DON'T QUOTE THE RAVEN: chicken costume at the airport

7.30.2014

Let's just get it right out there, 'cause I know what you all are thinking…

so.much.side.boob.

Side boob, so much of it, displayed at a public arena. And at first, when I bought the getup at Party City and brought it home to try on, I was a tad dismayed. Like seriously. SO MUCH SIDE BOOB. I wasn't sure I could bring myself to pull it off, especially at my hometown airport.

Look. I'm no wuss. I have no problem embarrassing myself. As proven in exhibit A, B, and C. I live by the motto "As long as you can laugh at yourself, you will never cease to be amused." It's pretty hard for an outsider to embarrass me, as no matter what the issue, you can trust I will be laughing just as hard if not harder. I've always had a pretty strong sense of self, and as I get further into my thirties, my DGAF meter is pretty much off the charts. I know I have a circle of strong, solid friends and family in which I would trust with my life, and I know they know the real me and love every part of me (ok fine, so maybe they don't love every part but let's just go with 70/30) and basically everyone else who wants to judge and criticize me... to you, I say, DGAF.

But then I looked in the mirror in my bathroom with the cheap coconut bra from Party City and had a moment of self doubt. Thinking to myself, "self, what will people think? I mean, that's a hell of a lot of side boob. What will parents of little kids think? What will the old geezers think? What will everyone think of me?" And then I sent a selfie to my sister Rachel, who is basically the most mature, responsible, level-headed non-crazy one in our entire extended family and she responded with the following:

"Just do it! It's fun and funny and so many people these days are too uptight and judgmental and don't know how to have any fun and don't let them ruin your spirit and enthusiasm for the so-called unconventional. And besides, your nipples are covered anyway and that's the most important part."

Hells yes, sister dearest, fist bump.

And that's all it took. One little pep talk from one of those solid friends and family I was speaking of and my normal DGAF attitude was back in full force.

And those around me? The ones with children and the elderly? "You have a lot more guts than me" and "that is so freaking awesome" were the statements heard most around our little local airport. My worries were put to ease when I noticed everyone around me loving and applauding and dare I say appreciating my outlandish tactic to welcome a very dear friend to town.

Speaking of that very dear friend, her name is Bre, and I am now going to write an ode to Bre that I have aptly titled:

An Ode To Bre.

Dearest Bre,

I am so happy we met approx. two years ago via the internets. Remember our early Facebook instant message sessions? I do. I still have them all saved. I look at them from time to time whenever I'm bored and Dr. Phil is a rerun. They still make me laugh. Almost as much as our recent #toothfairymoney inside joke does.

You are the rock to my star, The Situation to my Snookie, and the fireball to my mouth.

I could start by thanking you for one million things, but the most important thing I am thankful for is for you introducing me to TinderLines.com. DAMN GINA! Why you gotta mess with my sleep schedule and sex life like that? Ever since I discovered that amazing slice of heaven, the only action happening is my throat going hoarse from laughing so hard and every one of my friends' phones blowing up from massive screen shot text messages. I don't think the acronym LOL is ever as realistic as it is when it comes to me and this monstrosity.

You make me laugh. Not just laugh-laugh, anyone and Jon Gosselin via his Ed Hardy days can do that, but you make a girl laugh. Side clutching, seal clapping, no sound escaping cause I can't get a freaking breath in motha f*cking laugh. It's amazing and rare and incredible and I never want you to stop.

I mean, you also laugh uncontrollably at my hilarious jokes, let's not let that go unsaid.

You've loved me through it all: when I've mistaken lamb for beef, or when I ghosted New Years Eve in Vegas, or when my kids berated you for making a totally lame peanut butter & honey sandwich, or when I ate the last of your JoJos. You've loved me though that egg roll disaster and when I fell into a peaceful sleep not once but twice at my sisters house. Oh and hey, remember that aggressive park ranger at Lake Shasta? Still one of my fave memories to date.

I love that you love me for all my quirks, and I love that you call me out whenever I'm being ridiculous. You definitely don't sugarcoat anything, except maybe your appreciation for my scooter riding skills, and that is exactly what I need in my life.

Hey remember that time the umbrella smacked me in the face when I opened it the wrong way?

Just so you know, my entire family loves you. Like, the entire bunch. You fit in so perfectly and so effortlessly and I honestly think they love you a tad bit more than me. Which would totally chap my ass if it was anyone else but you but since it's not, I'm totally ok with it.

My lips hurt real bad, this boat is still rocking, that scuba-diving hoe, Shaunie, Joshy and Ravey, Rob has a song request, Brenda Bauer, dancing twins, look at that genuine smile and "why don't you just bang Rob!" are a million of our inside jokes we will have for the rest of our lives. Oh, that and #rightswipe.

What I'm really trying to say, is I just love you. You are a true and amazing friend with some serious burping skills. You make my life better and you have amazing boobs.

Two last things before my ode is done…

1) Not coke but…

2) TOOTH FAIRY MONEY!

36 more sleeps!

1.29.2013

So the backstory real quick:

Bre and I have been blog friends since last March. It started as a comment here and there, then facebook messaging, then texting, one FaceTime sesh and next thing I know, she is booking her ticket from Sacramento to come stay the weekend with me.

Quite like myself, Bre is pretty f*ucking hilarious. (snort) And I knew I wanted to do something when I picked her up at the airport, something that conveyed exactly how I felt about our friendship. Hence, the chicken costume idea was born.

She flew into Portland, Oregon, which is about a four hour drive from my house. I knew I wouldn't be able to take a few swigs of liquid courage since I had to turn around and drive back home, which trust me, did not sit well with me. Because despite what some may think, I can get very self-conscious, least not while walking around a public place in a freaking chicken costume.

So yeah, I was pretty embarrassed. And it didn't even matter that my entire face was covered and no one would even know it was me (not to mention we were in Portland and no one would recognize me anyway) but still.

Anyway, I pushed through the mortification of it all because I knew it would be amazing. Epic. And I couldn't wait to see the look on her face once she realized it was me under that beak. So I parked my car at the airport, grabbed my costume and made my way to baggage claim.

And below are a few memorable things I heard whilst dressed as a chicken.

********************************************

From the security guard, while standing at the entrance to the airport, holding my enormous chicken head in my hands (I didn't actually put it on until right before she got off the plane):

"Well, you don't look suspicious or anything."

From many people (after I had put the costume on):

"can I get a picture with you?"

From two little kids, VERY loudly, causing everyone in the entire baggage claim area to turn and stare:

"oh my gosh! Mommy! It's a chicken! A chicken mommy! What is the world is a chicken doing here!?"

From two guys, about 20 years old, after they walked past, asked how I was doing, and I responded "pretty good!" (remember they couldn't see my face):

"oh shit! It's a chick in there! That's not a dude!"

because clearly most people expected some class clown male underneath.

From another security guard:

"this is the best thing I've seen since another guy picked up his friends in nothing but a thong bathing suit!"

Oh, and I made one little girl cry.

And then for the finale. When Bre first came down the escalator. I saw her out of the corner of my chicken eye, I had my camera on record, ready to capture her reaction which I had been anticipating all day. I assumed she would walk right past me (thinking to herself "who is this idiot dressed as a chicken?"), look around for my face, then be confused as to where I was. I thought she would have inner dialogue with herself like "ok, so where is she? Is she late? I don't see her anywhere. There is no way she can be that person dressed as a chicken. I mean, can she? No. No way. She would never do that. But then again, would she?"

And then after looking for me in vain, she might approach me, circle around me a few times, start chuckling a little, and finally, when I couldn't take it anymore, I remove my chicken head and she busts up laughing, unable to control herself and I would have an amazing video to show you guys which would most definitely start trending on youtube.

Except. That totally didn't happen.

It went more like this:

Bre first comes down the escalator, spots me right away (obviously), whips out her camera phone, takes a picture of me, sends it to me, walks right up to me, and says in a very matter of fact way, "so how long are you going to make me stand here before you tell me it's you."

Really?!?

That's it?! Talk about not the reaction I was expecting! I wanted something grandeur, amazing, epic, at the very least, BLOG WORTHY!

And so, I digress.

Btw. I asked her how she knew it was me right away, and she deadpanned

"Because who ELSE would be crazy enough to dress up in a chicken suit at the airport."

Oh.

Yeah.