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Tuesday, November 17, 2009

No cougar on board

No cougar. No rascalliness yet, het or homo. Substantially more handsome men than usual. Especially the two sitting beside me watching Star Trek.

And everyone but me brought food. Freaking Bojangles? Just how do you get that past TSA?

Neomonde chickpea salad?!!!

So I cast myself on the kindness of strangers. Think blond flight attendant.

My first course. Cheesy goodness in a crunchy cracker.



Followed by the second course of tender baby pretzels. Yeah, I licked the salt from the bottom of the bag.




Saltiness is important today. Tum is not happy.

And of course, dessert.



Think a veggie dessert with some sweetner. Or tropical sunshine in single serving bottles.

Hey! I'm dessicating in single digit humidity pressurized at 10,000 feet. It pays to be nice to yourself at such times.

Phoenix will feel tropical on comparison.

Note the effect on cuticles.



That's enough to file for Workman's Comp. The other thumb is about as bad.



Ouch!

And we're drinking the bottle of Raleigh's finest. Wonder how many cooties I picked up at that fountain. I shudder to think.



Let's just hope tum stays calm. We're 90 minutes into a 4.5 hour flight.

And now the whole crowd decides to pee at the same time. Good grief! We'll have to stop and rebalance the plane at this rate.

Wierdness. There is AC condensate blowing from the air vent that could really stand to be blowing colder air.

This will teach me to sit at the back of the plane with the Jerry Springer crowd.



This is one wild looking and sounding woman. I think she's a space alien. She came through security with me, asking all sorts of strange questions about where her plane might be.




She's also buffering the flow to the pisser. And if one more fellow passenger rubs his wide bohuncus on my shoulder, I'm gonna start charging for the erstwhile poor sex.

We would also benefit from hanging some coffee bags around here. The crapper is one thing, with it's sweet eaux de death wafting up to bless my nose.

Oh dear me no.

The baby two seats up just dumped a steaming load of essence of soured milk in his diaper.

And yes, I am the blessed epicenter of this stink in the round, and it just got better. The spikey haired twink in the next row up, stayed in the crapper several minutes longer than usual.

And he smiled as he sat down. That's never a good sign.




Please will someone eject that thing before I have to scrape the brown from my nose? You do know that when you smell something, it little pieces of whatever it is sticking to the inside of your nose.


text tapped from a virtual keyboard. You found misspellings? Imagine that. Get over it.

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