All this Sandy talk reminds me how much I hate flying...

I don’t fly. It’s not my thing. Something about the whole, you may (or may not) fall thousands of feet to your death thing, really freaks me the fuck out.

Now, I did fly this summer, for a reason I am now constantly asked if I regret. And real quick, to get that out of the way, no I do not regret that decision. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be where I am today.
On that same note, I do equally regret it as well, because if I had not flown out, I would still be living in my deluded sense of reality…and it’s just so warm and cozy there!

Any who, now that we have gotten that out of the way, let’s talk about what happens when this girl is put on a plane.
She freaks the fuck out.  Well, no. First, she gets hammered at multiple airport bars and then she freaks the fuck out.

I had consumed about three beers before 11 a.m. when the airport announced that my plane was now boarding.

“Holy shit, this is happening. I’m really doing this,” I said out loud to no one in particular.
I wasn’t ready.

I wanted everything to turn into a blur, and magically fall into my destination’s arms, and then we’d fuck…like, a lot.
Instead, I was pointed in the direction of an open door where I was ushered to the smallest fucking plane I had ever seen in my fucking life. So small in fact, that when I first laid eyes on it, I laughed. Like a, “We are all gunna die” laugh.

There was nothing else to do! Everyone in this sardine plane was going to find out I was crazy soon enough. Might as well get this party started a little bit earlier than planned.
I put my bag on a rickety old cart placed conveniently next to this toy of an airplane, which I was pretty sure was going to get sucked into the jet’s, or some asshole dog was just going to randomly run out and piss all over my shit. Both scenarios I was not okay with.

I sat down in my seat. Still laughing, mind you, to find out my seatmate was a Mr. Chatty Kathy and huge too. (That detail will be important in like 2 seconds.)
The pilot comes on over the speaker, “Good morning, passengers. Thank you for flying, whatever the fuck this airline is, we will be moving momentarily. But we seem to be over our maximum flying weight, and thus must kick a few of you off.”

Hold up.
That’s a thing? You can be over your maximum flying weight? Well that just settled my nerves…or not.

The flight attendants proceeded to kick off three passengers and I was just waiting for the pilot to come over the speakers again and go, “Um, excuse me, but could the passenger next to the crazy lady who won’t stop laughing like a wild banshee, please exit the plane. You’re fucking huge.”
He never did though…but I knew he was thinking it. We all were.

Luckily, this flight lasted for approximately twenty minutes. But I was only halfway done. I would have to step on yet another plane within three hours. And how was this lady supposed to kill three hours in a boring ol’ airport?

“Do you want another beer?”
“No, I’m on my fifth, I shouldn’t.”

“Are you sure?”

“Fine, I’ll have another.”
She was a good bartender. So good, that I thought it was an absolute necessity to warn the boy of the impending drunkenness he was about to encounter.

“I’m hammered.”
“Are you okay?”

“I’m hammered.”
“Haha well stop drinking and don’t miss your flight.”

“Har. Har. I won’t miss my flight.”

I almost missed my flight.
But don’t you worry folks, I made it on that plane, and definitely made a complete ass out of myself in front of a few (many) strangers. I stumbled into my seat after hitting the same person with my carry-on repeatedly, when I received the loveliest of taps on my shoulder.

“Mmmm, excuse me, but I think you’re in my seat.”
“Yeah? Whatever, I don’t care.”

I wish that was a lie. I wish that was not exactly what the hammered version of myself said to some fucking stranger. Granted, I was hammered, but still, I’m usually a friendly drunk. A befuddled amusement to those around me, some might say, but not a stone-cold bitch.
I moved seats and immediately texted the boy:

“I’m hammered and sitting next to a fucking cunt.”
“You’re going to kill her, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”
She smelled too. Did I mention that? I’m pretty sure she hadn’t bathed in 5 to 7 days and decided last minute that that wasn’t socially acceptable to smell this putrid, (which it’s not, annoying cunt I was seated next too), and proceeded to douse herself with J.Lo’s latest perfume endeavor.

ANNNNNNNNNNNNND she didn’t turn off her fucking iPhone off when the pilot made the “no electronic devices” announcement during lift off.

I was not a happy camper.

Thank fucking god, the amount of alcohol running through my blood system paired with the high altitude slowly placed myself into a snore-filled coma for about two hours. We arrived in what literally felt like five minutes.

Fuck.

I was so not ready for this shit. My whole body was shaking. I ran into the bathroom, with no real need to pee. I just wanted to sit and calm the fuck down. But he didn’t give me the chance; he called.

“Where are you?”

“…I’m here.”