Traveling always comes with its own set of challenges. There’s packing, flight delays, screaming kids (whether it’s your own or someone else’s) just to name a few. But today I’d like to discuss one very specific thing I noticed after being on 4 flights in about 3 weeks.

Most of the time they keep the aircraft at a reasonably cool temperature. Sometimes it’s even downright cold and then you’re pissed. I was coming from Orlando where it was 9,374 degrees, so you try to be as close to naked as possible. Then you get on the plane and it’s a suddenly a comfortable temperature for a penguin. I know, just bring a sweatshirt. I find in the Orlando summer heat, the thought of even holding a sweatshirt gives me hot flashes.

So my second of the 4 flights I mentioned had the most challenges by far. We were flying from NY to Orlando, the flight was supposed to leave at 8:30PM. It left at 1:10AM. It was like an unintentional red eye with no time change to make it worth your while. And yes, our 5 year old was with us. She did shockingly well, as she thought “flying on a plane in the middle of the night was cool.” That, and I was so delirious I gave her like 7 more gummy worms than she would normally be allowed. Or it might have been 27. I didn’t care, as long as she was occupied and the number of “are we were there yets?” remained under 10. 11 and I feel the need to seek desperation refuge in the airplane bathroom made for the small minority of adults the size of Ariana Grande. You know how there are those breeds that have teeny tiny versions of their average size dogs? I think they’re called “toy,” so a Toy Maltese would be one example. Well, Ariana Grande is like a Toy Human.

Anyway, back to the pointless red-eye. The flight was relatively smooth and landed on time. When you land, you slowly taxi to the gate which I understand. But once you get there, they always shut off the air conditioning on the plane. Now given there are a lot of people all crammed into a metal cylinder, the temperature rises at an unbelievably fast rate. Like it can go from 70 to 90 degrees in like 3 minutes. I’m also someone who inevitably feels nauseous after the plane lands just from the motion. Now, I think most would agree that there are few worse feelings than being nauseous. Except being hot and nauseous. It’s like you’re already hot from being nauseous, and then someone throws you in a sauna where there are 3 screaming kids. Then you sit. And you wait. And you wait longer for people to get their luggage and GO!!! 5 minutes feels like 50 and you’re now nauseous, hot, frustrated, and it starts to smell bad…gas, BO, the tuna sandwich someone unwisely brought on the plane, their breath after. Just as you think you’re about to go postal, the line in the aisle starts to move and your sanity is saved. Until you get to baggage claim and they’ve lost your luggage. Why do people go anywhere?!?!

Anyway, I’m sure there’s a reason they can’t keep the air on while we wait to deplane, but frankly I don’t care what it is. It sucks. So whoever is responsible for me feeling as if I’m going to faint and barf at the same time, you are the douchebag of the day.

Today’s entry is short and sweet.  Why?  Well, even thinking about it actually makes me physically ill. I was on a flight home from LA, and had just come back from the restroom.  As you know, airplane bathrooms are pretty tragic to begin with, nothing good happens in there.  I never understood the whole Mile High Club thing. You want to screw a Mile High, have sex in Denver.  I’d have an easier time getting turned on at an assisted living facility than an airplane bathroom.

Anyway, when you gotta go, you gotta go. So I went.  I walked in, looked down at the toilet seat and what did I see?  A pubic hair.  The nerve of someone leaving this behind.  It’s honestly worse than something being left IN the toilet because at least you can immediately flush it and move on.  I quickly turned away from it, but knowing it was there was enough to drive me over the edge.  I mean, it’s such a small place, didn’t the person it used to be attached to see it when they went to flush?  It was so long, how could they miss it??  Did they see it and just not care???  The mere length of it alone could lead me in a whole other direction but no, I must stop.  The granola bar I ate about 10 minutes ago is quickly creeping up my esophagus just thinking about it. I’ve got to move on.

Today’s Douchebag of the Day is to whom that wiry pube used to be attached.  I curse you, Wiry Pube Passenger, and the moment that pube escaped from your vagaygay or shlong.

Today’s douchebag’s feelings won’t be hurt, because she has no feelings. She’s the voice of the GPS in a rental car.  Quick backstory, my husband and a bunch of his college friends go on a golf trip every year. Each year they pick a different city that has noteworthy golf courses and spend time as they say eating, drinking, bonding, and golfing. Now clearly that’s a bunch of bullshit, they do it to get away from their wives and kids for a few days. And that’s fine, us girls need that sometimes too, we just don’t get to do it once a year like our asshole husbands.

I kid, they’re actually a great group of guys.  For their 40th birthday blowout they chose Pebble Beach in California, and decided to invite the wives.  I was excited because all the wives are incredibly cool, those Ivy League nerds did very well for themselves. The wives all came with different ideas of how they wanted to spend the days. Some wanted to bike, hike, take tours and learn new things. I learned one thing about myself a long time ago, while as humans, our closest relative is supposedly the ape, I think in my case it’s not. It’s the sloth.  Innately, I like to sit on my ass whenever possible, especially while on vacation. Just give me a lounge chair by the pool and/or beach and I won’t get up unless I really have to pee.  Ladies, you know that feeling when you’re holding your pee for so long and finally it’s like, you feel that first drop desperately trying to escape your vagina it almost becomes painful?  That’s when I’ll get up to pee.

Anyway, one thing a bunch of us girls have in common is we like to shop. So one day we headed out to Carmel, a quaint local town with great shopping that was about 10-15 minutes away.  One of the girls said she would drive so we all hopped in her car.  There were 3 of us in the car, the girl driving requested the person who sat in the passenger seat help navigate. Here’s the deal, Helen Keller had a better sense of direction than me so I quickly went to the backseat. We plugged an address into the GPS and took off. It started out ok, but quickly went awry. We realized we’d been driving for 20-25 minutes and still no sign of the town. We continued on, attempting to follow this woman’s directions as she sounded so full of herself with her British accent and all. It’s like, you’re telling me when to turn left, you’re not the Duchess of York so get off your fucking high horse. Anyway, another 10 minutes passed and we quickly realized we had just made a complete circle and were pretty much back where we started.  Suddenly we hear the Duchess of York wannabe say, “You have reached your destination. Please pull over and exit the car.”  We looked around, clearly we weren’t at our destination, there was no town, shops, or restaurants in sight.  This bitch literally gave up on us. Like, listen you idiots, I could drone on for another 2 hours and you morons still won’t get there so just cut your losses get the hell out of the car.  We were so pissed, I wanted to fight her. I quickly realized her being computer generated meant fighting wasn’t an option. I would’ve kicked her ass.

Shout out to my girls Sam and Alexis for actually getting us there. Had it been up to me we might’ve ended up in Compton instead of Carmel. GPS lady, you are without question, the douchebag of the day.