Update: Irrelevant and disconnected thoughts

This agoraphobic just traveled from Atlanta to San Francisco to Portland to Medford to Denver in less than five days. Sadly, I may never hear clearly again due to a condition called barotrauma. Can you hear me now? NO!!

Commercial watch: Please explain why an octopus married to a walrus is a spokesperson for air freshener.

The Price is Right: Who writes the garbage for describing the prizes and the showcases? Also, who watches this stuff? Unfortunately me, while on the treadmill.

Most of you probably don’t know this, but I actually wrote several missives to the Scrubbing Bubbles folks when they changed to a very unsatisfactory dispenser. My last e-mail began with “It’s a sad day . . .” which cracked up sister Jennifer. Well, laugh if you will, they discarded the dysfunctional dispenser sometime near the timeframe of my passionate complaints. However, now I see on commercials that they are daring to change it again. It’s time to get out my “It’s a sad, sad, very sad day” pen.

Son David was going to take German for his language requirement, despite our warnings. I guess he though that since it was his grandfather’s native language, he might take to it naturally. Then he got a Beginning German syllabus all in German. Oh yeah, that professor is going to be fun! Like Jay Leno said, “The Germans can be wonderful people, but you better watch out once they start marching!” (What? I’m married to one!) Anyway, David changed to another language. Smart move, in my opinion. You can always learn a language on your own time when it isn’t tied to your GPA.

While I was in Oregon, enacting a combo of “The Odd Couple” and “The Out of Towners” with my boss, Bear, the chewingest dog in America, ate my entire first season of “Reno 911.” (Oh, I know, you’re too sophisticated to watch that kind of humor.)

Endorsement: Hey, those Roasted Garlic Triscuits are fantastic if you don’t mind the after-breath.

What are the odds? – When I got on the plane in Atlanta I started to experience extreme itching in an area that I couldn’t obviously scratch, being wedged between two men. What is this?! I asked as my ears burst and I struggled to scratch my left breast without being noticed. Why can’t I just have a normal flight like everyone else? I thought, as I subtly wriggled and planned my escape to the dreaded airline bathroom. First they put on the movie, then turbulence (please stay seated), then the drink cart, and then everyone seemed to need to go. Finally, I made my way to the cubicle of terror and found . . . a tick in my bra!!!! He/she was still crawling about in shock I assume due to the altitude. Oh the horror! I hate these creatures, but can only trace it's origins to my extreme hugging of the multiple canines before my departure. They were one month behind on their Frontline treatments due to the fact that we can’t keep them from bite-playing for the six-hour requirements. I frenetically tried to wash it down the drain using the motion-sensory water flow.

Is there a Tick-in-Your-Underwear-Mile-High Club? Yeah, but I’m the only member.

Can I hear you now? No! And it’s ticking me off. (No pun intended.)

The airlines lost my luggage, but what once was lost, now is found. Hallelujah!

P. S. Jack met me at the airport with flowers. My boss probably thought, What the heck, she was only gone five days! But Jack understood what five days is for an anxious, crazy person like me and . . . he brought me flowers.