I swear I’ll stop blogging in ten minutes, but in light of recent weird twitter postings, I have to tell you a story:
So this morning, something monumental happened (he loves me!) and of course, I panicked and got weird. While I was being weird, I was reminded of a poem that I wrote in high school about this very situation (funny enough, I acted the exact same way then). I tried to google it to find it and instead, wound up with one result.
Of course I clicked on it.
Apparently, the University of Iowa spent some time logging tweets about airport security during the first quarter of 2010. I made it into their files. Hilariously enough, my tweet from March 30, 2010 reads:
11314516444 KatieMaryBarry 3/30/2010 10:49 AM My first year not going home to see the family. On the plus side, I don’t have to try to get Jell-O eggs through airport security. #Easter
Why does this make me laugh?
Every year my Aunt Jan makes Jell-O eggs for Easter. They’re my favorite. They’re weird and slimy but so cute and who doesn’t love Jell-O? (The evidence is mounting that I’m an 80-year old in a 23-year old body.)
I was flying back home to Chicago with my bag of leftover Jell-O eggs. Of course I was going to take them home with me…waste them, are you kidding? This was right during the implementation of the liquid/gels prohibition and of course, the TSA man stops my bag of eggs.
An argument about the matter state of Jell-O ensued, with him claiming that they count as a gel and me claiming that they’re a solid. (Technically, he may have been right.) Finally, I made him feel them because they were still cold from the refrigerator. My logic? No idea.
Then, I told him I would eat the entire bag right there at the checkpoint. (I’m always this sassy [antagonistic? obnoxious?] at 6 in the morning, trust me. One time, my mom got a thumbs up from a random because I told a dude – who would not shut up about how he got to carry a gun because he was with the sheriff’s office – to please keep it down in the waiting area. Complete with bring-it-down silencing hand motion.)
He let me through and when I got back to Chicago, I’m 80% sure that the eggs had gotten overheated during their ordeal and were back to a sticky-goo state and therefore inedible. Bummer. (No one tell Aunt Jan! There’s still a 20% chance I enjoyed them!)