Come Fly Away

I love to travel. I do. I love seeing new things, old familiar things, visiting friends and family... I can't get enough of it.

There is, however, one teeny little problem. I HATE flying. Flying is my mortal enemy. My evil nemesis. A total pain in my rear. Join me in seat 19E, Saturday last, will you, to see exactly why it's so darn crummy.

First of all, we said goodbye to my husband, and then sat and cried in the airport. It was 10pm. Then we walked down to our gate. It was 11pm. My kids go to bed by 8pm. There was some fatigue. We got on the plane, with the Brazilian chapter of the Lions Club. All 47 of them. They were in bright yellow jackets, and completely surrounded us. It was like being trapped in a foreign senior citizens center. Of course there was no deodorant either, and things were getting a little ripe. No worries, though, right? All I have to do is get on board, and we'll all go to sleep...

So I get on board. In my total efforts to spite the airlines, I refuse to check my bags. I pack light. The bags will all fit in the overhead bins, right? Uhhhhh... no. I became that woman. You know... the one who is holding up the line of boarding passengers while trying to punch her suitcase and get it into the compartment? Yeah. Me. My short, bald, and ferociously effeminate flight attendant hands me a gray trash bag and says, "You'll probably need to put a few items in here." At least that's what I think he said. It was hard to hear him over my kids' bickering about who was sitting where. I snatched the bag, probably more harshly than necessary, and started cramming stuff into it, hissing at my kids to sit down and shut up. Not my finest hour, I'll admit. The 30+ passengers waiting behind me will probably admit it too.

We finally get everything situated, lights go out, and I rest my head on my neck pillow, ready for a deep 4 hour sleep. Except, wait a minute! NOT HAPPENING. My kids are all getting their second wind. I force them to turn out their lights and GO TO SLEEP... but the Brazilian Lions Club members are all in full blown sleep apnea. They are literally snoring louder than the engines of the plane. Who can sleep with all that racket? Not my kids! Fine, then. Draw. Quietly. I'm going to sleep. EXCEPT... I'M NOT. Restless Leg Syndrome, anyone? Oh it's a true delight. With the 4.5 inches of space I have, my muscles start twitching, jerking... hell they are practically in full-blown seizure mode. I have to stand up. EXCEPT... my short, bald, ferociously effeminate flight attendant says, "Honey, you have to sit down. The seatbelt sign is on." I have had anxiety for two days, no sleep for equally as long, just sent my man to war, my kids are seriously working my nerves, and YOU ARE TELLING ME I CAN'T STAND UP???

Sadly, he has more authority than I do, and the likelihood of him batting for the other team means no amount of subtle (or pathetically obvious) flirting is going to get me anywhere. So I sit down. We are halfway through the flight at this point, and my youngest decides she is tired. She sprawls out across me and Mika, her head on my lap. But remember, my jimmy leg is in full force. So here's her little head, bouncing up and down while she sleeps. And she's a kicker. So she's kicking Mika while possibly incurring shaken 8 year old syndrome from my spasms.

Anyway. I could go on, but is there really any reason at this point?? You get the idea. The icing on all this, however, is my tendency towards motion sickness. So add nausea to the above scenario, and you've got a feel for what was going on.

Anyone wanna take a trip with me??

It's all worth it once I get to my destination. I'm super fun to vacation with... just not so much fun to travel with.