Made out with a stranger on a plane!

more adventures.

so i returned to my parents' house over the holidays for three weeks since quitting my job and for two of those weeks i caught the ab-workout pull-the-car-over dry-heavin good-time flu that i had had exactly one year prior.

but thankfully i healed up and to put some closure on the passing of this seasonally traumatic event, i shaved my scrappy beard into a beautiful and somewhat dysfunctional handlebar mustache and caught the saturday night flight out of dulles back home to oakland.

of course, i was late for the flight (as i am for most events in my life) and of course i made it through check in, security and even rode the elevated moon-rover people-mover to departure gate C23 at a lightening speed of under twelve minutes. so proud i was of my timing, i walked directly onto the empty flight now boarding and took an entire emergency row all to myself. i had earned it and it was nice but
the good part arrived twenty minutes into the flight as an attractive younger woman sneaks up and sits down in the empty row across from me with a smile and a conversation. five minutes into it, she moves over to my row and the stewardess arrives with drinks, hookin it up might i add by opening up the middle cocktail table between us to rest our drinks upon.

and here, for the first time in my life, i made out with a complete stranger on a plane. i leaned in, got the kiss, she spilled the remaining ice in her cup onto her lap, moved another seat closer and the mysterious mustache mind of its own power reached up and switched off the reading light overhead.

and mind you, preceding this, there was no ordinary kissin your sweet honey on the plane as you depart for the long awaited mai tais and marine life holiday that you might expect on a flight either. this was one of those obnoxious nineth grade marathon make out sessions with the heavy petting that after six hours, you find yourself dehydrated, lips chapped and a feeling like you've been punched in the balls. it was great.

it felt like i was back on that rush hour metro train chundering up my stomach and i didn't give a gosh darn damn who was staring at me and this purty girl getting to wherever we were trying to get goin. that was the hottest waste of six hours on a plane i could have imagined. and of course her dad was a psychiatrist and of course she was taking a job looking after horses in virginia and openly stating her
deepest disgust in my mustache before we got off the plane. i mean, come on, the high class handlebars at a mile high can't look half bad but upon landing? when i passed her folks meeting her at the arrivals, i had to remember one thing so that i would awkwardly shuffle by - i didn't really know her one bit.