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Feelin Fly Like A G6

May 9, 2017

Hello again and let me begin by saying sorry. I have kept all of you out of the loop, but trust me, that's only because I can't even understand what the hell is going on in my life right now. All I know is it's been a long couple of months and I have abandoned my tiny ass partner in crime, Macee. Although I can't say I regret that because we've seen some epic posts from her lately... but I'm BACK! 

 

This time, I come to you from sunny Miami Beach, Florida of the United States of Amerrrca. But before I get into detail about why I am in Miami and jet lagged AF, can I just say, has flying become an f-ing nightmare for everyone else, or is it just me?! 

 

Listen, I know I'm not an Asian doctor who just got dragged out of a United Airlines plane but MY GOD, traveling sucks! It's not the idea of traveling or the experience of seeing and exploring new places that sucks, it's the experience of going to an airport, getting on the plane and getting wherever the hell it is you're going. Call me a snob, but traveling used to be fun and somewhat glamorous. Now it's no different then riding the damn subway. The only great thing about it, as an actor at least, is it allows you to be uncomfortably close for a questionable amount of hours to characters worthy of being studied; you know, for the next time you feel like having a Daniel Day Lewis method moment, of course. 

 

How did I get into this rant? Well, lets see...I woke up on Saturday at 6am, worked from 8am to 5pm. At 5pm, I sped home in my fancy ass Nissan Versa, grabbed my bag, which I packed the night before after work (while I did laundry, cleaned my apartment and watched Lost on Netflix; I am now on Season 2 (pats herself on the back for joining the rest of humanity), grabbed Baby P (that's my dog, not a real baby) and got in the car again. I drove down to Hermosa, which takes a little over an hour in LA's prime Saturday afternoon traffic and attempted to stop Baby P's anxious crying by blasting some Adele. It didn't work because he still cried for a solid hour and 15 minutes. Looking back now, playing Adele for someone that needs to cheer up is like listening to running water when you have to pee. But you should also know that Baby P is not good in cars and he obviously feeds off of my anxiety. So if you have any suggestions as to how to make a dog calm down in a car, please leave a comment below, I am all ears.

 (This is Baby P when he's not having a panic attack)

 

So anyway, we made it to my friends' place in Hermosa at around 6:20pm and praise the DMV Lord, found a great  "all day" parking spot (you probably don't understand the importance of that if you don't live in LA). Now why the hell would I drive all the way to Hermosa before having to catch a flight, you might ask? Because my best friends also happens to be the parents of my child's best friend, Teddy. 

(This is Ted, he's cool)

 

So naturally, if I'm going to be away for a week, my child needs to stay with his godparents and his best friend. I had about an hour to spare before having to head over to the airport, so my friends, who just got engaged and got a gazillion champagne bottles as presents, had the brilliant idea of popping one of those babies open because well, I needed to relax. I'm usually a very slow champagne drinker but I ended up downing about 3 glasses of that thing and boy, was that a mistake. I finally said my goodbyes, got in an Uber and headed to the airport. I checked into my flight, grabbed a seat at the gate; so far so good. I had about an hour to spare, so I had the marvelous idea (mom, dad, please cover your eyes) of popping a muscle relaxant. And this is when things got bad. Before you jump to conclusions, I am not a pill addict, I just have a bad neck and a really hard time sleeping in planes (or in general). I've been fighting a contraction in my neck for weeks and I was running on three hours of sleep so sue me for wanting a little help in my red eye to Miami! I thought, "I'll just pop one of these, sleep through the entire trip, get a couple more hours in when I land and I'll be good to go. Suck on that, jet-lag!" Except, I forgot I was already pretty buzzed and it hit me when I was sitting at the gate trying to read my book, that I had done something terribly wrong because the words on my book started to seem like a bunch of jumbled nonsense. Oh well, I thought, drowsy is good, drowsy means sleep, sleep means no jet lag. 

 

I get on the plane after fighting to get in line with a bunch of uncivilized people who don't understand the concept of boarding by Group number and grab my aisle seat, but not before I noticed someone left an empty bag of chips on my chair. I gave the girl sitting next to me the stink eye in hopes she would account for the trash and apologize but she's either an amazing actress or some asshole was eating it on the way in and decided 28D was a trash can. By then, it was already 9:30 pm and I was loopy AF. I made myself as comfortable as I could, took my noise cancelling headphones out, hooked them to my phone and tried to "cancel out" the loudest Cuban man behind me who up until that point had been speaking like he had swallowed a fucking megaphone. I can't count the number of times he yelled, "THAT'S RIGHT, PAPI!!"

If one thing is certain in life, it's that "it could always be worse". As I was sitting there trying to focus on my music a young white woman waddled down the aisle and trust me, her drunkenness blew mine out of the water. She was mumbling something and when she reached my row, she stopped, looked straight at me and started saying something I couldn't hear. It took me a second to understand that she was talking to me so I finally took my headphones off and heard her blurt out the words, "excuse me American, where is my seat?" Yes, I was now being referred to as "American (Airlines)". Fml. This bitch is drunk and picked me as her victim. 

We've all played the role of the mom at some point, right? You know, when you're at a bar and one friend that can't hold her liquor goes overboard as usual  and ends up throwing up in the bathroom, or the curb. Or maybe you're that friend; the one that throws up. But I'm usually the mom. So when this lady (I'm going to call her "Drunky") approached me, my instinct, had I not been under the influence myself, would have been to take care of her, or to take a look at her boarding pass and help her figure out where her seat was; you know, since my name is American Airlines. But remember, I'm nauseous at this point and now I'm also wondering if I sat in this bitch's seat. But all I managed to blurt out was, "what?", followed by some inappropriate giggling. Of course, leave it to me to laugh at the most inopportune moments. This obviously made drunk lady mad because she gave me a nasty look and started rambling on about how the American Airlines credit card she just got is a piece of shit and how she's being treated like shit. All I could do at this point was nod my head in agreement and hold back my laughter. 

 

Listen, in case you're inexperienced with the crazies, you should know, when a crazy person approaches you and says crazy shit to you, YOU NOD IN AGREEMENT; YOU MAKE SENSE OUT OF THAT NONSENSE. Any other reaction will get you in trouble, or punched in the face. 

 

A solid minute must have gone by before a stewardess made her way down the aisle to us. She kindly grabbed Drunky's boarding pass and said, "you're right over here ma'am" as she pointed to a seat 4 rows down from mine (Thank you baby Jesus!). Drunky looked at the stewardess and said "Thank you American Airlines." I was a bit disappointed. I guess we were all "American Airlines" to her. Drunky grabbed her seat, but not before she waved goodbye to me. I waved back. Sad to see my friend go, I put my headphones back on and prayed I would fall asleep, But that never happened. Somewhere over the midwest, in my drunken-Xanax-induced insomnia, I decided that maybe watching a movie would help me fall asleep. With three hours to go on the flight, I decided I wanted to watch, Lion. This trip was just one bad decision after another. I am starting a petition to have airlines remove any movies that make you sob uncontrollably from their film selection. Why? Why would American Airlines do this to me? Why would I do this to myself? I sat there for 2 hours ugly crying in front of a bunch of sleeping strangers, like an idiot. 

(Expectations)

 (Reality)

 

If you guessed that I didn't sleep for the remainder of the flight, you guessed right. We landed in Miami just as the sun was rising....me, now-hungover Drunky and the loud Cuban, who by the way never shut his mouth. (Oh yeah, that's right! I fucking forgot there's a time difference and it's 6 AM in Miami!) The rest of the story is not very exciting. All you have to know is my body felt like it could collapse at any moment, I was probably acting like a twitchy, irritated crack-head and my husband, who I had not seen in over a month, lovingly greeted me at the terminal. He's shooting a kid's show in Miami and we have to live apart for 4 months, hence, why I embarked on this joyous journey. I had a couple of hours of sleep when we got to the apartment and then we headed to a BBQ where I met all of his new friends. I survived. And now I am sitting here, writing this blog post, still jet lagged AF, sleep deprived and waiting for it to be night so I can go to bed  and hopefully be a normal person tomorrow.

 

The moral of the story is, do not drink and pop pills. Do not try to beat jet lag; your plan will back-fire, I promise. Embrace the awfulness that is flying and remember it could be worse. Oh and always make crazy and/or drunk people feel like they're normal. Now if you'll excuse me, I gonna go sip on a Michelada by the beach, because this girl deserves it!

 

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