Monday, May 04, 2009

Clarification, candy, and evil thoughts. In other words, a post about not much of anything.

I'm currently waiting for Maude to put Benj down, and then we're going to leave him to his grandparents and go shopping.

Having checked email and briefly perused the news, blogging seemed in order. Really, I feel like between my pre-flight post and Nick's description of me as a frenzied, teeth-gnashing, licorice drooling freak, I need to do a little clarifying.

Yes, I hate to fly. Yes, I get all freaked out.

I'm someone who is reliably 5-10 minutes late to every non-work, non-doctor's appointment. My friends know I'm on time, within this small window.

But the days I fly, I really do get so agitated. I have a tremendous need to get to the airport super early, although I'm not sure why.

And yes, I do have firmly in mind that getting on a plane, this could be it. I call my nearest and dearest for a last last last minute goodbye. Because the goodbye-I-love-you from an hour prior might have worn off. Or I might not get another chance.

And yes, I had a big chocolate Frosty while waiting. And I had Snickers, M&Ms, and Milky Way for the flight. Not to calm myself down, but rather, in case we plummet into the ocean, I'll have crammed in the kinds of things I want to eat daily but don't.

None of this is rational, but it's just how it goes.

I don't froth at the mouth, I don't pace, I don't rock in my seat or drool. But I am all clenched at takeoff and landing, and as soon as we hit turbulence, I'm prepared for the worst.

I always know where my nearest exits are, bearing in mind that the closest one might be behind me.

I did get all distracted this time, though, because I was about to have three seats across. I could lay down! I could put my feet up! I could sleep!

And then, at the last minute before takeoff, this man slid furtively into the other aisle seat.


I'd shoved stuff on the middle seat to claim it, and he proceeded to do the same.

Fucking douche with his fucking Kindle.

I was so busy giving him the stinkeye that takeoff caught me off guard. And then I realized that putting waves of loathing out into the plane was bad strategy in terms of helping the universe with a smooth takeoff. So I tried to think happy thoughts.

I must admit, though, once safely in the air, I did try to fart at him through the flight, and I was dearly regretting not having eaten fibrous vegetables earlier in the day.

You just never know when you'll sorely wish to summon a terrible gas of death.

So I resented the shit out of him for the hours we were in the air, and I wasn't sleeping, and he was all crashed out in his chair. Sleeping! In cattle class seat! He could've stayed in his own fucking chair!

But at some point around midnight, after watching Frost Nixon over dinner, I calmly ate my M&Ms and Snickers and read my book - The Yiddish Policemen's Union - which, while I love Michael Chabon, hasn't captivated me.

On a sidebar - do those of you who have boobs in your normal life regularly drop food into them? It's become an issue with me. And I'm not above reaching in to dig out bits of caramel and peanut rather than letting them melt into my bra.

I am pretty sure I was done wishing him ill by the time they served cold jam-filled rolls, although maybe not entirely. I might've hated him a little as he awoke.

Then he went back to his actual seat to retrieve his belongings and get off the plane.

I saw a man I thought was him in the metro a couple days ago, and considered furtively trying to trip him. But if you've not sure, it's best not to trip a random Dutch stranger.

Which is really just common sense, isn't it?


  1. I am with you on the Chabon comment. I love his work, and I've started and stopped that book about 5 times now. Hope you're having a nice holiday amongst the tulips and windmills. And wooden shoes. Are there any other cliches I can throw in there?

  2. That's hysterical - Yes, those of us with boobs in our regular lives drop food constantly into them!
    Were you shaking from too much sugar when you stepped off the plane?

  3. Too Funny! The last time I flew overseas I had a Chinese couple next to me that talked the ENTIRE flight. Serious bad vibes going their way.

    And, yes, dropping stuff into or onto the boobs is a daily occurrance. My hubby calls it "the shelf". You have stuff on "the shelf" is what he'll tell me when I drop stuff in public!

  4. Farting on a plane for revenge doesn't work mama. I tried this several times, there's some odd vacuum that sucks the stank air out right away. Not sure where it goes, but farts do not linger in the pressurized cabin. Sorry! Better luck next time. A girl after my own heart...

  5. i had to read that last line twice before i could move on. whenever i hear about someone "putting down" anything i think about rabid pets and things like that. although upon second read i realized she was putting him to bed... makes much more sense. at least i assume/hope she was putting him to bed and not taking him to the vet...

  6. Don't quote me on this, but I am pretty sure that once you were over international waters that legally you could have bitch slapped him back to his seat and used the often overlooked "Fool Needed Slappin" defense.

  7. Ha! So funny.

    I'm that kind of person, too, with the latent and distractable anger.

    Also, I often drop bits of food in my boobs, and I pick them out as well, but not if I'm in public. I ask to be excused first so I can wheel over to the ladies room and rummage through my rack a bit until the bits fall through.

  8. Fearless - Yah, I'm afraid it's never going to grab me. We'll see.

    And gouda! We've had a lot of gouda! And walked over a ton of canals.

    Jules - I was totally wondering if that was just how it goes, or if they're all new to me so they get more in my way.

    And no, but I ate a power bar, so I had some morning protein going on as well.

    Cheryl S - Ooooh, the people who won't shut up. Even worse is when you're in a middle seat and the people in the window and aisle seats know each other and were hoping nobody would sit between them but they want to sit where they are and just talk across you. Hate hate hate.

    LJ - Why, thank you! :)

    Velvet - I'm scarred from one very bad lingering fart experience. I did manage to get some out, but they weren't strong, and as you say, they dissipated fast.

    notsojenny - Hahaha! No, she was putting him to bed for his nap, not off to the vet!

    refugee - I just don't think I have the balls to do that, much as I might like to. I do feel like the farts could've driven him away if I just could've come up with some bad ones.

    Jo - I think some of it is just that I can't believe it's happening to me. So I don't give it any forethought, just stick my hand right in.

  9. The visual of you, upon learning that the plane is going down, rooting through your bag for the candy and then shoving it into your mouth is too funny! Sorry - crash humor is the best way to deal with the very idea, I think!

  10. I nearly forgot - yes. The digging out of fallens from the cleavage. Very common. And whatever you do, don't let stuff hang around in there and melt. Blech.

  11. Lisa,
    Having a rather larger rack myself (It never dissapeared after my son was born) I can assure you that all manner of food drops into and onto it. Where as once it might have fallen unseen into the lap, now it plonks itself merrily onto your boobs or the front of your shirt most embarrasing. Worse is when it dissapears down into the cleavage and requires retrieval immediately, this normally invokes lewd comments and hilarity from my friends should they witness it.
    Oh and offers of retreival as well. :)

  12. I almost Twittered today that I don't think I've ever consumed an entire glass of anything without some of it ending up in my cleavage.


    Safe flight, love.


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