air travel...

This is a long one, but bear with me. As you may know, Zoey and I recently spent a week in beautiful Caifornia (pictures are soon to follow). I love being in California but I despise getting to California. So, Melissa and I met in Chicago (after identical mornings of craziness at the airports because of the snow the day before) so we could suffer the long leg of the flight together. Once on the plane in Chicago, however, we were informed the flight would be completely full and we could not sit together because, with our two babies, that would make five passengers and each row is only equipped with four oxygen masks. Disappointed, we chose two aisle seats across from one another and prayed silently for good row partners.
Melissa did not get so lucky. Two rather large men sat in her row, though they tried very hard for the entire flight to keep from infringing on her space. I was even more unlucky.
Picture this: skinny wanna-be rocker chick in too-tight black jeans (the cheap kind - yes, I am a snob) and a faux-leather tank top that laces up in front (we're flying from Chicago, mind you) and a dirty looking ski cap; no boobs to speak of (this is important to my rambling, believe it or not) and wearing way too much out-of-date cheap make-up. So, Tracy (I learned her name later) slides past me into the window seat. Now my prayers become more earnest as I plead for a good middle-seat partner and this is what happens.
A tall blonde-haired, blue-eyed wanna-be snowboarder wearing dirty jeans and a ripped t-shirt plops down in the middle seat and says to Tracy, "Dude [not adding the dude in myself], my friends and I were checking you out in the airport and Jed said to me, 'Man, I gotta get me a piece of that,' and then Carl said, 'Yeah, I gotta get me a piece of that, too,' and I told them, 'I'm gonna get me a piece of that.' Can I buy you a drink?" To which I was expecting Tracy to request a seat change but, oh, no: she giggles. And it all went downhill from there.
Over the course of the 5 hour flight, Nolan (the sleazy middle-seat guy) convinces Tracy to leave her boyfriend - who she is on her way home from visiting in Chicago - because, and I quote, "People are nothing but circles. I, man, I am a complete circle and you, sweet Tracy, are a complete circle and, dude, complete circles belong together." And she bought it.
Some other highlights from Nolan and Tracy's interaction: 7 vodkas and cranberry juice for him and three for her - all graciously paid for by Nolan; language and topics that would make Howard Stern feel uncomfortable (or join in); 5 trips to the restroom for Nolan to do goodness knows what; one trip to the restroom for Tracy with Nolan (we actually saw them go in together and the girl sitting in front of Melissa turned and said, "Please tell me that is not actually happening," to which I replied, "Based on what they are talking about, it is actually happening."; two complaints by Nolan regarding the crying babies which earned him an angry remark from yours truly; an hour-long discourse on Tracy's imminent boob-job which ended with her lifting up her faux-leather tank top to show Nolan the "before" so he could appreciate the after and, might I add, she really does need the boob-job (but lifting up your shirt? With no bra on? On an airplane?); and, finally, an exchange of digits so they could meet up over the weekend because - according to Nolan - two must actually have s-e-x to prove they are meant to be together and, of course, Tracy agreed.
To Nolan and Tracy - you so deserve each other but, please - I am begging - get a room.