On planes.

This weekend Ryan and I are going to fly to upstate NY to my NYC roommate’s wedding.

Roommate Laura and Sara! In a taxi cab! OH SO MUCH FUN!!! (Once after going out our taxi driver was listening to a French radio station and I remember speaking in French to him. Badly. He was nice to pretend like I hadn’t been out till 5am. And that he could understand me. In French OR English.)

Our fantastic parents are tag teaming to watch S. so we can have a recoup weekend from this new season of becoming overnight toddler parents. I am sure we will have a fantastic time, but
I
do
not
like
flying.

I used to. I had a really bad flight coming back from a trip to France in high school and it completely psyched me out. My body is obviously not unfamiliar with the run of the mill anxiety attack so it was all like- “Freaking AWESOME! Something else to cause an ulcer over!”- and ran with it. I’m getting better, but now having a kid who is ours but not ours, my brain has branched out past the “You’ll die alone” rap that counselor Deb says I always end up at into “You’ll die and S. will have no one because he isn’t even legally yours.” My brain is very wily like that.

Which (barely) leads me into….

A list of completely unrelated plane stories:

1. We live very close to a small airstrip community. I like to run by there and look at all the hangers. It took me at least three runs to figure out why all of the garages were so huge. I’m not kidding. Once when I was running a guy drove by me in a one person plane and waved as he passed. That really helped break the case. This landing strip is even closer to another house I was initially all about buying when we first started looking. As it turns out, it was really a dump of a place and Ryan is very considerate to point this fact out every time we pass it. Which is often.

2. On a flight back from London in college, I sat next to a middle aged man- a stranger man. My brain did its anxiety attack thing and I automatically grabbed his hand during takeoff. I apologized, but couldn’t let go. He bought me wine while I was sleeping, (which I did refuse when I woke up although I was STILL holding his hand), and gave me a teddy bear from his workplace somewhere in Denmark which he said was supposed to be for someone in his family but that I could have it. He also gave me his phone number. What a nice man.

3. Recently I yelled at Ryan for booking us flights with the seats in different aisles. “I was angry!” (This is what we are teaching S. to say when he is… angry…) He did not quite realize what a faux pas he had committed. He told me I was being ridiculous, but he asked if the person next to him would move. It was nice that she moved so I didn’t have to physically help her to do so.

4. I have seen every episode of Grey’s Anatomy except one since it aired. Grey’s has kind of fallen into the Twilight (see previous post) category of embarrassing confessions, but what I’m about to say is even worse. In the season finale this past spring, a bunch of them get into a plane crash and one of my favorite characters- Lexi- dies. I think about it probably once a week and get angry at the writers all over again. That is not an exaggeration.

We leave on Friday morning for NY. That means Ryan only has 3 more days of me asking him to tell me that we aren’t going to die in a plane crash. At least on the way there. I’ll ask him about the way back while we are in NY. Obviously.

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