Penned from the Plane

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Oh yes, it’s that time again.. your Mistress is currently en route to her National Parks vacation. I may even go so far as to call this an annual National Parks vacation, since I was doing the same thing this time last year. Oh, you seem to have forgotten; haven’t you? Ungrateful, self-centered bitches, you forgot both my anniversaries!! The date, June 15, 2011 was when I officially hit the scene, posting my very first Kinkbomb clip. And June 20, 2012 is the anniversary of my wedding. Try to remember that any event in my life, noteworthy or otherwise is more important than anything you’ve got going on. Try to remember that you should not be reminded of such things.

 

Now let’s get on with the griping. Any of you that are familiar with my columns will recall being here with me before. Any of you not familiar with them, stop now and punch yourself in the tiny ridiculous sacks of useless fluid in between your legs. And again for being such a worthless, uneducated git.

 

So here we are and surprisingly I’m not nearly as pissy as I usually am when flying. I suspect that the lack of nicotine and therefore the lack of addiction and therefore the lack of withdrawal has maybe a little something to do with it or maybe it’s because my ears hurt so much that I can only focus on being a little baby in pain. Or maybe it’s because finally my husband and I have devised a way of traveling where both are accommodated. He runs ahead, stands in line, gets on the plane immediately, finds us a quality seating location and I take the ho-hum, nonchalant approach thinking of how retarded it is to want to get on the plane to sit and wait when I’m going to be there sitting and waiting all during the flight. Although I guess it would suck to be split up or be sitting next to the fat smelly hairy guy. Love ya, honey. Happy anniversary!

 

I believe I have a relationship with air travel more intimate than most.. well maybe intimate isn’t the right word. That sounds kind of naughty and therefore misleading considering I’m not a member of the mile high club, have never had someone suck on my toes while in flight or even gotten naked on an airplane.

Air travel and I go way back is all I’m saying. Our relationship began when I was just a wee girl, 7 or 8 and went to stay with my grandparents for summer vacation. Then there were school trips and back and forth from college and all those rides on my step dad’s Cesna. Basically, if you want to travel anywhere and you live in Alaska, you come to be very comfortable on an airplane. I don’t understand those people who get all anxious, can’t fall asleep or require meds to fly, but that’s probably because it has been a constant in my life. There have been many changes and adjustments over the past 12 years and rightfully so, I suppose.

 

I don’t mind necessarily. I don’t think it is an infringement of my rights or some violation of my privacy if you want to scan my body or look in my luggage. I will even comply with removing my belt and shoes, thinking it’s only natural that you want to see my perfect feet and ass crack. My beef is with the hypocrisy. If you’re under 12 you don’t have to take your shoes off? Why? You don’t think terrorists have children, children they are willing to sacrifice even? I believe if you are a terrorist, that probably means you are very loyal and dedicated to your cause and therefore willing to do just about anything to accomplish your goal. I could be wrong, it has happened a couple of times before.

 

And why is it I can’t bring my own nail clippers through security and ultimately onto the airplane but I can buy some in the terminal? And again, a query from when I was a smoker, why can’t I bring matches on the plane but multiple lighters are acceptable? Another thing, why is it that airport staff can cut in front of me in the security line? If I worked in an office somewhere, would I not be subjected to the same traffic jams as everyone else driving in that direction?

 

I am a stickler for the rules, especially when it comes to society. I believe if I’m following the rules then I am well within my right to be a bitch and an ass. If I cross the street in a crosswalk, then fuck you and your impatient glares, you have to wait for me. I’m in a crosswalk; I have the right of way. Suck it. The same guidelines apply to air travel. You expect me to follow the policies, then I expect you to enforce them upon everyone (including children under 12 and those trying to sell fingernail clippers at an airport kiosk.)

 

I did say my relationship with air travel is a lengthy one, but sadly I must also report that it is a resentful one as well, only because it used to be great and now it blows. It’s become stressful, loud, tense and irritating. I remember when it was fun. I used to get stoned before flying just to heighten the enjoyment of it all, like I was participating in some recreational activity akin to a night out at the movies. I used to get a blanket, a pillow, several packs of peanuts, a meal, a movie, free headphones, a full can of soda, a smiling… whatever the pc term for stewardess/ steward is today and more often than not, I would get a whole aisle to myself since there used to be so many flights, they were hardly ever full. Fuck it; those days are gone and I’m ordering a Bloody Mary. (One unusual aspect about flying that still hasn’t changed is ordering an alcoholic drink and not tipping. That always feels weird to me.)

 

…45 minutes later.. Damn, lady-whatever-I’m-supposed-to-call-you, even if you accepted tips, this would be an occasion where I abstain.

Now, despite the fact that they have run out of peanuts and I am not inclined to eat oreos along side my drink, I am on my way to greater relaxation. With the growing warmth of vodka in my belly, I’m going to curl up with the pillow and blanket I brought from home, read my new book and perhaps nod off to the lull of turbulence.

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Continue missing me while I’m spending your money,

xoxo,

MB