Poor Ericka Ward had quite a time apartment-sitting for me. I miss all the fun. Well, almost all the fun.


I’m back in Indy, but I’m lucky to not be in jail for murder. It must have just been PMS, but I was so ready to kill numerous rude people on the airplanes yesterday, it wasn’t even funny. First flight, I was in the middle of a row with Large Lady to my left and Metro Boy to my right. Large Lady smelled, snored, and took over the left armrest. Metro Boy also took over an armrest, tapped his nails on the window, opened-and-shut-and-opened-and-shut-and-opened-and-shut the shade on the window, then played two hours of South Park on his computer with the volume up to the max (no headphones) in addition to the subtitles and proceeded to giggle loudly and poke me with his pointy, bony elbow. When the snacks came, I pretended to be asleep, but they must have served some manner of corn chips ‘n’ vomit because that’s the smell Large Lady and Metro Boy kept breathing on me every time they turned to see if I was still asleep.


Second flight I sat in a window seat next to Make-Out Newlyweds and behind Screaming Child. Of course, this was the flight where the attendant and captain barked at us to hurry up and sit down, only to sit on the runway for an extended amount of time as the cabin got stuffier and stuffier. Screaming Child’s mother kept screaming back for everyone to hear, “I won’t help you until you use your words! Stop crying and tell me what’s wrong! Use your big people words!” “WWWhhhaaaaaaaaaa….” said Screaming Child. “I’ll give you something to cry about,” said Maryann. If only.


But that’s OK. I got home fine, Kevin picked me up at the airport in lieu of Ericka, and we went back to North Alabama Street and ate pizza, drank beer, and watched Pirates of the Caribbean. Then I got up and went to work today. The End.

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