So today I flew from Florida to Los Angeles after a friend’s wedding.  The current state of affairs up in the air is bleak.  Unless you’re fortunate enough to fly one of the cool airlines aka Jetblue & Virgin, you’re in for some discomfort.  To begin with, I find having to pay for luggage a ridiculous cost and thus refuse.  I use the same oversized bag every trip I take.  Does it fit in that baggage sizer they have at check-in, no.  Does it fit in the overhead bin, yes, with some struggle.  I never did well on those spatial relation tests back in elementary school but any idiot, myself included, can see there is a gaping size difference.  Sometimes I get lazy though.  As people squeeze into their seats, they seem less likely to help me hoist my bag up as I remember from my travels in the past.  Maybe I’ve gotten less attractive, who knows.  But sometimes I just don’t want to risk taking out an old lady with a suitcase to the head.  So today for example, I walked up to the gate and told them they could check my bag (since as they announced on the loudspeaker, if we wanted to do so we’d really be “helping them out”).  I dropped and dashed.  As I ran down the runway I heard murmurs that my bag was way too big to be carry on to begin with.  Suck it.  Bag checked.  Zero dollars paid.  I made my way to my seat, my tiny, tiny seat and sat myself down.  And up again, as I wiggled my way out to let my two seat partners squeeze in.  My fleeting hope that I’d be sitting next to a single guy who was gorgeous, smart, hilarious and instantly in love with me was diminished when a late night, indoor sunglass wearing, wifebeater sporting, community college attending boy sat next to me.  I actually recognized the guy because while waiting at the gate I saw him and thought to myself “what a douche.”  All the eligible bachelors must be up in first class.  I may have to talk to the rents about paying for my upgrade.  It’s a rule that Jewish parents of single 20-somethings will spend any amount of money to get their child matched up.  Usually it’s on Jdate. But I may be on to something.  On the bright side, my seating partner could have been worse.  I could have been seated next to the obese man across the aisle from me who was spilling out of his seat.  I have a tendency to easily be affected by small noises and movement.  Noises such as incessant foot tapping.  And tap this fat man did.  Once my eyes looked his way, I couldn’t stop thinking about the movement.  Feeling the plane vibrating from his motion.  That can’t be good for us here, can it?  He’s gonna break the plane!  As I do with loud gum crackers and late night Chatty Cathys, I gave the man several passive aggressive stares, specifically at the site of the offense.  His fat, hairy, leg.  Did I mention he was wearing shorts?  If only I could channel Larry David and get the balls to tell him he was repulsing me.  His big meaty thigh could feed every passenger on this plane.  Every starving passenger that is, on a five hour flight with not a single peanut or pretzel pack to gnaw on.  Yet he did seem to notice my stares but I don’t think my intentions came across as planned.  When fatty’s wife went up to the bathroom, I felt his stare.  Head turned, he was looking right at me.  A creepy smile on his face.  I stayed focused on the tiny television with terrible reception up ahead.  It didn’t help that the man sitting in front of the television decided to stand up and eat his banana.  I again tried my death stare.  Didn’t work.  He ate that banana standing up for all to see.  I bobbed my head back and forth to try and catch a glimpse of”Tower Heist” our in-flight movie (I just can’t see Alan Alda as a bad guy, he’s so adorable.  Like wanna play some shuffleboard and hear about his war stories adorable).  After banana boy sat, I was again distracted by expletives coming from the seat infront of me.  The flight attendant had hit the man’s leg which was in the aisle as she came wheeling her drink cart.  He went into a rampage about how he couldn’t fit in the seat.  Join the club of disenfranchised travelers, buddy.  These seats are sized for school children (I just had a chilling image of a flight of all school children…I feel a nightmare coming tonight).  Just think how turkey leg sitting across from me, twice your size and four times mine, feels.   “Tower Heist” clearly wasn’t happening for me so I picked up the in-flight magazine.  I was pissed when my Sudoku puzzle in the back was already filled in.  Incorrectly at that!  What’s a girl gotta do to get a fresh magazine around here!  Thank god for SkyMall.  I just don’t understand how everything in the magazine is not a staple of daily life.  I mean, a roll-up electric piano?  There would be pianist everywhere if we could all just take our pianos to go.  It’s all so genius.  I made a mental note that if I ever get married I’m registering at SkyMall.   Finally, the flight was approaching arrival.  The flight attendant, whom I held suspicions may have previously been a man (if only I was around for the Pan Am era when flight attendants were easy on the eyes) walked by and sternly told me to put my seat belt on.  Little secret, I never wear my seat belt on a plane.  Call me a rebel, Katniss Everdeen if you will, but it’s kinda my thing.  Have you ever seen a news story “The plane came crashing down but luckily they had their seat belts on and survived”?  I haven’t.  I already feel restricted enough, trapped in these baby seats with no say as to whom I get stuck seated next to.  You’ve taken my carry on luggage, my in-flight meal and my ability to move my legs away.  But you’ll never take away my right to be careless about my safety.  I’ve flown several times throughout my life but guess what, I don’t watch the in-flight safety video either.  Take that airlines of America.

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