Today, my mortgage company practically forced me to call Quicken Loans to discuss refinance options. I figured just doing what they said might be less of a waste of time than listening to their awful hold music for one more second, so I called. A customer service rep answered the phone, took down some of my information, and then explained why all of the options LBPS told me to ask about wouldn’t work.

“I know,” I said. “But they made me call.”

I then proceeded to ask a series of questions beginning with phrases like, Correct me if I’m wrong but and And isn’t it also true that and But those programs won’t help me because, to which the customer service rep responded, “Whoa. You know more about mortgages than anyone that even works here.”

Well, duh. That’s why I keep having to call you loony tunes over and over in the first place.

Moving on.

My friend told me this afternoon that a notification light was flashing on her dash, suggesting that she had a light bulb out. I told her I’d look around the car when we left work tonight, and she said, “It’s okay. My husband already looked. There aren’t any lights out.”

And I said, “I’ll look anyway. I’m smarter than him.” I found the busted light after one tap on the brakes.

In the meantime, it’s become evident that in their ongoing quest to improve the security at major airports, the U.S. government has taken up practices like sexual assault, nude photography, pedophilia, and might I say mildly terrorizing the general public before allowing them to board a plane. Perhaps their reasoning is that if more people are unwilling to fly at all, terrorists will be less likely to target planes?

I understand where they’re coming from but, here’s the thing. Whereas, no one was making much of a scene about avoiding air travel after that moron boarded a plane with explosives in his underpants last year, now people don’t want to fly because they don’t want Joe Schmoe TSA employee touching their “junk” or comparing the outline of their practically naked image to the next passenger’s. Nice.

In all honesty, I’m trying to be satirical here, but don’t take any of this too seriously because I haven’t formulated my complete opinion on this topic yet. I’m not really sure how I’ll cope with these changes in airport security procedures, and I’m going to put off figuring it out for as long as possible. I’ll tell you why.

1. I don’t want to be standing in line at security behind the belligerent idiot who won’t cooperate. I consider myself a pretty well-traveled person. I fly more than the average American in any given year, but the next time I’m scheduled to travel is around Christmas…along with a whole bunch of people who never fly. I’m simply not interested in navigating my way through the battle of the aggressive security personnel versus the defensive passengers. Not this year, anyway.

2. I don’t want to become the belligerent idiot who won’t cooperate. This is highly unlikely, but always possible. I never thought I’d smack a Russian bouncer upside the head at Lunasea for forcefully grabbing (and bruising!) my arm, but that happened once, so I can’t make any promises.

3. I don’t know if you know this or not, but it’s a pretty well-known fact (to me and my mom, anyway) that I am destined to become disgustingly rich and famous, and I don’t want to become the future victim of blackmail when some psychotic, disgruntled TSA employee threatens to¬† leak my body scan image online. (Yeah, they say they’re deleting them, but I’ve seen my boyfriend recover deleted images off my camera, so I don’t buy it. Besides, are you trying to tell me that if there is another underwear bomber, they won’t go back and review his body scan image to see what they missed?) I’ll be much hotter then, and I won’t want people mocking the naked-ish image of me in 2010. It’s true.

4. (This is the main reason.) I don’t want to get arrested (which I probably will — for punching that pat-down person in the face — because I don’t even let my co-workers hug me, much less allow strangers to stick their fingers down the waistband of my pants).

I guess what it really comes down to is this — if I have to choose between posing for nude photographs or being molested at the airport this holiday season, then I guess I just choose to drive home to New Jersey for Christmas. Sorry, Continental. It’s Wawa that will be profiting off of me this year.

Finally, in other less pressing and far more entertaining news, a mysterious blob was discovered in Newport News.

P.S. When I do become disgustingly rich and famous, I’ll just buy my own plane, and then this won’t be an issue.

This crazy trip has got me feelin’: grounded
And I’m singin’ along to: Like A G6 – Far East Movement

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