Elizabeth Houck

I have traveled millions of miles but reaching my seventh continent was more a challenge not from rough seas but in navigating the most Bat Shit Crazy people I have ever endured… The great: There were the lovely gals and guys, solo and not that were smart, worldly, funny, and fun who made this trip more enjoyable for the fact that I learned interesting things about them, their lives, loves, passions and philosophies that were the antidote to many a poisonous venom from the gals below.

The BSC writer with exophthalmic eyes and a mouth that contorts into a Munch-like Scream, with more drama than Broadway and blamed it on a lack of sleep, bipolar much? Whom I called out on saying something unnecessary and snarky to her traveling companion, whom I dubbed “sloppy borderline alcoholic,” a duplicitous trust-not, who literally screwed over BSC Psycho by selling her a high-commissioned disAdvantage plan smiling all the while.

The tackiest, “look at me, I didn’t get enough attention as a child,” neon-pink-lipped, moribund gray fake fingernails, and a single comb-over side bun that looks like a lopsided growth out of the side of her nearly shaved head, accenting her Dumbo-esque ears; who wouldn’t stop bragging about all things dull and boring. Newsflash: nobody cares the first second or third time you boasted about “not moving when I sleep – give me a metal of honor,” but complains about everything. My favorite: “I hate sweet wines, I have a cellar full…” She bossed around the staff with special requests and could stop a conversation cold by interrupting, interjecting, and making it about herself full stop. Desperately lonely, she had preteen-like crush on a solo man who would never want to kiss radio active lips. Thing is she could be attractive… Comb-over’s lovely side-kick, wouldn’t shut up, she literally talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks, specializing in the mundane, she loves newspaper puzzles – and drones on and on and on and on and on and on barely stopping to take a breath; I gave up on any kind of meaningful conversation with after hearing her tell the same “I do these puzzles and am so good at it because it just comes to me, here, let me show you how good I am” for the 5th time. Only time she ever shut up was in trivia where she contributed Absolutely… Zero. I tried really hard to like her.

Then there is the “can I join you for lunch/dinner because nobody wants me,” meek, soft-voiced mouse, passive aggressive, sporting a poor posture dowager hump; fine featured, tightest face/eyes/neck plastic surgery – It looked painful, at 69 years old was becoming a nurse to hook a doctor because someone has to remove the nest of a hair piece she pinned on every. single. day. She should have given it to the comb-over braggart to even things up. At night her perfume so strong, it had people looking for where the heavy odor was emitting from yards away; it burned my nose. Unfortunately when she and pink lips would sit with me at a communal table, nobody else wanted to… the last night resulting in several folks jumping to a new table with lighting speed, leaving Tight Face, Radio Active Pink Lips, and Doesn’t Shut Up, alone and dumbfounded, while the rest of us had a blast at the new table.

While I realize these women must have some level of success to have afforded this trip and kudos to the Inebriate advantage plan insurance gal for not ruffling any feathers (she IS in sales after all,) and bonus points to Tacky Neon Pink lips/comb-over/corpse nails, who butt bumped me backwards onto another pax as I was trying to make a tight flight connection…

This post is a result of if you can’t say something nice but I just had to let it out ugly as it is. And praise to the gals who could keep their mouths shut – I could learn a lot from them.