Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Flying with Liza

Every time I travel, I literally tell myself I’m never flying again. Even though I know it’s probably not realistic, it’s something I should seriously consider. The other day I was flying from LA to Chicago on a 6am flight.

First of all, I'm still amazed there are still people out there who are unaware of the security rules. I mean unless you are Walt Disney and have been frozen for the last 50 years, there is no valid excuse as a living human being to not know you have to take off your shoes, or take your laptop out of your bag. Come on people, let's get with it here!  

Moving on... I was flying Southwest so it was first-come first-serve seating.  Fortunately, I was in the “A" group and was able to snag the window seat in the emergency exit row. In my opinion, this is probably the second best seat on the plane because of the leg room. Because I had only gotten three hours of sleep the night before, my intention was to catch up on some much needed beauty sleep.

That whole plan ended about a minute later when this grandmother and her baby grandson decided to sit directly right behind me. When she sat down all I could say to myself was “mother f’er!” Out of all the seats that were available, why did the one behind me look so appealing? Right away the friggin baby starts crying. And the crying is not one of these soft whimpers, it’s more of a ear deafening scream. To make matters worse, every fellow passenger that walked down the aisle gave me this annoying look of “Well you’re screwed” or “Thank God it’s not me.” In order to resist from bitch-slapping the baby and his grandmother, I take a big deep breath and tell myself that I’ll just block it out when I’m allowed to put my headphones on.

As the boarding dwindled down, I saw light at the end of the tunnel. The middle seat next to me was vacant. Maybe this was God’s way of balancing everything out and his way of apologizing to me for the screeching baby. Well apparently God was on vacation because the last person to board the plane was this middle-aged woman, who wore a jump-suit, reeked of perfume and of course sat in the middle seat next to good old little Jonno.

I’m going to call this woman Liza, because she literally looked liked the love child between Liza Minnelli and David Guest. 

Damn you two for procreating!
The first thing Liza says to me and the guy sitting near the aisle, “Well aren’t you guys glad you didn’t get some fat old person sitting next to you?”

Liza did have a valid point, it could have been worse. At the same time, she was no spring chicken and was not the size of a stick. Liza then goes into some story about how she barely got on the plane because this other woman tried to cut in front of her. Liza then went on to reveal the woman she got into an argument was African-American.

“I really don’t like getting in arguments with black people,” said Liza. “You just never know how they’re going to react. They can sue you for being racist and stuff.”

Not only was I shocked how ignorant Liza was, but also because they’re happened to be two African-American women sitting right behind us (next to the crying baby). And by no means does Liza speak quietly.  

“Sorry I talk a lot,” said Liza. “I’m Jewish and I have a big nose.”

Thank you Liza for helping the Jewish stereotypes out there and putting a stop to Anti-Semitism around the world.

Liza then bends over to get something out of her carry-on bag and I couldn’t help but notice that she had a tramp stamp of Shaggy from "Scooby-Doo!" How friggin random is that? I mean what the hell is a 50-year-old woman doing with a Shaggy tattoo on her ass? And why was I looking at it? My best explanation for looking at it, is the same reason you slow down on the highway to look at a car accident. You know you shouldn't look, but you can't help yourself from staring. Liza did not seem afraid to show off her tramp stamp because she bent over numerous times. And most of times it seemed like she was doing it for no reason. Can you blame her? As my mom always told me, “If you got it flaunt it.” 

At this point the screaming baby seemed like heaven compared to Liza. If there was any saving grace, the burly man in my row sitting near the aisle was willing to talk to her. Liza and this man pretty much talked during the whole 4-hour flight. I was probably able to only fall asleep for 5 minutes at most. Things got even more uncomfortable, when Liza decided to feel the man’s leg and commented how strong it felt. It was very obvious that Liza was not only annoying, but a filthy whore! (Sorry ladies, but I had to.)  

And for some reason, Liza would keep on looking at me when she talked to the man. Because she kept looking at me I felt obligated to do a fake smile at her jokes. And I don’t know if she had hemorrhoids or something because she would constantly shift her butt in her seat. Each time she shifted, she not only bumped into my leg, but would expose her God damn nauseating Shaggy tramp stamp! 

I was completely ecstatic when she finally decided to doze off. That was until Liza’s dozing off consisted of taking off her shoes and spreading her feet on the seat in front of us. She apparently did not care that her feet were in my personal leg space.  It was at that moment when I finally understood why humans murder other humans.

When the flight finally landed, I jumped off that plane as fast as I could to get away from that obnoxious creature.  In hindsight, even though the flight was miserable I did learn a few things...

1. There can be a lot worse things on a plane than a crying baby.
2. Never get a Shaggy tramp stamp.


Friday, July 01, 2011

Baby Baby Baby...

The other night, I got home from work on a Thursday night at around 9pm. I parked my car and then heard this strange sound, but I just assumed it was some noise my Prius was making. When I opened the door, it sounded like there was a baby crying literally right next to me.

The problem was that it was pitched dark outside, so I really couldn’t see a thing. In addition, I park in a shared carport in an alley behind my apartment and there was not one single living creature in sight besides me and this mysterious crying baby. So to put it mildly, I was a bit freaked out. Actually not a bit, I was scared shitless. And if you’ve never experienced hearing a baby crying, in a dark, deserted alley, it’s quite a creepy and eerie feeling.

The thought did occur to me that the sound could have been some cat or animal that was trapped underneath something, but the noise was very distinct and extremely close to me, so I was pretty sure it sounded like a baby. It was also garbage night, so there was a garbage can right next to the carport. Using my detective retardo skills, I came to the conclusion that this baby/animal was either in the garbage can or trapped underneath the car I share a carport with.

Now, I did not open the garbage can or poke my head underneath the car for two reasons…

1. If it was an animal, I didn’t want it to jump out at me and latch onto my face.

2. This might sound a bit insane, so please bear with me….The thought also occurred to me that maybe the baby crying was a recorded sound used to startle me so then somebody could rob and attack me.

Some people may call me "The Baby Whisperer"

In case it was a baby, I did not want to leave it abandoned so I decided to look for some help. I figure if it was an animal or some other human that was going to attack me, it’s always good to have numbers. Plus, I wanted to make sure I was not going insane and this baby crying sound did indeed exist. So I decided to turn to my always available and unemployed Persian neighbor.

Here’s a little background about my Persian neighbor…
  • He has been unemployed ever since I’ve lived at my place, which has been over a year now.
  • When I walk into my apartment or leave it, he is always there to greet me.
  • There are times when I don’t even see him and he sneaks up behind me to say hello.
  • He is an extremely nice gentleman, but tends to be a bit chatty.
  • He is also the same individual that told me I have a beautiful voice because he listens to me sing in the shower outside my bathroom window.
Despite all of his irritating characteristics, I knew I could count on my Persian neighbor to be available and help me during this crisis. So I walk up to his door and knock and he is of course not home. Are you kidding me? This guy is always friggin home and the one time I actually need him he is nowhere to be seen! I then call my buddy who lives down the street and of course he did not answer because he was at his girlfriend’s place.

With not other option, I decide to go in my apartment, recollect my thoughts and figure out some sort of plan. I was extremely tired and very hungry, so all I wanted to do was eat some grub and watch one of my DVR’d Jimmy Kimmels. But I knew I couldn’t do that because there was a damn baby to save! My neurotic mind was concerned that police could find out through some hidden camera that I abandoned this baby, maybe I could be prosecuted. I also thought what if this baby unfortunately dies and it’s ghost comes back to haunt me for the rest of my life?

Given both of these very likely scenarios, I decided to get a flashlight and be a God damn hero. As I flashed the light towards my carport, I fortunately did not see or hear a sound. I might not have given it the best and longest effort, but I did give it a shot. Till this day, I honestly have no idea what the heck that sound was.

So let’s cut to about a week later… I get an e-mail forward from my mom. It’s one of these forwards from the police that give you a list of ten things to be aware of so you can avoid being robbed or assaulted. I quickly skimmed through the list, until I come to number nine on the list.

9.“Another Safety Point: Someone just told me that her friend heard a crying baby on her porch the night before last, and she called the police because it was late and she thought it was weird… The police told her 'Whatever you do, DO NOT open the door…' The lady then said that it sounded like the baby had crawled near a window, and she was worried that it would crawl to the street and get run over. The policeman said, 'We already have a unit on the way, whatever you do, DO NOT open the door.' He told her that they think a serial killer has a baby's cry recorded and uses it to coax women out of their homes thinking that someone dropped off a baby. He said they have not verified it, but have had several calls by women saying that they hear baby's cries outside their doors when they're home alone at night.”

So maybe I'm really not as crazy as I think I am? Also, does this mean that serial killers think I’m a woman?