Thursday, October 24, 2013

Ode to Chris Farley

Chicago Trip: Part I of V

I had just spent an unreasonable time scratching my big toe when my phone rang. It's an embrassing thing when something interrupts you fondling your phalangees. Without that interference, I probably never would have realized I had even come in contact with my toes. I would have continued touching them in my subconscious state until I paused, lingered, and semi-consciously redirected my hand to something more appropriate. Later in the day, I would have been able to stick my fingers in my mouth, should I choose to do so, and not feel completely disgusted that my tongue just had indirect contact with whatever substances hide in my carpet. (Correction: my apartment's carpet. Perv.) Of course, I cannot think of any situation where I would find myself shoving my hand in my mouth, but I at least want the option to do so. For all I know, the same oblivious state regarding my feet has also occurred with my fingers in my mouth, which I'll never be able to remember because I've never been interrupted during the process. Unlike my big toe. When the phone rang.

(In case I've lost you, this is a post about my trip to Chicago, not about my unfamiliar tendency to play with my big toe. I apologize for any confusion. I'm prone to straying off topic and putting my foot in my mouth.) 

(That last sentence should not be taken literally, despite all I just said.)

my sister: Hey, are you done packing yet?

me: Yep...just uh...finishing up!
This is me lying. This is not me considering "stroking my feet for 20 minutes" as part of "packing."

my sister: Okay, well I'll head over then to pick you up.

me: See ya soon! I'll be here waiting.
This is not me lying. This is me "leaving out words." By "I'll be here waiting," what I really mean is "I'll be here waiting while I pack everything I was supposed to have packed by now."

About three hours later, my sister and I are at the Nashville airport waiting for our flight to board. I believe "waiting" is the best collective word to use, simply because I can't think of any other verb that would describe her sprawled out on the floor asleep and me making the ugliest facial expressions I can muster up for the 4-year-old girl who keeps staring at me. My sister's nap lasted until they called our flight to board. My mean-mugging lasted until I opened my eyes and found that the child's mother had turned around to see what her daughter was looking at, all to see a 22-year-old woman trying to lick her left ear with her eyes shut. I should have recognized this as an early sign of the vacation ahead.

Fifteen minutes later, my sister and I are finally on the plane in a row of three seats. She had to sit in the middle seat because the window seat was already occupied by a man covered in a blanket, leaving me the aisle seat since I'm rumoured to be missing a bladder. Neither of us had remembered to bring fun things to do on the plane, so we were left with our only other option of amusement: think of ways to annoy people.

flight attendant: Would you like something to drink?

me: Yes, what diet sodas do you have?

flight attendant: (glaring) It's on the menu. (walks off)

my sister: Well that was kind of bitchy.

me: Wasn't it? I mean she didn't have to snap at me and walk off! How was I supposed to know there was a menu? When has there ever been a menu?

my sister: Maybe they said it during that spiel they make before we take know, about safety hazards...and putting on your oxygen mask before you put on your child's...and no smoking, even in the lavatories...

me: No one ever actually listens when they do that. We all know what to do. We've all seen Tommy Boy.

my sister: Right, Natasha. I'm sure you're not the only one who believes that Chris Farley has prepared you for any possible danger that could occur on a plane flight. 

me: Are you being sarcastic?

my sister: I'm being incredibly sarcastic.

me: Damn, I couldn't tell. You really kept a straight face.

my sister: I have a good poker face.

me: I don't have a poker face at all.

my sister: You don't have a poker mouth.

me: What?!

my sister: You say whatever pops into your head. You already know this. You are completely unable to keep any thoughts to yourself.

me: That's not true!

my sister: You told me the other day that you told a guest at work that she gave you a childhood flashback involving gummy bears because of the way she smelled.

me: Because she did!

my sister: That's just not something you go around telling strangers.

me: I don't see why not. If some random person came up to me and told me I smelled like the gummy bears of their past, I would be elated.

my sister: "The gummy bears of their past?"

me: Well the wording isn't important --- Oh look! She's coming back! Shit I haven't even looked at the menu!

my sister: Just get a Diet Coke. It's probably all they have.

me: I think they have a lot more. If that was all they had, don't you think she would have just told me that when I asked her what diet sodas they have?

my sister: Well what's the menu say?

me: That's all they have. What the FUCK. Why couldn't she had just said that instead of making me read this stupid --- ooh, alcohol!

my sister: Five bucks for a Bud Light? Are you fucking kidding me?

flight attendant: Are you ready to order your drink now?

me: Yes, I'd like a Diet Coke, please.

my sister: Nothing for me. (waits until flight attendant walks off) ...We should just ask her stupid questions for the rest of the trip.

me: YES. Okay, press the "Assistance" button. I have a question ready for when she walks over here.

my sister: I'm not pressing it, you press it!

me: Me? No, you!

me sister: You press it!

me: You press it!

my sister: You press it!

me: Did you just put emphasis on the word "press?"

my sister: Yeah that was an accident.

me: Let's ask her really obvious questions, especially stuff that's on the menu.

my sister: Do you have peanuts?

me: Are the peanuts salted?

my sister: Is it sea salt or regular salt?

me: Are they whole peanuts, or halves and pieces?

my sister: Is it Morton salt?

me: On a scale of one to ten, just how salty are these peanuts?

my sister: Do you have cashews?

me: Almonds?

my sister: Pistachios?

me: Macademias?

my sister: It's macademia nut, not just "macademia."

me: I'm pretty sure it can go either way.

my sister: Is a peanut also called a pea? No. 

me: Yeah, but it's not "almond nut" either, it's just almond.

my sister: Press it.

me: Let's press it at the same time.

my sister: Then who's gonna ask the question?

me: I'll do Round One, you do Round Two.

my sister: Which one are you gonna ask?

me: How about I ask her stuff she already stated in the safety spiel? That would really annoy the hell out of her.

my sister: Does the "Put on Your Safety Belt" sign mean I have to put on my safety belt?

me: I know there's no smoking, but can I smoke in the lavatory?

my sister: So I put the oxygen mask on my child first...?

me: Do the tray tables have to be in the upright or upleft position...?

my sister: Press it.

me: Okay.

my sister: No don't.

me: Don't press it?

my sister: Don't press it.

me: Then you press it!

my sister: I don't wanna press it.

me: Have him press it. (points to man in the window seat)

my sister: Oh shit!

me: What?

my sister: (whispering) His blanket is off now...

me: Did you really have to whisper that?

my sister: (still whispering) Look at his uniform...he's a pilot!

me: What kind of pilot snags the window seat? A selfish bastard. imposter!

my sister: That wasn't my point. He works with these women.

me: Oh, right...yeah we shouldn't press it.

But we all know who would...

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