I like pleasure spiked with pain and music is my aeroplane….

::knocking dust off keyboard::

I have just returned from the land of Fruits and Nuts (ie California)….a lovely (if not kooky) place.

So, I must have been there visiting The Boy, right? Nope! This was a girls only trip. He let us use his place (he is out of town) and Amy had free airline tickets (four to be exact) so we decided what better time to take a vacation then when it’s FREE!

Well, we almost missed out flight, but thanks to Amy’s mach 12 driving skills we made it to the gate about 5 minutes before we boarded. Seeing as how I hadn’t worked out in at least a month, the jog from parking lot at the terminal to the gate nearly exploded my lungs. My suitcase was teeter tottering behind me like a weeble wobble twisting my wrist around like a top….my poor WalMart suitcase never had a chance (and neither did my wrist for that matter). In any case, we got on the flight and headed out.

One thing I’ve realized is that as I’ve gotten older I’ve gotten less tolerant of flying. Gone are the days when I thought it was fun and my mom brought a bag of games to play and my sister and I goofed off. In fact, I recalled a story from my childhood on this trip. My sister and I were sitting together on a flight to Montana and my mom gave me a banana. We must have been like wild animals, keep ‘em fed and they won’t turn on you. ANYwoodle, after I finished with it I had a banana string on my finger (eeeeew! I HATE banana strings!) and I proceeded to flick it off my finger in an effort to expel the grossness from my person. Well, wouldn’t you know it was a direct hit on the guy sitting in front of me. In his hair. It was just hanging there like a little hair decoration. Of course my sister and I nearly died laughing, but were holding it in to prevent the guy from turning around, thus dislodging his new blond ‘hair’. So what did we do at this point? Tell the guy about it? Oh no, we just watched the banana sting the whole flight. We watched it hang there and kinda turn brown. So I’m sure this poor guys got home and his wife accused him of having a mistress that has a banana fetish. Whoops. So word to the wise, if two young girls are giggling behind you, I can almost assure you that you have some sort of foodstuffs in your hair…and they probably put them there those little bitches.

So yeah, I don’t fly as well anymore. Taking off and landing are the WORST. Everyone acts all calm and shit while the plane is rocking and creaking and I’m pretty much saying any piece of an Our Father or a Hail Mary that I can remember, burying my head in a magazine (literally, face touching magazine) and looking for fellow airline patrons that would make a good a) parachute b) floatation device or c) sled, in the event that we have to slide down one of those inflatable slides and it’s wet so I don’t ruin my clothes. I have also started to research how to survive an airplane crash. Tip #1: sit toward the back of the plane. It may be a pain in the ass for departure should you land safely, but you’ll be happy when the heavy front end of the plane snaps off and your not…on….it….wait….why is it good to be on the back of the plane?? #2 You should always count the number of rows to the nearest exit row in case you land and the plane fills with smoke and you can’t see your exit. Hmmmm, but since 99% of the other passengers won’t be doing this, I’m not sure how helpful it will be since everyone will be going completely apeshit. Unless you’re wiling to king fu punch people out of your way. Which I am totally on-board with. Survival of the fittest, people…heard of it? (note to self: sign up for kung fu classes ASAP) #3 Don’t drink heavily or take pills before the flight so you’re alert if an emergency should take place. Riiiiiight. How bout instead, I paying the leering creepy guy next to me five bucks to put on my air mask before his while I’m passed out. And if he succeeds, I’ll show him my boob. Of course, there’s not much chance of that event actually happening and really, showing him my boob is not that much of a prize. But he doesn’t know that.

So now that I have my in-flight disaster strategy planned out I should be able to relax, right? Heck no….why is it that the 5’9” girl always get stuck behind the passenger that wants to lean their seat aaaaaallll the way back? Seriously. I had zero leg room on any of our four flights. This compounded by the fact that I feel like a gargantuan human every time I sit in one of those seats and I’m not only worried about my safety, but also my health considering according to how I feel in the airplane seat I must be morbidly obese. Oh, and I was sitting next to Amy on almost every flight….and although she is a great conversationalist, if I see that skinny bitch cross her legs easily on another flight and then realize she has at least 6 inches between her and the armrest…..too the moon! I’m seriously force feeding her Crisco. It’s my only option.

After all of this, I’m wondering how I’m going to handle the one gazillion hour flight to Rome and then from Paris to home (I know, I know *poor* me). I don’t ever go to the doctor, only to the ‘lady doctor’ so I was wondering what vaginal affliction I could come up with to score myself some sleeping pills for the flights. If anyone has any ideas, let me know….vaginal insomnia? Hyperactive ovary? I need to put more thought into this. OBVIOUSLY.