Airport Adventures....

It’s no secret that I hate to fly.

I hate flying with a passion.

Not because I have a fear that I will end up on the plane where someone, tired of performing routine maintenance checks because it was one of those “I Quit This Bitch” workdays, will shirk on their duties and I end up on the fucked up aircraft that will crash shortly after takeoff.

Or the one that gets in the air and the engines decide to fail. Or the wing fall off or something.

I know pretty morbid and fucked up thoughts but that’s all that I think of when flying. I’m so paranoid that any noise, I mean noise have me pressing the call button and I’m demanding that the flight attendant investigate the noise while I eye the exit row doors and debate that if I claw my way off the plane and use a couple of tied together blankets as a parachute will I make it to the ground with just a few broken bones.

I’m never scared of terrorists, however, because I’ll beat a motherfucker’s ass if he or she thinks I’m going to let you make it to the pilot door and crash the plane into some building.

I’m from the Chi bitch! Don’t play with me. Shit I can work a box cutter too with the best of them.

You see my braiding the hair to the back and smearing carmex on the face *can’t bring gels on the plane now so hell gotta make due* just know it’s time to fight on that bitch.

That or you’ll see me clawing my way to the exit row.

I am not a hero *lol*

But I came to this conclusion upon yet another trip to Chicago and waiting in an obnoxiously long line to get my boarding pass.

I remember the days when I would go to the kiosk because I rarely checked luggage and I’ll be on my merry way.

Now? Shit I pack a bottle of Baby Lotion and my black ass has to brave the line with everyone else. I don’t do that travel size bullshit. These thighs need a full bottle of lotion. And I am not in the business of buying stuff at my destination that I already have at home.

Toothpaste is too expensive to have two full size tubes just chilling at the crib. Then it dries out and looks all crusty and stuff. Who wants to use crusty toothpaste?

Damn United Airlines would open the lines at 5 am….when I have a 6 am flight.

And I would be #60 in the long line of impatient travelers, who like me, was very pissed that we were standing in line for close to an hour waiting for United Airlines lines to open.

I mean, damn you try to follow the “2 Hours Before Departure” procedures *in my case usually an hour or less since I live less than five minutes from DCA* and look what happens.

And then you have the idiots who hog up all the kiosk because they’re afraid the machine is going to charge their credit card and in that case they want to use a different credit card but oh that means they have to dig through their luggage to find that credit card and wouldn’t you know it that bag is overweight so I’m going to spend 20 minutes shifting things around from suitcase to suitcase to avoid paying that “overweight luggage” fee and oh no the fucking stroller won’t fold up for the fucking 8 year old it belongs to and guess what?

NO ONE SPEAKS ONE FUCKING WORD OF ENGLISH!!!!

*deep breathe*

I hate flying.

So after dying six or seven times and being reincarnated to stand in the same line *my personal hell I guess* I finally get to the machine and then drag my bag, after a fucking inquisition on whether or not it’s my bag because yeah I make it a habit of traveling with other people’s shit to a new city, to the security area where I then wait to make sure my bag go through the machine and they don’t have a reason to rip my shit open like when I went to Orlando and they found my “suspicious” flat irons in the bag.

Like I’m going to use a $150 Chi Flat Iron as a bomb.

Nigga is you nuts?!

Of course the run of the mill security check where budget cuts must means I can’t get paper slippers for my bare feet anymore like I want my feet on the nasty ass linoleum.

And of course when you have less than 10 minutes to make it to your gate you have that one person who must have been DEAF as they’ve ignored the constant annoying voice droning on about prohibited items, like that BIG ASS bottle of shampoo is not a liquid.

And then want to debate over why the shampoo should not be tossed away.

Medical reason my ass. Herbal Essence is not medicinal shampoo. And if it was can I know what flight you’re on so I can make sure I’m not next to your lice-ridden ass. I don’t want them fuckers popping up in my damn head!

I already get sick on every single flight, that’s all my ass need is some lice in my relaxed hair. My hair is already super thick I don’t need creatures crawling around in my hair I’m walking around smelling like Vicks and Septum Blue. No thanks.

So finally I get through with no problems. I’ve learned to stop wearing under wire bras when I travel because I’m tired of explaining while my breasts are going off.

In fact I’m tired of being felt up at the airport period. If I was a national security threat I would hope I wouldn’t be so stupid as to strap on the bomb before I made it through security.

Although when I had nipple rings it was another story.

Face all red while I have to whisper why my titties are going off and it’s clear I don’t have on a bra.

And then that one loud guard who wanna put your shit on blast super loud and now people are looking at you like you’re a freak. And maybe that guy who was leering at me in line and I was anxious to get away from him NOW have a reason to go in for the kill and bother me all the way to my gate and lawd don’t let us be on the same flight. I damn near have to get ignant and get tossed off the plane in order to get rid of Creepy McCreepy who’s all like “Sooo…when Ima see these nipples rings? I bet they look as tasty as you…”

*shudder*

Sorry. Bad experience *lol*

I finally make it to my gate with minutes to spare and I’m in the window seat. By the motherfucking engine.

I hate being in the front, wing/engine and the three rows behind the wing/engine.

I’m weird because I like to sit in specific areas on the planes. Not in the back but close to it. There’s a specific row I try to get when I fly and I have the option of picking my seat. Always a window even though I never raise the blinds *lol* and never the direct back of the plane because it rocks too much for my liking.

Sadly I didn’t get to pick my seat and folks act like it kills them to move their damn seat *lol*

I did have an entire row to myself so you know I laid out. I’m so short my toes were in the aisle *lol*

Another thing: I try to stay up as long as possible the night before so I can sleep the entire flight. When I’m sleeping I’m not thinking of the dangers of flying…unless a little turbulence hits and I’m up with the quickness.

Turbulence is one of three things that will knock me out of the deep sleeps I fall into.

First is the smell of food followed by a little oral action *lol*

But not the actual act. *lol* As you know I’ve fallen asleep quite a few times on the “D”.

I woke up when we hit O’Hare. Like the runway literally. Scared the hell out of me. Had to swallow the scream in my throat.

This caused a coughing spell.

Which of course watered my eyes.

So I got off the plane looking like death.

Home Sweet Home my ass.

Left to fend for myself when I made it to Chicago I was straight CTA-ing it.

Ah DC’s Metro has spoiled me. I had forgotten about how bone jarring the El train is. Shit get off the train feeling like you ran 10 miles without stopping. Hard ass seats and fucked up tracks will ache your bones.

But for real I had a great time in Chicago. I didn’t do much, just lounged in front of the house like a bum playing with the many children that have sprung up in the family. Went to the store, each time lugging a different child.

People asking me were they mine and shit.

Negro Please.

You would know if a kid was mine. They’d be with their daddy *lol*

One of my crazy exes popped by. Shit I didn’t run in the house quick enough. Too many fucking babies on the porch.

I debated knocking one or two down to get in the house but that would have been too mean.

We had some words.

He called me “fat”. Talking about “T you weren’t that thick when you was with me”

Me? Eh I laughed.

And told him that because he never hit it like JBN. He hit all those spot to “thicken” me out while him? Tuh I stayed on anorexic mode while with him.

As expected he got mad and left.

He’s one of the easier ones. We trade smart remarks and he go about his business.

The others?

We’re squaring off in the streets.

Dramatic bastards. *lol*

I was a little disappointed though. No drama or usual family antics. Just a chill visit.

I was a little scared yall. I mean we played Bones and no one flipped over the table. No drunken rants. No Baby Daddy/Mama drama.

Nothing.

I didn’t even let people know I was in town until I was leaving. I wasn’t trying to go from the club to O’Hare tipsy and half dressed.

Anymore that is *lol*

Went through some of the same mess at O’Hare as I did at DCA only I did get through the line quicker. I got there super early, and I had a little bit more than an hour to spare when I made it to my gate.

Of course I fell asleep and almost missed my flight. The guy had to damn near shake my ass up in order to ask was I apart of the flight leaving.

You know I was fighting him like I was a kid and he was my mama trying to wake me up for school *lol*

This time I was in the aisle BUT in my section with some guy who was slobbing all on the window. I was going to wake him up to address his situation but I said “fuck it” and went to sleep.

Landed with no problems at DCA. Caught the Metro home and took my ass back to sleep.

Damn kids will drain the shit out of you. I’m not used to 3 am rude awakenings unless it’s the good kind *wink*

I was sad to leave, it was such a short visit but I’ll be back.

Back to the land of the working tomorrow.