So I am back to L.A. for this year's film festival. EXCITED! However, I have to say that I am annoyed by the Korean tourists in my hotel that look at me like I am the hugest person that they have ever seen, which may be true. When I get off the elevator, they stare at me with wide eyes and part like the Red Sea for me to pass by. They are speaking in a different language, but I know that they are commenting on me...because they are pointing! They were also watching me eat my cereal during breakfast. Tonight, when I go down to dinner, I am going to offer to let them squeeze my fat for a buck. I can use the extra dough.
Yesterday, when I was on the plane, I sat next to these cool drunk dudes from Louisiana. They slept for like 90% of the flight but when they woke up, they schooled me on The World Cup. Then, this random Hispanic older lady was walking to the bathroom, looked down at me, and tells me that she is "muy consada." I'm like, "I'm tired too" and she touched my face. Well, not so much touch, more like held. I know this sounds weird, but it felt nice. I thought she was going to kiss my forehead. She put me in mind of my grandma.
Showing posts with label plane. Show all posts
Showing posts with label plane. Show all posts
Friday, June 18, 2010
Monday, April 12, 2010
Plane Pain
It is time for me to do the traveling for my job again, and it's back to the same ol' bullshit. The other day I worked the elliptical so hard to burn some fat before my flight that I felt like I was going to throw up! I don't think that I have gained weight. I can still fit all my old clothes, but that doesn't say anything. By the grace of God I am still able to SQUEEZE into this T-shirt I got in the 8th grade.
Oh, woe is me! I hate having to worry about this! I can't honestly say that I hate being fat. Probably because it's all I know and because I'm really cute. But I do hate some of the bull that comes with it, like not being able to buy cute, cheap bras from Wal-Mart and having to worry about being kicked off planes.
My friends have told me not to worry about it because I got on last year, no problems. But it's still a scary thought, and unfortunately, they simply are not in the position to even wrap their sweet heads around it.
So I solicit my readers to pray for me! Pay that come Thursday morn', I get on that plane no matter how bad it HURTS, no one gives me any shit, and I have a fun and safe trip. Thanks bunches, and I will let you know either way.
Oh, woe is me! I hate having to worry about this! I can't honestly say that I hate being fat. Probably because it's all I know and because I'm really cute. But I do hate some of the bull that comes with it, like not being able to buy cute, cheap bras from Wal-Mart and having to worry about being kicked off planes.
My friends have told me not to worry about it because I got on last year, no problems. But it's still a scary thought, and unfortunately, they simply are not in the position to even wrap their sweet heads around it.
So I solicit my readers to pray for me! Pay that come Thursday morn', I get on that plane no matter how bad it HURTS, no one gives me any shit, and I have a fun and safe trip. Thanks bunches, and I will let you know either way.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
The MJ Effect
So on Monday, I was on this huge plane coming back to Atlanta and we were about to take off when the engine exploded.
At first, the pilot lied and said that it was a blown tire. Then three seconds later after he called the technician, he announced that the engine exploded and that we had to get off the plane.
If I could have only taken a picture of the looks of the other passengers when they heard that engine go bust. As with any flight, the passengers of the flight came from all walks of life. But on Monday they all wore the same expression: a mixture of fear and this other look that read "Please God, kill my neighbor and not me!"
After I got off of the plane I was so shaken. If the plane would have taken off, we all would have been toast. That second as I stood in LAX with my laptop bag and purse after leaving the plane, I realized that I could have died. That that would have been it. That moment as I aimlessly began to follow the other passengers to the information desk, I could have either been burning to death or already dead, my soul taking a comfortable stroll to Hell where liars and people with lustful hearts such as myself reside after they kick the can.
Once I was in the information line, I began to call and text my friends to tell them what happened and of course, only one person texted me back. Later they would call me and tell me that they were in class or at work or taking a shit or whatever they were doing that was so time-consuming that they couldn't answer the goddamn phone. And they would have still been doing that task after I was dead. As I waited for my turn for a flight agent to give a rubber apology for what happened, I realized that had I had died, life would have gone on. Life will go on after I die. The people closest to you will get over it, and some of them won't give a shit. I don't know. It's something that you always know, but it hit me Monday like a ton of bricks at LAX in the information line.
After getting the information on my next flight, I seriously thought about Michael Jackson for the first time. On Wednesday before he had a cardiac arrest, he was probably at home or doing his usual King of Pop stuff, not thinking about death, and clearly not pondering over how is was going to die the next day. He probably had tasks planned throughout the week.
That night in the hotel room that the airline had set up for me, I sat up awake on the bed looking at the ceiling. Still, none of my friends had returned my call and I was beginning to feel dizzy. I had never felt so alone and shitty. I thought about all the times I had been depressed and actually asked God to kill me; all those times in middle school when I had actually tried to kill myself. I felt like an asshole.
Now I am at home and still thinking about it. Needless to say, the whole thing has been a wake-up call, so much of one that I have not been able to get to sleep. But at least I am still alive and I have to tell you, I have never been so aware of this fact.
At first, the pilot lied and said that it was a blown tire. Then three seconds later after he called the technician, he announced that the engine exploded and that we had to get off the plane.
If I could have only taken a picture of the looks of the other passengers when they heard that engine go bust. As with any flight, the passengers of the flight came from all walks of life. But on Monday they all wore the same expression: a mixture of fear and this other look that read "Please God, kill my neighbor and not me!"
After I got off of the plane I was so shaken. If the plane would have taken off, we all would have been toast. That second as I stood in LAX with my laptop bag and purse after leaving the plane, I realized that I could have died. That that would have been it. That moment as I aimlessly began to follow the other passengers to the information desk, I could have either been burning to death or already dead, my soul taking a comfortable stroll to Hell where liars and people with lustful hearts such as myself reside after they kick the can.
Once I was in the information line, I began to call and text my friends to tell them what happened and of course, only one person texted me back. Later they would call me and tell me that they were in class or at work or taking a shit or whatever they were doing that was so time-consuming that they couldn't answer the goddamn phone. And they would have still been doing that task after I was dead. As I waited for my turn for a flight agent to give a rubber apology for what happened, I realized that had I had died, life would have gone on. Life will go on after I die. The people closest to you will get over it, and some of them won't give a shit. I don't know. It's something that you always know, but it hit me Monday like a ton of bricks at LAX in the information line.
After getting the information on my next flight, I seriously thought about Michael Jackson for the first time. On Wednesday before he had a cardiac arrest, he was probably at home or doing his usual King of Pop stuff, not thinking about death, and clearly not pondering over how is was going to die the next day. He probably had tasks planned throughout the week.
That night in the hotel room that the airline had set up for me, I sat up awake on the bed looking at the ceiling. Still, none of my friends had returned my call and I was beginning to feel dizzy. I had never felt so alone and shitty. I thought about all the times I had been depressed and actually asked God to kill me; all those times in middle school when I had actually tried to kill myself. I felt like an asshole.
Now I am at home and still thinking about it. Needless to say, the whole thing has been a wake-up call, so much of one that I have not been able to get to sleep. But at least I am still alive and I have to tell you, I have never been so aware of this fact.
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