So there was this little review post I did about the Malibu. Remember that? I was funny.

Mary from Automotive News called me a few weeks ago and wanted to discuss my trip. GM’s courtship of the blogger, blah, blah, blah.

My husband gets nervous when I do any kind of interview. His motto is “get off the phone as soon as possible.” Except the one thing he has forgotten? I’m being interviewed about something stupid I have already said that is now forever immortalized on the internet. So I’m gonna have to say that ship has already sailed. I never reread the post before I did the interview and I was on my way to a show when Mary interviewed me. I was driving the truck. Without a headset. And probably with my knee so I could hold the phone with one hand and change the radio station with the other.

As I read the article today,  I breathed a sigh of relief.  I had said several coherent things like “GM understands we are living in a world where social media are extremely important.” Except I’m positive I said “social media is” instead of “social media are” because “are” doesn’t sound right to me. It’s “is” right? Anyway, I plod through the article and realize that I may have gotten out unscathed. There’s even this AWESOME picture of me and Kelly in the trunk, taken by our most favorite Vicky.

Until I see the insert with the screen shot of the blog. And a quote from my Malibu review. And my heart stops. Because I’m going to be handed divorce papers over this one.

There it is in Automotive News.

“I think I looked ‘HOT’ driving it. I would definitely allow my husband to accost me on the hood.”

My husband? He’s a bit of a shy guy. While he may be all up in my grill about accosting me on the hood, he’s less of a talk and more of an action kinda guy. I called him to tell him I found the article online. And then I broke the accosting news to him. As happy as he was to read it the first time when probably only 10 other random people read it, I braced myself.

D: You. You are a funny girl.
K: At least I didn’t say I would definitely let Keanu Reeves accost me on the hood.

Keanu Reeves? WTH? In an effort to downplay the situation, I pulled Keanu Reeves out of thin air? Seriously? Seriously. Keanu Reeves. Tom Selleck would have been just as believable, just as non-threatening, but not repulsive. Keanu Reeves. Still reeling from the stupidity of that one.

D: That’s true. What are your parents going to think of that comment?
K: Hey, that accosting is within the bounds of holy matrimony. I HAVE to get a pass for that one.

Keanu Reeves.

On a cheerier note, tomorrow night is the big Mommy Needs a Sex and the City Happy Hour at Coastal Flats in Fairfax.  Starts around 7.  You should totally come, even if you don’t know me.  I’ll be fun.  I promise.  I mean, I did use the word “accost” in a product review.  How bad can I be?

Dude, how cool would that be if we were really going on a rocket ship?  I wish.  Instead we are flying a commercial airliner. 

It’s a very exciting surprise.  Not for me.  I know about it already.  I can’t believe it’s really happening so I’m going to wait until it is actually happening before I blog about it.  Of course I no longer have a functioning laptop so the blow-by-blows will probably be minimal, but we’ll jump off that bridge when we get there. 

Stay tuned…………………………..

Don’t you just think those people who come home and complain about air travel are such rank amateurs?

You know, I was gonna just let the incident with the gate agent last night just pass us by and not comment on it.  Really, I was.  It’s just tedious to have to read a post about one person’s bad trip.  Unfortunately for you, Internet, today is your unlucky day.  Because I am feeling mercy, I am going to just gloss over the incident on the puddle jumper plane earlier in the day regarding the fact that there are only 3 oxygen masks on one side of the aisle and 2 on the other so one parent had to sit with a toddler and a six month old and in addition, be berated incessantly about everything safety related for 2 hours.  I’m going to gloss over it because personally I believe a “flight-related-incident” on a puddle jumper will, statistically speaking, leave you with more issues than the number of oxygen masks available on what side of the aisle.  But back to the Miss-Personality-Gate-Agent. 

The Husband:  You are not going to believe what just happened.

My husband makes it a policy to get on the plane as soon as possible in order to secure as much overhead bin space as possible.  He feels a sense of entitlement to that 12 inches of space above his head since that is where his legroom apparently went.  I, on the other hand, make it a policy to be the last person on the plane.  I figure that once I get on, I’m not getting off and those seats aren’t getting any bigger and these kids aren’t getting better behaved the longer you are sitting in that sardine tin.   So he is looking at me with this dazed look when I finally board the plane.  I thought he was dazed because for the 4th time in 2 months, he has had to play the barter game in order to get three seats together.  Because after offering my 2 children and the dog as payment for tickets on this airline, no one employed by the airline can be bothered to be of any assistance. 

So my husband then tells me of his argument with the gate agent about the stroller. 

Gate Agent:  SIR, CLEARLY YOU DIDN’T HEAR MY MESSAGE ABOUT GETTING A STROLLER TAG BEFORE BOARDING.

I must say that I think that is an interesting statement coming from a woman who, when the plane was delayed 40 minutes, was acting like, “oh?  there’s a flight? we are at an airport?  people need information?”  So we missed her silly announcement.  Move on already.

D:  Uh, sorry?
GA:  And what’s the deal with this stroller?
D:  We actually checked it in but for some reason they brought it up when we got off our last flight. 
GA:  No, I mean, why are you taking such a big stroller?  When I travelled with my children, I just took an umbrella stroller.  Why do you have to bring such a big stroller? This is ridiculous.

I could feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up as he relayed this story.  I am very sensitive about my packing skills.  I take great pride in my packing skills. I used to travel with just a little backpack.  Frankly I am the person traveling with the two kids, pulling my little roller bag full of camera equipment, mocking those people with the strollers that are 4 feet long and have every single toy available in case Junior’s attention needs to be diverted for 2 seconds.  We need nothing. We can entertain ourselves with 2 trucks, the air vents, a couple of books and Sky Mall, for heaven’s sake. Don’t be giving me crap about the damn jogging stroller I brought because everyone (read “those-related-to-me-by-marriage”) is always whining about how they can’t take the kids anywhere because all we do is carry them around.  The jogging stroller with the big wheels that help even a slow-moving grandma manuever on a bumpy gravel driveway.  I checked that collosal mess at the counter and your people screwed up.  Today was her lucky day because the door was already shut and we were headed toward the runway.  I would have gone back out and kicked her ass.

K:  What did you say?
D:  I was SO shocked that she was yelling at me and that those things were actually coming out of her mouth that I didn’t say anything.

Stunned into silence.  Not unlike I was a mere 5 hours later at 1:15 a.m. when the economy lot bus driver forced me to get of the bus in an electrical storm with my 6 month old.

K:  But my stop is over on the other side of the lot closer to my car. 

Try 1/5 of a mile closer. 

Driver:  You should have told me that before.
K:  Before what?  This is the first stop of the bus.
Driver:  Ma’am.  I’m sorry.  This is my only stop.
K:  You are sorry?
Drive: Yes.
K: I have to get out here, even though I am carrying a baby?
Driver:  Yes.

I walked 1/5 of a mile in the torrential rain, in one inch of water gushing across the parking lot, pulling a roller bag full of cameras and a laptop.

Carrying a 6 month old who never made a peep.  By the time I drove back to the terminal to pick up The Husband, The Boy and all our luggage (after chewing a supervisor out for 2 minutes), I was still dripping wet.  So was the baby.  We found a dry blanket and wrapped him up.  I mean, we still had an hour drive home.  Bad mother that I am, I hadn’t anticipated that little traveling nightmare. It was then that my husband told me the airport closed right after we landed because the storm was so bad. And then I realized how dangerous it really was that I had walked all the way across the parking lot. That I should have made the driver call his supervisor. That at a minimum, I should have just gone back to the terminal and had The Husband go pick up the car. But at 1:30 in the morning, I couldn’t think. I had just gone out to the parking lot like I always do–because that is the easier job than getting all the luggage. I mean, I was only going to have to run 50 feet in the rain. Big deal.

For an $81 parking bill, I expected a little more service.  Call me crazy.  So don’t park at Dulles.  They suck.