2 Shits

Let's be realistic: airplane bathrooms are too small for regular people to have sex in. Plus, who could focus with that sanitizer smell? Maybe if you fetishize cleaning products and/or flight attendants you could do it. Not me.

Speaking of airplane sex, I don't think I have ever been on a plane with a stranger I found attractive. I was on a plane with Shania Twain once, but she was in first class and anyway I'm strictly dickly. Sorry, Shania.

Man, those flight attendants do NOT come around with that damn beverage cart often enough. Also, I feel bad ordering a Glenlivet and soda, you know, because it kind of ruins good scotch, but that's the only scotch they have. Hey, airlines: Unless you want me to bring my own Chivas, maybe consider dropping Courvoisier and bringing some blended scotch aboard. Nobody drinks Courvoisier except Ludacris and old guys named Lester or Jerry.

I get uncharacteristically weepy on planes, which is why Band of Horses, The Smiths, and all non-upbeat Dire Straits songs are now banned from my in-flight playlist.

What kind of grown adult thinks it's appropriate to have a long cell phone conversation about the pros and cons of a day hike in a crowded airline terminal?

That seatbelt sign is becoming something akin to a god to me now. I don't need to get up, exactly, but when it's illuminated, I'm nonetheless stricken with anxiety: What if I DO need to get up? The seatbelt sign's pitiless eye watches over me always. I am helpless.