Diary of a Mad White Woman

I can’t really explain why I was surprised to hear that my flight to New York had been delayed an hour, even though the weather in Chicago was perfect, and according to the Weather Channel, it was equally perfect in New York. I’m actually not sure that I’ve ever been on a flight that has left on time. I should just learn to accept that the scheduled departure time is much like a scheduled doctor’s appointment – that’s the earliest you’re ever going to leave, but you should expect to sit around reading magazines for at least an hour.
As soon as I heard the delay announcement, I realized that this left me an extra hour to be alone with my thoughts. Shortly after that, I recognized that my thoughts and I should not be in the same room together for any period of time, particularly since I was flying to New York for the weekend to escape them.
I decided that the best thing to do would be to document what was going on inside my head during those few hours before I landed in New York. Perhaps the act of writing down the thoughts might allow me to put them to rest. At least that was the theory.
6:04pm – I decide that I might find handlebar mustaches attractive on the right person.
6:06pm – I question whether “handlebar” is the correct term. I mean the kind of mustaches that curve down toward the chin, and would almost become a goatee if the two ends connected. Not the kind that twirl up on the ends, a là Rollie Fingers.
6:14pm – There’s a woman in front of me who is elegantly dressed and impeccably groomed – could be a Kennedy, or at least a Shriver – and she’s eating a Quarter Pounder with cheese. I like her a lot.
6:15pm – I’ve never had a Quarter Pounder with cheese. I wonder if they’re good, but do they have too much sauce on them? Probably.
6:16pm – The plane starts to board. I feel happy inside.
6:24pm – I take my seat and note gleefully that no one is sitting in the two seats next to me. But I don’t buckle my seatbelt yet because I don’t want to jinx myself.
6:25pm – Pilot tells us that we’re delayed even further due to air traffic control issues at LaGuardia. Come on, New York! Pull it together!
6:48pm – After having eaten half of my tropical trail mix, I determine that coconut, raisins, pineapple, and papaya are distinguishable only by their texture.
6:50pm – Wish I had more banana chips.
7:03pm – Do I need to pee? No. No, I don’t think I need to pee right now. Should I try to go just in case?
7:10pm – Although I am inclined to despise American Airlines for this delay, even though it’s LaGuardia’s fault, I am pleasantly surprised to discover new adjustable headrests that curl up around your head to prevent embarrassing head bob.
7:13pm – Does it bother me that this headrest cradled countless other heads, many of which were probably greasy and unkempt?
7:14pm – Not really.
7:17pm – Taking off! Fastest lift-off ever! I love this pilot!
7:18pm – Is that burning I smell? Is something burning? Something is definitely burning. What’s burning?
7:19pm – Okay, it seems to have dissipated. Maybe nothing is burning.
7:22pm – If I had a laptop like that guy, I wouldn’t be working on Excel spreadsheets, that’s for sure. I’d be playing The Sims. By the time I got to New York, I would have become a doctor, gained 11 friends, married, and accidentally killed my wife (she would drown because I forgot to build a ladder in the pool – she swam herself to death, poor thing).
7:33pm – Okay. Attractive prematurely grey-haired man across the aisle from me has finally dozed off. I can now stop reading The Economist and go back to my People – Oscars Edition.
7:38pm – For the second time in eight minutes, I accidentally touch the overhead light bulb while trying to adjust the vent. Note to self: hot water burn baby!
7:48pm – Holy crap! The pilot sounds exactly like my landlord! I wonder if he’s moonlighting. That would explain why it takes him eight weeks to respond to any of my maintenance issues.
7:55pm – These pants really ride up when I’m sitting down. Bad choice of plane attire.
7:57pm – Are these pants highwaters? Oh my god – I’m totally wearing floods! Remember to buy long pants while in New York.
8:15pm – My eyes. Heavy. Burning. Neck is so loose… wonder when we’ll…
9:43pm – My landlord announces that we’re making our descent into New York City. And tells me that he’ll fix my clogged drain next week. Wait – which part of that was a dream?
Yay! I’m now in New York City, where there’s far too much going on for me to ever have to be alone with my thoughts again! Except, of course, at night, when I’ll be confined to my solitary guest room. Not even the sirens and car horns can drown out the night thoughts. Oh, the night thoughts. They’re the worst. Hold me?

12 Responses to “Diary of a Mad White Woman”

  1. Jennifer Says:

    Oh my god. Is it always odd to find another neurotic jennifer? I use to think i was alone, then I realized that all Jennifers are neurotic, I think it adds to our many charms.
    This was a great read and I totally relate. Only difference I would have been certain that at least two or three folks were portential terrorists.
    Great read, great laugh. Thanks

  2. Momotrips Says:

    I agree with Jennifer on the terrorist thing. I haven’t actually gotten up the nerve to fly since 9/11, although I was becoming increasingly nervous as I got older and had kids. 9/11 just pushed me over the edge. I even hate when my husband flies and try not to think about it until I know he’s safe on the ground again.
    As to the whole Quarter Pounder, thing – there is no sauce, just a little mustard, ketchup and pickles. Best with cheese. They’re actually just like the regular hamburgers but larger and with sesame seeds.
    Also, I’m amazed that I know who Rollie Fingers is. I have so much useless trivia in my brain…I’m impressed that YOU know who he is, too! I answered a Trivial Pursuit question and won the game with Rollie Fingers and my husband was mad for two days.
    I found your blog courtesy of Jennifer and I’m enjoying it!

  3. Strode Says:

    That was hilarious! Thanks for making my morning.

  4. Jenny Says:

    J: Hmmm. I’d never thought about a pattern, but upon reviewing all the Jennifers I know, I think you’re absolutely correct. It could have something to do with having the most common name in the universe from 1967-1982.

    M: Wait!? No sauce? What about the special sauce lettuce cheese pickles onions on a sesame seed bun? Ohhhh… that’s the Big Mac, isn’t it?

    S: Thanks! Anytime. Tomorrow morning we’ll be serving pancakes.

  5. gillespie Says:

    I think the mustache pointing down is a Fu Man Chu, not a handlebar…Rollie had more of a handlebar. I could be wrong.

  6. Robert Says:

    I need to know what you were on that allowed you to play your thoughts in slow motion so you could write them down. Cause that would come in handy. For… when I have a thought.

  7. Gina Says:

    Per the moustache, is the Fu Manchu what you are looking for, perhaps?
    I was gonna say the “no sauce” thing, but I see Momotrips got there first. I would add, though, Whoppers are better. Methinks.
    I’d give ya the hug, but… stupid restraining order. :P
    Hope you had a good time this weekend!

  8. Jenny Says:

    So the consensus is Fu Man Chu, huh? But that’s creepy and long and hangs down off the face. I like the kind that’s attached to the face the whole way down. Like the guy from Super Size Me.

    Oh, and Gina? The cops actually said that you have a better case for a restraining order than I do, so we’re good.

  9. Mateo Says:

    You are brilliant. Years after we met, you are still making me laugh my silly head off. As for what kind of sauce is on a quarter pounder, you’ll have to do your own research on that one, kiddo. I’ve turned into Mr. “health nut” guy now that I run marathons and stuff. Oh, and thanks for this blog on airplanes. As I’m heading to Hawaii in three weeks, I’ll be sure to wear pants that don’t ride up. Que je déteste qu’on fais le thong. Ouch.

  10. jill Says:

    I have to say that am adamently opposed to facial hair in all forms no matter what funny name it calls itself. I understand that it’s a necessity for certain people — how it offsets the of weakness of chins, of non-existent jawlines, of bald heads. I get that. I also get that it creates a certain mystique for some and sends a message to the world for others. But none of this changes the fact that I have extremely sensitive skin.

    Oh and brava for even thinking to purchase your beard copy of The Economist. I’m forever having to explain away the trash novel with the naked people on the cover as merely vacation reading, “No really, at home I’m reading Anna Karenina — it was just to heavy to take on the plane. No, really.

  11. Quackin' Mad Terry Says:

    Hey, you all need fake book covers. I’ve gotten a few at some novelty shops. You slap ‘em over whatever you’re reading, and whammo, that trash you’re reading becomes a classic. (This is how I was able to hide all that “adult” literature from my parents all throughout junior high)

  12. Quackin' Mad Terry Says:

    Hey, you all need fake book covers. I’ve gotten a few at some novelty shops. You slap ‘em over whatever you’re reading, and whammo, that trash you’re reading becomes a classic. (This is how I was able to hide all that “adult” literature from my parents all throughout junior high)