Tag Archives: flights

To Gizzy’s house: part I.

Alright, so after my lone night of love in Texas, I caught my plane to Gizzy’s house and arrived looking cuter than I should have.  This is true, I showed up in my jammies and the first thing I asked Lucky was if she had showered at Airport Matt’s- you wouldn’t have guessed she had spent the past 24 hours drinking in an airport and sleeping at a stranger’s apartment with nothing but the clothes on her back by the way she looked. 

I found Gizzy in the baggage claims/complaint line because my original flight was United/Continental, and I flew in on American. So I knew my bag wouldn’t be there, but I also knew it was in the airport, just not at the current terminal.  This is what we call teamwork.  We saved ourselves a good 3o minutes by me getting in the line as soon as I got there.  Although, I had planned on preparing a giant “Lucky, Welcome To My City!” poster to hold up at security when she got off the plane had we not had to deal with the giant cunt American Airlines.

Well, the lady at American Airlines didn’t understand that. So she filed a claim to find my luggage. It was completely unnecessary, but I’d been awake since 4:30 and just wanted to get out of there.  She also didn’t understand that tan=beige while Lucky described her bag.

So, we finally get to Gizzy’s, I meet the roomies, and we see the bachelor party was in full-swing. Holla! It was 10am and approximately 15 guys were standing in my kitchen ripping shots.  Sometimes I do enjoy living with boys, this was one of those times, they immediately offered us a beer and a shot.  I even saw a few guys I had never met that I’d be interested in having a random make out with.

Gizzy and I talked some, and she had birthday presents waiting, which I happily ripped into—ahem, one of the gifts was a wine glass that holds an entire bottle of wine. And yes, we put this to the test later that night.  We are…awesome.

While we wait on my luggage, we decided to go to brunch. At that point, I wasn’t too worried about my luggage, I just wanted to make sure I would have it that night so I would have all the proper supplies for a shower and a nice night out for the birthday.

So we go to this bar, where there was absolutely no one, but we order some awesome bloody marys (garnished with sausage) and eggs.

During our lunch discussion, we talked shop—guys, parents, and then…my luggage. I called the number the lady at American gave me and come to find that they “haven’t found” my luggage. It had been 3 hours. Come. On. So, we decide to go home, call Continental/United and see if they know where my bag is.

The guy is all, “oh yeah it’s at the airport at the Continental terminal.” Surprisingly the most helpful person she spoke with to this day.

Sweet. So we hop in the car and head back to the airport. We get to the Continental/United terminal and walk up to a big desk that says UNITED on it. The lady takes her sweet ass time addressing our presence and finally askshow she can help us.

I tell her I’m looking for my bag and hand her my baggage claim ticket.

“Oh, well this was a UNITED flight so you need to go to the United desk.”

“Ummm it says United right behind you.”

“Yeah but it says Continental right HERE,” she says, pointing to a small, paper sign from a printer.  Think Vanna White pointing, she had definitely rehearsed that shit at home.

“Ok sweet, where is the United desk?”

“Since it’s a United flight I can’t help you.”

“Yeah, I heard you. Where’s the United desk?” (This just makes me laugh, and also reminds me of a story that’s yet to come when Lucky tells a hostess at a restaurant “I heard you, I’m not retarded.”  BAHH! Good times, good times.)

She points to a small desk about 20 steps away. So we go there. And once again, the lady treats me like I have half a brain.

“How can I help you?”

“Yes, I’m looking for my bag.”

“A claim?”

“Umm I don’t know, just looking for my bag.”

“Okay, that’s called a CL-AIM. What city you coming from?”

“Houston.”

“All Houston bags are at terminal 7.”

“Even if it came last night?”

“Look in the cage.”

Thanks for the tremendous help. I could see my bag from the desk, so we walked over and waited for her to unlock the cage.

As we walked to Gizzy’s car with our prize, I realized the lady didn’t scan my bag or check it in. Making it still technically a lost bag—American Airlines would never know. And I didn’t tell them. So yeah, I’ve still been getting messages on my phone saying they’ve been unable to locate my luggage.  As have I, it took over a week for a real person to call.

Anyway, we get back to the hizzy, I change my clothes and we decide to go up on the roof for a round of drinking games—the party really needed to get started. We weren’t up there for more than 20 minutes, when we heard guys coming in the house 4 stories down.

Naturally, we race down into the kitchen to find 4 random dudes from the bachelor party, ready to light shit up.  I introduce myself to them as “Hi I’m Gizzy, I live here, who are you?” We find out that it’s the groom’s little brother – which is what I had suspected.  Him and his friends are all 20.  SA-WEET!  They were at the apartment drinking to kill time while they waited on one of the guy’s girlfriend to show up and while the rest of the bachelor party was at a baseball game.  Ahh 20 year olds, so much to learn about life.  I’d hate to be the d-bag that invited a girl to a bachelor party.  Having Lucky and I there was bad enough, but they couldn’t do anything about that.

“LADIES YOU HAVE TO TAKE SHOTS WITH US!!!” They said.

I mean these guys were in college, but shit, they were all over the place. It took them at least an hour to get my name right, like I know it’s a weird name but it’s not difficult once you hear it – it’s not JIZZY, like you jizzed your pants or Gisele like the model, it’s Gizzy as in Gizzy get your roll on.  I still don’t know that they ever learned Lucky’s name – she was “Birthday Girl” for the better part of the day.  After telling us we needed to take shots a babillion times, it still took them forever to get organized enough to pour 6 shots. And boy, were they so excited to get to drink warm Smirnoff…

TO BE CONTINUED…

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