Francine - harvest
I Blame the Dutch mpoetess
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Well, I... (being dragged behind the bandwagon because my hair is caught in the tailgate)

I dunno. I can't think of anything offhand that I wouldn't answer (though if I honestly can't deal with answering, I'll say so, nicely) -- I just wonder if jumping this bandwagon makes me look like I think there's anything remotely interesting about me? I mean, what on earth would anyone want to know, who doesn't already?

Oh well. Take your best shot. Ask me anything.

(Oh, and, just to see if I could, redesigned my sockpuppet journal, based on the same template Lar used on Kita's. Because I want a big picture of nekkid Xander. Isn't that reason enough?)


2002-05-17 09:59 am (UTC) (Link)

What's your funniest story? As in something that happened to you, not something you've written.


2002-05-17 03:37 pm (UTC) (Link)

I went to England for the 2nd semester of my Junior year of college. While there, I discovered hard cider. Coming back, I thought it would be a good idea to bring some back to celebrate my 21st birthday with -- I was perfectly of age in the UK, and only a month away from being of age in the states.

So. I packed one 2 liter of Woodpecker (Because I hadn't yet discovered non-plonk brands. Shut up.) into my large carry-on bag, along with two glass bottles of ale that I was bringing home as a souvenir for my uncle. Bringing the total up to the limit for declarable alcohol that wouldn't be taxed on entry.

I *also* packed another 2 liter of cider in my suitcase. With the label stripped off. And replaced with the label from a 2 liter of apple flavoured soda. Glued neatly in place, and looking rather spiffy. Guaranteed to make a kid who'd never even *had* more than a sip of alcohol before the least few months, paranoid about getting caught, and about it imploding under lack of pressure...

I got to Heathrow and was boarding the plane when the stewardess from British Airways says that my carry-on is too large. I replied that it wasn't too large when I brought it *over*, also on BA, but there was no arguing; they were going to have to put it below, with the suitcases. They assured me it would be tagged and safe, and I didn't need to freak.

Oh well. Fine. Not like there was anything in my carry-on I desperately needed during the flight. Pulled out my Walkman and book, and proceeded to be vaguely nauseated and worried about getting caught for smuggling the "apple soda" in my suitcase, for 7 hours.

We landed at O'Hare. I located my suitcase and tried to look as un-shify-eyed as possible, while scouting around for my carry-on, that had the declarable alcohol in it. And scouted. And scouted. And waited until the baggage carousel had been around three times for three different planes. Nothing. Freaking... Went to the BA desk -- they had no idea where it is, but I should just relax, because it was probably on the next flight. If it wasn't, though, they could take my name and address and call me to come claim it when it got in...

Um, no. Because it had items to declare in it, because it had my photos in it, all of them, and because it had my teddy bear in it. Sorry, not leaving the bear, lady.

Waited around, while my uncle who was coming to pick me up was asking "Okay, *now* are you ready...?"

It came in on the next flight.

The bottle in the carry-on -- the *labeled*, fully legal, declarable bottle, had exploded. Sprung a leak, rather. All over my photos.

The illegal, falsely labeled bottle in my suitcase was perfectly fine, and was what I ended up toasting my 21st birthday with.

Only funny because the photos were mostly in lastic sleeves, and the ones that weren't turned out to be salvageable. Not funny then. Funny now.

Moral: Amy should never become a smuggler.


2002-05-17 05:58 pm (UTC) (Link)

[snicker] So what about those drugs you promised me?