(I was going to write about The Legend of the Bath Mat, and I will. But I have other, more different words to say now. Which are these words.)
I’m a nice girl.
I’m serious. Ask anybody. I honestly think that’s the most common adjective people use to describe me. In my last relationship, it was actually something we joked about. See, my guy was cynical, broody, and my opposite in almost every way. And whenever I met one of his friends/coworkers/family members/someone who knew him at all? They would always call him later and say the same thing: “She’s so…nice. I mean you’re just so…you know…and she’s just so…nice!”
See? Proof. I’m a nice girl.
But I’m telling you what, you put this nice girl in an airport? Make her stand in security lines? Make her walk through a terminal, behind families with stragglers? Suddenly that nice girl wants to punch everyone in the face. IN THE FACE.
Can I just say one thing? Baggage claim. Oh my GOD, baggage claim. I understand families travel together. Groups of people travel together. This is clear to me. But this does not mean the ENTIRE EFFIN’ GROUP should huddle around the baggage carousel, blocking the view of others and generally being a nuisance. NAY. You travel with a group, fine. But you send one representative from your group to the carousel while the rest of the group stand at least 50 feet away. You can have one other person act as the go-between, the baggage claim shortstop, if you will. The shortstop will gopher the bags to and fro between claim and group. It’s simple this way. Efficient. And it keeps you from being punched in the face by a very nice girl.
OH! And if you are walking through the terminal as a group? Please, let’s all take a page from Noah’s Travel Guide and walk TWO BY TWO, instead of side by side. Because side by side? You are like a freaking wall of douchebag blocking the walkway and I want to walk down your line and punch each of you in the face, one by one.
(“She’s just so…nice!”)
This flight has been fun so far. For one thing, there’s this family I saw waaay back when I was parking my car and walking to the airline check in. I followed them all the way from the garage to the check in, they beat me to security (and held up the line arguing about if they could bring their chocolate with them into the terminal), and lo, when I arrived unto the gate? There they were. With new chocolate. The son (who is probably 19 and wearing a Nightmare Before Christmas belt and a New Kids on the Block era black felt hat) kept going back and forth to the newsstand to get more chocolate bars for his parents (who each have to be 115 years old). I sat there fascinated by two things: 1) the chocolate. Why did they need all the chocolate? I mean, I’m behind chocolate 100%. I even have half a Godiva milk chocolate bar sitting in my purse next to me. But these people bought nearly 20 candy bars while we waited to board our flight. And, even stranger, they bought each bar one at a time. WHY? 2) the fact that this entire travel journey has been punctuated with the presence of these strangers. Like, they’re everywhere. It’s fascinating to me. I feel like doing some sort of anthropological study on really old parents and really emo kids who travel. And eat chocolate.
Oh, but the best part? My seat. My seat on the airplane. First, when I checked in at the gate (flying standby this time), I was asked if I wanted a window or an aisle seat. I think I surprised the gate agent when I started making out with him but I was Just. So. Grateful. I mean, we all remember what happened when I was trapped in the middle seat between the Two Brawny Dudes. And while it’s fun to experiment with boundaries of total strangers and social norms, I also just like to enjoy a flight now and again. So yes, I had my choice. And I chose window because I learned the hard way that it’s much better for me to have something inanimate on which to lean my head if I get dozy. But it turned out to not even matter! I boarded the plan and I was on the small side of the craft, where there are only window/aisle seats. AND! The seat next to me? UNOCCUPIED. Eat that, Big Brawny Dudes. EAT THAT.
Of course, across the aisle from me? Emo Son and Practically Petrified Parents. SCORE. My anthropological study can continue. I will report at this juncture of the flight (3 hours in) they have unwrapped and eaten 12 candy bars.
Oh but you guys. I did a very bad thing. See, I’m flying Delta this time and Delta? Kind of rocking my world right now. 1) Delta has a MENU of food they give you as you board. And it’s tasty food! Salads (fresh salads without yucky packets of dressing). Cheese plates! HUMMUS! 2) Delta also has tiny little televisions on the backs of each seat. Tiny little televisions with TOUCH SCREENS. I cannot tell you how happy a good touch screen makes this girl. Whenever I use a touch screen I feel this delightful mix of Power and Jedi. It’s rad.
So I was happily touching my touch screen (giggity) and browsing the selection of movies. Now, Delta is also a bunch of bitchess because of course they charge you for the movie. But I didn’t care. I was too happy about my row all to myself and my kicky little cheese plate and spinach salad to be bothered with trivial details such as who would pay $6 for a movie? (This girl.)
And I was torn in my movie selection between 27 Dresses (sappy romantic comedy I hadn’t seen) and She Got Game (KRUMPING!!). I figured I could watch one now and one on the way back. Because that’s math I can do.
Maybe it was the combination of elbow room and brie, but apparently I was in a fairly romantic mood. 27 Dresses it was! Hooray!
(Turn thy judgmental eyes elsewhere, cynics. It’s about to get real schmoopy up in this mutha.)
Bad news. Baaaad news.
This is where I demonstrate how self-aware I am not. See, I didn’t remember the effect romantic comedies have on me. I forgot about the Denny debacle. I forgot about PS I Love You. I forgot about all my schmoopiness that comes SCREAMING to the forefront whenever a cute girl and a cute guy find their happy ending. The movie itself wasn’t bad. In fact, I rather liked it. And I’m not even ashamed to admit this. Girl is always a bridesmaid. Girl meets guy cynical about marriage. Girl finally realizes she needs to start her life. Guy finally realizes he’s not cynical about this girl. Girl and Guy live happily ever after. WHAT ABOUT THAT IS NOT WONDERFUL?
So the movie is over. And now I want to get married. Right now.
I’m kind of kidding. Marriage scares the hell out of me. See, thinking about marriage brings up my abandonment issues and I’m a little afraid of commitment and I honestly think Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell have the right idea, really. But right now? In this moment? When I’m all covered in all of those 27 Dresses? I’d put on some silly white dress and propose to the next cute boy I see.
I know what it is that brings this up for me. It’s not the marriage really. Really. (REALLY because eeshk!) It’s the whole falling in love, being certain about someone, having someone who is certain about me, blah blah of course real love is JUST like it is in the movies blah blah.
(I don’t mean to interrupt my own flow here, but I need to update y’all on the Candy Bar Situation. They have no eaten a total of 16 candy bars. I’m SO interested in this. Also, the flight attendant just gave me Biscoff cookies. I’m not sure if y’all are familiar with Biscoff cookies, but essentially they have been my crack since I was a small child flying on airplanes. I would charm everyone around me into giving me their Biscoff cookies. And I’m proud to say nothing has changed. I just charmed the flight attendant into giving me extra Biscoff cookies. SCORE.)
Right. Love. Marriage. Blah blah schmoopycakes.
Here’s my new realization: it’s okay to believe in this. Really. I’m not being silly. There is no reason I shouldn’t want to be absolutely crazy about somebody, no reason I shouldn’t want someone to be absolutely crazy about me. So I think I’m just gonna. I think I’m just gonna be excited about the prospect of falling madly in love one day. Because there are Crackles here, at this comfortable cruising altitude of 35,012 feet. And I always high-five the Crackles.
Typing a post in Word means that I have no concept of how lengthy it will be on the blog, so I apologize for the lack of brevity in this post. Although. If you came to my blog expecting brevity, you are clearly new. And precious in your stupidity. I mean, innocence.
So to review (as it has been a wordy post):
∗ I’m a nice girl.
∗ Don’t be a douchebag when you travel.
∗ MY OWN EFFIN’ ROW!
∗ Cheese plate, spinach salad, and BISCOFF COOKIES!
∗ Touch screens!
∗ I am going to fall my ass off in love someday.
∗ And someone is going to fall his ass off in love with me.
∗ The Crackles said so.
As a final note, The Candy Count is now up to 18 candy bars unwrapped and eaten. I am ridiculously impressed. In fact, I
would very much like to stand up and applaud this very strange familiy.
Too bad I’m not playing with social norms this flight.
That’s all I got!