I'm the reason you only get plastic utensils on planes

So, I think that occasionally fantasizing about violence is healthy. I mean, c'mon everyone does it . . . don't they? They do, right? Or maybe I just tell myself that so I don't feel bad. I will leave that question for another time I guess.

Today while waiting for my 5 hour flight to take off and wing me home I overheard this group of girls/women. At what age do you refer to someone as a woman instead of a girl? Anyway, they were waiting to board (which hadn't even been announced yet) and crowding the damn area where you have show your boarding pass. So the boarding groups get called and I get to go ahead of people (that's right, I have Elite status, bitches) and one of them steps right in front of where I am trying to walk and drops her bag. Now, I know I could have just climbed over her bag and brushed past her (that's what a mature person would have done, I'm sure). Instead, I turned to her and said something to the effect of " you know, your bag is in the way. People need to get by you." To which she doesn't respond, just kicks, KICKS her bag a little out of the way. And then she turns to her friends and calls me a bitch. Hmmmm, nice right?

I let it go and proceed to board. I get to my seat and get comfy (or as comfy as you can get on a plane) and other passengers begin to board. Guess who is seated directly behind me? Yep, bag-kicking girl. I didn't realize that kicking the bag was foreshadowing what would come next. Now, for some lucky reason, on an otherwise fairly full flight, my row is empty :) Yeah me!!! Bag-kicking girl and her friends are complaining about how crowded they are and I'm stretched out across three seats with a blanket. Bag-kicking girl also has one of those huge purses that I have previously discussed. I'm not sure what she was carrying in it but she was having a hard time getting it under the seat, my seat. So she starts kicking it to get it to go. And kicking it, and kicking it. What the hell does she have in there? I finally turn around and ask her to please stop kicking my seat and suggest that if it won't fit under the seat she should put it in one of the overhead bins. She doesn't respond just gives her purse one final kick and gets it lodged under my seat. I turn around, snuggle under the blanket and she asks her friends what my problem is and why do I have to be so bitchy.

Note to kicking girl: Learn a new word. Bitch is going to wear out soon.

We take off and are served breakfast. I am looking at the plastic spoon and the line from Robin Hood about removing his heart with a spoon pops into my head. It's from Robin Hood Prince of Thieves. Ya know the line, don't lie. It is followed up with something about "A spoon cousin, why a spoon?" "Because it would hurt more you twit" or something close. And I flash on me removing kicking girl's heart with my plastic spoon. I reject the idea because I'm pretty sure that the plastic would break before I could get through the breastbone. But a metal spoon would probably get the job done, don't ya think?

I think this is a perfectly natural thought process, not unhealthy at all. After all, I didn't actually attack her with my plastic spoon. THAT would have been bitchy.

Sometimes I forget where I live

Sometimes I forget where I live. Not my house per se (I can give the cabbie damn good directions assuming he speaks slur), but the mentality of people around me. I came to the realization shortly after finishing the bar exam and re-entering "real life" that law school had lulled me into a false sense of security. In law school I was surrounded by intelligent people (granted I thought some of them were complete idiots, but intelligent nonetheless) and re-entering reality was somewhat of a shock.

Anyway, about forgetting where I live. I was on a flight from Texas to New York. Being the experienced traveler that I am, I have now purchased the oversized purse that can carry my cellphone, blackberry (yes, I have both, don't ask), wallet, keys, Garmin, checkbook, gum, cigarettes, notepad, lighter, pens, highlighters, sticky notes, lipstick, chapstick, feminine hygiene products, Ipod, a book and possibly one of the planes lost over the Bermuda Triangle.

On this particular flight, the book in my enormous handbag happened to be Richard Dawkins's The God Delusion. I am minding my own business, reading my damn book, and in general thankful to be away from phones and e-mail for 2 whole hours. I am not bothering a soul! Guess what happens? About thirty minutes into the flight a middle-aged man in a dark suit sits down in my row. Keep in mind this is an unforgivable transgression already as I have an entire three seats to myself and am stretched out to enjoy my book and in general ignore everyone but the flight attendant who will bring me Diet Coke and coffee. (One of each please and leave the can of soda?).

Where does he get off making me move my feet? There are plenty of other seats and NO before you ask, I don't want to join the Mile High Club (that's another story).

So anyway, Seat Stealer (SS) comes into my row and makes to sit down but inconveniently my feet are there and as I am ignoring anyone without caffeinated beverages to offer so it takes awhile for his awkward presence to sink in. Eventually (and with a loud and drawn out sigh) I move my legs so I am only occupying two of the three seats. He sits. I ignore him to go back to my reading. He sits and is staring at the book. Or me? I don't know, he is staring and it is starting to interrupt my reading/ignoring routine. And he isn't offering a soda as far as I can tell. There is no dark roast aroma emanating from him so I don't think he has Folgers somewhere.

I think to myself, "Self, continue to ignore this person. This can come to no good." Do I listen to myself? NO! Of course not.

ME: Can I help you with something?

SS: I couldn't help but notice the book you are reading.

ME: Oh. (what a witty response, I know. Apparently I wasn't awake yet or I might have had an inkling of where this was headed)

SS: I was just wondering if there was anyway I could help.

ME: uh, excuse me? (blame it on the lack of caffeine)

SS: Obviously you are in need of some spiritual help. I have several tracts with me that I believe would help someone young and impressionable like yourself. I am always sad when I see a young person heading down the wrong path. (pulls out cartoon Jesus tracts and tries to hand them to me)

ME: Really, no thanks.

SS: Reading that sort of blasphemy will . . .

ME: Sir, I understand that you have your opinion. I have mine. Unlike you, I am keeping mine to myself and reading a book on a flight to meetings where I will negotiate deals for sums of money you can't possibly begin to fathom. Now, since you sat down here and decided to try force your opinion on me, let me give you mine. If you think that you can help me after I am done then I'll take your material. Either way I want you to leave b/c my calves are cramping. I do not believe in the Bible. The Bible was written by a bunch of sexist men with political agendas. Politicians decided what chapters to include. There are so many internal inconsistencies in the Bible that if someone offered it into evidence with me in court I would have the document ripped to shreds and have the jury believe that I was J.C. walking by the time I was done. I am a highly-educated, divorced, independent, self-sufficient woman. I have no respect for so-called Christians who believe that their way of life is the only "right" way of life and walk around forcing it on everyone else. I believe this country was founded on the ideal of a secular government to prevent people of one religion foisting it on others. I believe I have the right to free speech which allows me to read this book in public which I am sure you find absolutely ghastly. I also believe in the equality of women and minorities and people of all faiths. I also know that you believe you are doing your Christian duty, and because I am such a young, impressionable, helpless woman, (sarcasm much?) your Southern upbringing won't allow you to watch me read such things as, horror of horrors, a book with a different opinion. Now, my opinion can best be stated as respectful non-believer. I respect your right to believe and worship as you wish. Perhaps you could afford me the same respect?

SS: I'll pray for you. (tries to hand me the literature)

ME: I'll read yours if you read mine (hold the book out)

SS: You are trying to tempt me.

ME: Give me a break, buddy. If I was trying to tempt you, I would be wearing a black corset, fishnets, a garter belt and putting a collar on you.

SS: turns red in the face

ME: Now, will you kindly get the hell out of my row so I can stretch back out?

Ah, here comes the flight attendant. Maybe she'll leave a coffee pot instead of the Diet Coke can?