There really is nothing like a good fondling to start the day.

I don’t travel often, usually only a few times a year, so I don’t really consider myself a pro by any means but I am a competent traveler.

Imagine my excitement to see that for my next trip I was selected for TSA Pre-Check. No fumbling with my shoes, jacket, and laptop all while keeping up with the herd of travelers with varying skill levels when it comes to the security procedures.

I toss my bags on the belt and step through the metal detector, of course wondering why I can’t just go through the body scanner thing. The metal detector makes a strange noise, not the noise it makes when your belt buckle is too big, this was something different.

I was the winner!

The winner of what you ask? A secondary, and in my opinion, tertiary and even further screenings. I did get my wish to go through the body scanner thing and then I was informed that I was also the winner of a early morning pat down. Now that’s some fun shit!

They ask if I wanted a private screening or if she could grope me in front of everyone in the security line. Wanting to make the woman work for it, I told her that we needed to go somewhere more private. I was going to ask if she was going to buy be breakfast after, or at least share a smoke, but I thought better of it.

The joke was on me though since I had to wait for a second female TSA agent to saunter on over to act as witness that I wasn’t molested behind closed doors by her coworker.

I was brought back to a pretty nasty room, which was probably once a janitorial closet, where we had to ask a nice TSA gentleman to clear out his breakfast so we could get down to business.

I’m gonna go ahead and say that the girls have not been man handled like that since I was in high school. Then for good measure she decided to give my love handles a good squeezing. I assure you, the only thing I’m hiding beneath my shirt is my love of carbs.

Once we were done in our private little room, she lead me back out to swab my hands and her hands for yet some more screening. Here’s the kicker though, they never asked to take a closer look at my bags. They asked me to point them out and when I informed her that my husband had them she was cool with that. Seems to me that if you want to get that intimate with someone, you could take a closer look at what they’re carrying in their bags. But hey, that’s just me.

Bombs, drugs or just a good time, I’m not really sure what this lady was looking for and I didn’t bother to ask, I just wanted my Venti Latte with and extra shot at that point.

I did a good job of holding my snark in since I didn’t want to delay my husband by getting arrested and thrown in airport jail. I think that’s the purpose of sharing my story with you now, to get the snark out.

Don’t get me wrong, I take our security seriously. I think it’s vitally important to insure the safety of our airline passengers in this crazy time we live in. The five to ten minutes I was inconvenienced didn’t upset me because I get why they do it. It did however give me something to laugh at later and hopefully make you giggle at too.

Enjoy your week, catch you later!

I’m prone to unlucky circumstances when traveling, I call it the Brown Cloud. The Brown Cloud is usually over my head whenever I travel away from home and my trip to Orlando for the Golf Industry Show was no different.

At least when the Brown Cloud struck this morning It was something I could almost laugh at, a comedy of errors.

Bill had to be up and out early, leaving me to sleep in and grab breakfast before I would meet him over at the trade show.

At a little after 7 I threw a sweatshirt on over my pajamas and down to the lobby I went to grab probably the most pathetic “continental breakfast” one has ever seen. I decided that I would have waffles, so I pour the batter into the waffle maker and close the lid. The stupid thing immediately started to beep…LOUDLY. I walked away, put a bagel in the toaster and grabbed a cup of coffee.

Ah the coffee.

Cheap styrofoam cup plus releasing the button late equals certain disaster. I pick up my cup and turn towards the still beeping waffle maker and burning hot coffee runs down my hand. Not just burning hot, made on the surface of the sun hot. Molten lava fresh from the center of the earth hot. MAGMA hot!

I may have let out a small squeak but I honestly don’t know because I was too busy seeing stars.

I head over to the waffle maker…which is STILL beeping away angrily.

By this time people are laughing, staring and coming over to help the stupid girl in her pajamas, with the third degree burns on her hand figure out how to operate the waffle maker. I begin to wrestle with the thing finally beating it into submission. Two and a half minutes until my waffles are ready.

Just enough time to realize how bad my hand hurts.

The only thing worse than being burnt by a cup of coffee is being burnt by a bad cup of coffee and that cup was the worst I’ve ever had. Take a cup of dirty dishwater and drink it and you’ll have an idea of what I was dealing with.

I returned to my room and as I examined my burnt fingers I had decided that enough was enough!

There was a Starbucks half a mile in the opposite direction of the convention center. A mile was a short distance to walk for a decent cup a coffee to help heal my burnt hand and bruised ego.

I showered…with one hand since the water burned my already burnt hand, got dressed and headed off for my Venti triple skinny vanilla latte with light foam.

Two and a half miles, and a trip to CVS for some burn cream, later I arrived at the trade show with my rather large cup of coffee, feeling triumphant and ready to start the day.

There is very little that a Starbucks latte won’t fix for me. See you later Brown Cloud.