Stuck in the middle

As I sit here between two strangers on what seems like a never ending flight I realize I have to urinate. With roughly fifty minutes left I am forced to question the strength of my bladder, can I hold it or should I go.

I take in my surroundings; on my right a man is reading and nonchalantly picking at the loose boogies in his nose, to my left a lady reads her Kindle. If I get up, I will disrupt the reading of my row partners. Ten more minutes go by and I realize that my urge has not increased or lessened with the time, a good sign.

Using the bathroom on flights is always a stressful thing for me. I do not know why but I hate doing it. No matter how many times I pee before I get on a plane I always feel like I still need to go. I know that if I do manage the courage to disrupt everyone and go that I will only push out the idea of having to pee but not the urine that should come with it. It is a relief to try but an overall waste.

After almost missing the connecting flight and with all Southwest flights with their policy of first come first serve seating, there were only middle seats left, which is why I am stationed between two strangers. I sat as close to the front of the plane as possible for a quick exit and find myself only three rows deep and you bet your ass I am keeping this in mind for the bladder issue. I bet I can get off this bitch in less than five minutes.

Legs are now crossed and there is still almost thirty minutes left. What to do, what to do. In the next fifteen minutes we are going to be told to put our tray tables back up and straighten out seats. Shit, they just said it, guess I've got to hold it. I hate this.

Life in the Fast Lane

I saw Dog the Bounty Hunter the other day; he was driving a green Eclipse and was about to get on 71N.  He went so slow through the intersection that I got stuck at the light; apparently he wasn’t out chasing any bond jumpers right then.  As he was turning I tried to point him out to my traveling partner Karl but she didn’t realize what I was saying in time. While waiting at the light, I was doing the math in my head;   I figured even with the time spent sitting there and him driving at snail’s pace, I could catch him and show Karl what I was talking about. 

Once the light turned green, my mission of searching for the green Eclipse began.  It took under ten minutes to spotted the car driving in the slow lane like it was Sunday, wait, it was Sunday.  Either way, I pointed him out to Karl and as we pulled up and began to pass we both saw a lady in her mid 40’s with long straggly hair.  Karl obnoxiously pointed out that, “that does NOT look like Dog the Bounty Hunter, and it isn’t even a guy for that matter!”    I laughed out loud and then thought about how more often than not, I say things just to amuse myself. 

I feel like Chunk from the Goonies when he claimed that Michael Jackson came over to his house to use the bathroom , then later admitted that is wasn’t true but still added that Michael’s  sister did.   Stories like that are fun to tell especially to gullible people like Karl.  

High Fucking Five

Whether you are celebrating a witty comeback, your favorite player just made a touchdown or for all I care you just won the lottery; I would prefer to be left out of the high five circle slap. First, I am not excited about whatever it is you are celebrating and second, even if I was excited about it, raising my arm in the air and slapping hands just doesn’t appeal to me.   I would totally prefer to fist pump at my side or do pelvic thrusts.  Please keep in mind none of which need a second person in this celebration.

 I despise hanging out, not realizing a game is on until out of nowhere someone I am sitting with starts passing out high fives like candy, get the fuck outta here, I wasn’t even watching that game.  I have been caught off guard and guilty of receiving a high five every now and again, usually it is in passing or I am trying to “fit in” with a new group and am just not ready to give a stare down towards someone new when they raise up that celebratory hand and not get one back.  I do have some stipulations that go along with the accepting and refusal of the notorious H5.  (which in my world it is now considered a virus) 

If I know you or do not like you the refusal is usually accompanied with a disgusted look as to why you would expect me to return this action.  However, if I am not familiar with you, I may conveniently turn away, experience a phantom phone call or just look around like I didn’t see the “wave” of the high five coming at me.  Begin able to avoid the H5 without confrontation or having to be open about my feelings is the most difficult.    

Now, I am not only avoiding high fives from people who don’t know I hate them, I am also avoiding them from the people who KNOW I hate them and think it’s funny to trick me into this unpleasant act.  Bitches.  

Gene Wilder

You can always tell when someone moved away or the last time they were home by what they refer to the townie bar as.   “Hey, I’m back in town, you wanna go hit up The Dog?  The Dog? It hasn’t been the dog for years”.   There is only one official bar where I live other than AMVETS, however you really can’t count that place because you need to have a membership to get in. My favorite part about the bar is that the people never change, the regulars rotate with every new name and the bartenders are all people you went to high school with.   

Over the years and throughout all the different owners the bar will always be a constant where I live.  It was the Brown Dog Sports Bar back when I was around 21 to 24, I didn’t hang out here a lot because I was still kicking it at my mom's crib.  The only thing I can tell you about that time was it was known for their award winning wings and the cute puppy dog boarder around the dining room.   Any place that can rock a puppy boarder is definitely a high class Sports Bar. 

After “the dog” we had Coaches, Coaches was my shit.  No need to order here, me and Gretchen, my partner in crime, would walk it and my 16oz pounder and her Michelob Ultra would be ready and waiting, always served lukewarm unless you were smart enough to order from the animal trough behind the bar with the popular beers iced down.   Kevin Bacon's stunt double, Clint Bryant and many other infamous individuals could be seen on any random night at Coaches. 

Coaches was also the place that brought out the klepto in me.  They had so many treasures that no one appreciated, I took it upon myself to steal and cherish these items.  Some of my alleged thievery consisted of and in no particular order were: a purple #12 pool ball, a lighted holiday sign, multiple martini glasses, a beer bucket with salt and pepper shakers, gene wilder (my best swipe to date), a music box thingy, small Christmas tree, Miller Lite beer mat, a large blow up display, and I am sure many, many other items.  The only thing that I truly wanted and never had the courage to take was the clock.  Could you imagine a bar without a clock?! It would have been classic. 

Now, the bar is called Kelly’s Place, I haven’t been there quite enough to form my skewed opinion,  I will say you have a 99% percent chance of seeing the owner  drunk and dancing behind the bar, Sexy, sexy.    I have a feeling Kelly’s Place may be around for a while so I have decided to keep my hands to myself and be on my best behavior when I choose to visit.  (for a while at least)