We had 45 minutes to relax. Perfect. We all ordered pizza, except for Tiva. She took one look at the prices ("hooooo-eeeee! EIGHT DOLLAS for some PIZZA???Psssssshhhhh") and whipped out her cellphone.

Now, I need to tell you about Tiva and her cellphone. I was convinced that she'd had it surgically implanted to her ear, for she made not 1 or 2 calls here & there. I think she actually used her entire 1000 minute plan during this trip.

It started on the way from our house to Metro Airport. While everyone else is excitedly talking about the trip & practically singing "Ninety-nine Bottles Of Beer on the Wall," Tiva has her cellphone in one ear, her finger sticking in the other to block us out, and is loudly yelling, "Hay, gurllllll! Whattup??? I'm on the way to the airport! WHAT?? THE AYER-PORT!"

My husband hadn't even closed the doors to the van yet. Fuck.

"Orlando! ORRRR-LAAAAAAAN-DOH, gurllll!! Yea! For Spring Break. SPRING BRAYKE!!! Ooooo gurrrrrlllll! MM-MMM-MMMM!" This goes on for the entire 20+ minute ride to the airport. Fuuuuuck.

She talked from the time she got out of the van, through the check-in process and until she had to turn it off in the plane. She made calls as soon as we landed in Charlotte. She talked on the WAY to the bathroom She talked through her flush and then all the way to the restaurant. She talked while we were eating our pizza. I don't even remember if she washed her hands. Ugh.

I have to believe that most intelligent people would take the time to talk to the ones WITH WHOM THEY ARE TRAVELING. It appears that I was either wrong or she isn't an intell..... Let's just say that I am not wrong here.

The pizza was great--just what we needed since we hadn't had time to eat at Metro, which was our original plan. We are all jabbering away, in between sloppy bites of pizza. Tiva has been staring at our pizzas the whole time. Not looking at US, just looking at the pizzas.

She looks around, bored. She whips out her hairbrush and begins to vigorously brush her lonnnnnnnng, thick hair. Other diners visibly recoil, as do we. Didn't her momma teach her? Shit, didn't EVERYBODY'S damn momma teach them this rule??

"DON'T do that in HERE," I practically hiss/yell. She sheepishly puts the brush away, stares out the window at the tarmac and makes another call.

"Oooooh gurrrrlllll! Eight dollas fo some pizza!MmmmHmmm. EIGHT DOLLAS!! Look good, tho. MmmmHmmm. Gonna get some. MmmmHmmm. I'll holla atcha layda." She succumbs to the sounds of our smacking lips & orders a pizza.

On the way out of the restaurant, my daughter, Lauren, goes into a silent panic-OMG-moment. She has spotted NASCAR driver Tim Fedewa sitting behind us. The girls eventually approach him and he poses for a picture with them, and autographs a picture for Lauren. It was a cool moment. But, again, I digress.

We boarded the plane and Tiva stayed on the phone until the doors to the plane were closed & a flight attendent gave her the Evil Eye. I swear I could hear her whimpers of withdrawal, and see her trembling. That girl has a Jones that just won't quit. She got it BAAAAAD. If we had only known...

We had the most fun in Baggage Claim.


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