Dear Sweet Beloved Readers:

I love you. You’re so sweet. I’m glad you’re happy that I’m home, and some day I’ll actually get around to answering your emails. I am, as usual, woefully behind in my emailing duties, and if I ever locate my getupandgo, I’ll get my ass in gear and begin returning email.



Dear 29C:

Hi, it’s me, 28C. You know, you flew from Portland to Atlanta in the seat behind me on July 1st? Remember how we landed in Atlanta 20 minutes later than expected because of the air traffic over New York which caused us to fly in circles for a few minutes and delayed our landing in Atlanta, and you let out a string of very colorful obscenities, terrifying the sweet little unaccompanied 11 year-old sitting next to you, and everyone sitting around you turned and gave you looks of dismay and horror, to which you were oblivious? And when we landed in Atlanta and the plane was ever-so-slowly making it’s way to our gate, and you let out some more obscenities and smacked the back of the seat in front of you repeatedly, which I so very much appreciated, remember? Well, I suppose that that was understandable, ’cause no doubt that was the alcohol talking, that or just your innate charm.

My favorite part, though, was when the pilot turned off the seatbelt sign, and as one, everyone in the plane took off their seatbelt and stood up. The aisle was immediately packed, and everyone stood there waiting for the door to open, and when it DID open, of course the line moved slowly because no one ever checks their motherfucking luggage anymore (but that’s another letter, 29C). And what did you say, at the top of your abrasive, annoying, asshole voice? Why, you said "MOVE IT, I HAVE A FLIGHT TO CATCH!"

29C, you are so very lucky. Lucky because all I wanted to do at that point was fly at you, gouge your eyes out, and slap your stupid face until you screamed a high-pitched scream of pain and horror.

There’s nothing funnier than a man screaming a high-pitched scream, by the way.

"Oh, pardon the fuck out of ME!" I wanted to bellow at you. "Pardon the motherfucking FUCK OUT OF ME! You have a FLIGHT to catch, you say? Well, everyone move out of the WAY, 29C has a FLIGHT TO CATCH. And since 29C is SUCH AN INCREDIBLY IMPORTANT PERSON, we had best move our INCREDIBLY UNIMPORTANT asses out of the motherfucking way, because 29C HAS A FLIGHT TO CATCH! Should we throw some unaccompanied minors down for you to trod upon, 29C, so you won’t get your IMPORTANT FUCKING SHOES dirty while you’re hauling your IMPORTANT FUCKING ass down the concourse to that FLIGHT YOU MUST CATCH??? Do pardon the FUCK out of we pissants who have the utter NERVE to be in your VERY IMPORTANT WAY when YOU HAVE A FLIGHT TO CATCH!"

But I did not bellow any of that at your stupid self-important ass.

Instead, I moved into the aisle, and when the line began moving, I mooooooseyed along as slowly as possible.

I hope you missed your flight, asshole.



Dear 28B:

I know how difficult it is to travel with an 18 month-old, and may I say, your child was incredibly well-behaved, not to mention cute as the dickens.

If the dickens can be said to be cute.

I know I mentioned my appreciation of your well-behaved child and excellent mothering skills as we left the plane, but I must reiterate my appreciation.

I’m sorry I tried to steal his little yellow car. I have a thing for little yellow cars.



Dear Fred:

It’s not too late to buy a big piece of land and a double-wide. A couple of double-wides, even. How ’bout a double-wide for each of us, a single for the spud, and a single for the cats?

You think I’m kidding…



Dear Fellow Travellers:

I know that you have very important things packed in your luggage. I know that your super-special $1.50 shirt from 1983 is very near and dear to your heart. I understand completely that you don’t dare to check your luggage, for you are scared that something truly important will get lost and you’ll never see it again.

Too fucking bad. CHECK THAT LUGGAGE. Do you think that anyone appreciates that they have to stand in the aisle for 15 minutes while you’re blocking the way, looking for someplace to cram your motherfucking luggage (hey, I have the perfect place you can cram it!)? There is NOTHING you should be travelling with that is SO fucking important that it won’t fit in a small bag that you can stuff under the seat in front of you.

Take me, for example. What do I carry with me whilst travelling? Why, my travelling purse, of course! It’s big enough to carry my wallet, a book or two, a bottle of water, and the digital cam, which ain’t all that small. Oh, and my ticket, of course. Everything, EVERYTHING else goes in my luggage (two suitcases I took to Maine with me this trip. One suitcase contained only a full-sized pillow and couple of t-shirts. My parents don’t provide enough pillows for my spoiled princess head). I don’t travel a huge amount, but I travel once or twice a year, and haven’t lost luggage yet. And if I did lose a bag, my life would not be over.

Need I say that you shouldn’t be travelling with anything that would cause you to throw yourself on the ground and have hysterics if it were lost? I mean, for the love of god, y’all, leave the fucking crown jewels at home!

I am such a wonderful traveller that if the aisle were clear, I could walk directly to my seat, sit in my seat, and toss my travellin’ purse under the seat in front of me. Ten seconds, it would take.

HOWEVER, since NO ONE EVER CHECKS THEIR FUCKING LUGGAGE AND INSTEAD CARRIES IT ON THE PLANE WITH THEM AND MUST SPEND HOURS UPON HOURS CRAMMING IT IN THE OVERHEAD COMPARTMENTS, it takes a tad bit longer for me to get to my seat. And since I’m always and forever sitting very close to the back of the plane, it takes always and forever to get to my seat.

And I don’t like that.

So knock it off, y’all.



Dear Sweet Beloved Readers:

We’re off to make an offer on a house. Woohoo! More about that tomorrow.