I'm Back!

Sorry for the long absence but I was just a little down in the mouth about what to write. I have so very little to write about with summer vacation, until that is Chaz and I actually took a vacation. This sounds really exciting, doesn't it? Our first real vacation for more than a few days all by ourselves? Aww how romantic (feel free to vomit now)! Both of us really were so excited that we didn't sleep the night before. This is totally awesome when you have a 5:30 am flight and have to be there almost 2 hrs early. So basically we set off with no sleep on a day long-ish flight. This wasn't a sign was it?

I have to tell you that I really love to "travel" you know; exotic places, good food, new experiences. I dreamt about being a CIA agent just to travel around the world (and carry a fire arm).

Really though, I'm not a good traveler. I hate flying. I hate everything about it. I hate airports and the Homeland Security and having to take off my shoes and belt and basically go through a strip search just to get on a plane. I hate stewardesses. This must be because I normally fly Delta. Not only do they hire no good looking queers that I can flirt with to get hooked up on the plane, but they must pick from the pool of reformed whores at flight attendant school. All cheap perfume and caked-on make-up. Not to mention that these women are so surely and small-thinking that I can't imagine any of these women would have any other options beside airline travel or pointing their heels to Jesus and thinking of handbags. I also hate crowded spaces, the general (non-brain-functioning) population at large, undisciplined children, everything that makes a plane ride fun.

Plane rides also turn me into a prayer. I mean I pray on a pretty regular basis. They're usually they prayers like, "Dear God, thanks for a good day", "Dear God, thanks for a great time tonight", however on an airplane, when I'm afraid we'll crash and die, and no one will ever be able to find anything of mine except my left pinkie or other such appendage these prayers usually go something like this: "Dear Ever-loving most merciful God; please don't let us crash and die because who will take care of the dog." I don't just pray this once I start chanting it like Bloody Mary Tudor chanting a novena. I'm not Catholic or else I probably would pray a novena on a flight. God forbid there be turbulence because then I just start confessing whatever sin I think God might kill me for by crashing the plane.

OK, OK, I jest about the God killing me part, a little. The flight to PR was surprisingly uneventful. Now I'm not going to say that I am the sharpest at 5:30 a.m. after 2 hrs of sleep. For most of you who read this regularly, we all know I'm not patient and that on no sleep I can be the biggest prick you'll ever meet.

We boarded the plane and weren't sitting together. At this point I didn't mind this and I have no idea why Chaz did. So I go back to my seat and find it occupied by an older couple. Turns out they're illiterate hillbillies and can't decipher the drawings on the plan showing you where to sit, in case you are in fact, illiterate. So after reading their ticket three times and still not hearing me practically yell at them that they are a row up from where they should be, the other gentleman who was displaced from his seat decides to sit in the ones that should belong to Ma and Pa Dumb Ass. Crisis averted I close my eyes, until this giant fool (that's exactly what he was) who lived up to every stereotype of a militant Black Man decides that I'm personally responsible for taking his seat.

Now don't get me wrong, I understand why he was upset. He wanted the seat he paid for. But now we had to go through yet another fun game of trying ever so politely (I did little of the talking at this point) of trying to tell Those Who Had Apparently Never Flown Before EVER that they were in the wrong seat. By this point I didn't see why one of us (not really me since I was sitting down) didn't just take empty seat number two behind us. Did I mention that the enraged gentleman standing over me was under the impression that I had made the mistake. I don't know why he thought this since he'd just heard the Old Ones misread their ticket.

Then I did it, "Well I don't mind moving since we're all gonna make a big deal out of it." I didn't feel it necessary to add on even though these dumb assholes are in my seat, since we'd already done all that not minutes before. But then I'm giving the general public too much credit for brain function. "I'm not making a big deal but I could!!!" Says the gentleman standing over me who apparently is now looking at me like I'm not only a seat stealer, but also a racist. I guess that at just shy of 6 a.m. everyone is living up to their racial stereotypes.

I was too tired to argue and really didn't feel like getting kicked off the plane, before vacation started, just because I school some giant black man on the intricacies of hand-to-hand combat with a tiny, scrappy man who is more afraid of dying in a fight than having to fight one. "I'd be happy to sit in that other seat if you'd like," it dripped sarcastically out of my mouth.

And for one of the few times I was the bigger person and sat in the seat and moved and tried not to hit this asshole in his head as the plane took off. I laid back, closed my eyes and heard, "Why don't you let me have the tickets so that we make sure we're in the right seats on the connecting flight." Gee thanks lady, now that I've almost gotten my ass kicked this is the time you decide to stand up to your husband who should obviously be a candidate for those Alzheimer's commercials on t.v. Just peachy.