The Friendly Skies – And Guys
I’m cuter when I travel.
This theory was established long ago and has been proven many times. In my last entry, I failed to mention – my boyfriends of holidays past? Almost all of those relationships began on airplanes. And of course, we can’t forget Extra Large Jerk. That damn middle seat! I’ve been doing a lot of traveling lately – as in, meeting lots of men. Not that it’s getting me anywhere, but it certainly has been entertaining.
On the way back from a recent trip I sat next to a really hot guy who didn’t speak English. The second I saw him in the seat next to mine the cheesy porn music started to play in my head, and a thought bubble appeared that had us making out while the rest of the flight slept. That bubble immediately popped when I realized I would be his interpreter and slave for the duration of the flight. He wanted headphones? He nudged me and motioned at his ears for headphones. He wanted juice? He nudged me and made a drinking motion. He wanted to get up and go to the bathroom? No nudge. He basically just climbed over me. I couldn’t get off that flight fast enough.
This week I found myself on yet another airplane. And in a random Christmas miracle, I got upgraded. I love it when that happens. Getting upgraded is like getting fixed up on a blind date and you’re shocked when he shows up and he’s cute. Flying Business Class is one of life’s great mini-pleasures. I swear, even crying babies sound better in First. I scanned the cabin. There were a couple of cute guys, including the lead guy from “Lost.” (Okay, I got a little star-struck on that one.) And sitting in seat 2A? A pretty decent-looking guy, average, not too pretty. The chatting started almost immediately, the usual “get-to-know you” conversation, with me trying to be cute and him trying to be cool. Holiday travel is actually great for that first conversation because you can commiserate over your airport woes, talk about where you’re going, complain about your family, all the while sizing each other up.
By the end of the flight, I either date them or hate them. This one had promise. Until -
Strike 1: He was a writer – of SELF HELP BOOKS. I usually love a fellow writer. But, I can’t date Tony Robbins. I’d slit my wrists by dinner.
Strike 2: He bugged the flight attendant with requests and complaints. I don’t know if I have said this before, but on my list of things I despise? People who take advantage of the help.
Strike 3: Was going to be the extreme amount of hairy butt-crack that he exposed getting something out of his bag under his seat. But actually he was out at Strike 1.
Oh well, there’s always the return flight.
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Smile High Club
This is one of the many areas where you and I are different. I don’t travel very much… Pretty much everyone I know travels much more frequently than I do and pretty much everyone I know LOVES to travel. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate traveling by any means, but I’m just not sure I LOVE it.
I guess it could have something to do with my childhood. When I was a kid, traveling meant an 18-hour car ride with the entire family, in a car with no air conditioning. When I was a kid, traveling didn’t mean Bermuda or Hawaii — it meant Upstate or down South.
When I got older, I quickly stumbled into the standard trap: When I had the time to travel, I didn’t have the money, and when I had the money to travel, I no longer had the time. I think you travel more in one year than I will in a lifetime.
This doesn’t mean I don’t hear you loud and clear when it comes to your adventures in traveling. Something about traveling lends itself to mystery and intrigue, and you literally can have a different experience every time. Whenever I travel, all I do the entire flight is check out the opposite sex and allow my vivid imagination to wander freely. It’s like a free movie on the plane, without the tiny screen to squint at. More often than not, I’ll picture a total stranger of a woman seated across the aisle as either the love of my life, the best sex of my life or, in a perfect world, both.
And when I travel, the best moments are tucked safely inside my head. For short stretches, I can bitch to myself about the delays or the legroom, but my mind eventually returns to the college girl in the tight jeans, or the business woman in the $2,000 suit in complete command of her space. It’s no wonder you average multiple encounters with the opposite sex per flight. You’re both an adventurer, and a romantic. But you’re also a woman. God help you on this hat trick.
What about the Mile High Club? I can’t believe in all of our sex conversations over the years (talking about sex, not talking during sex). Have you ever done that? Knowing you as I think I do, I’m putting my money on yes. I can honestly say I haven’t. I guess there’s a certain amount of adrenaline that flows through the concept of having sex in the plane’s lavatory, but now that I’ve gotten this far in my life without the adventure, I can’t see myself opting against it the rest of the way. We’ve all been in an airplane bathroom. Plus, I’m 6-3. ‘Nuff said.
Unless, of course she looks like Jessica Alba… then all bets are off.
One Response to “Smile High Club”
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Cass says:
Regarding the mile-high club: How is this logistically and physiologically possible? There just isn’t enough square footage in one of those lavatories, and let’s not even discuss the germ factor…
I have never understood how anyone could board a plane, sit down next to a complete stranger and proceed to tell each other their entire life stories. You don’t know this person, you never saw him before, and you’ll never see him again. Ironically enough it happens all the time. It happened to a friend of mine, she married him they had two children and divorced. He turned out to be a real jerk. I know you are NOT that desperate. I’m still looking for Mr. Right to introduce you to. Happy New Year!