On airplane etiquette

Well, it's the start of my favorite (read most hated) time of the year.  This week I went to Pittsburgh to visit close friends which was super fun . . . . except for the airplane part.  I had three legs to get there and back, each with its own little airplane etiquette lesson.

1.  When traveling, buy two seats if your body size warrants it.  I appreciate that air travel is expensive (I buy enough airline tickets each year to understand, believe me) but if your body mass requires two seats, please buy two seats.  Of course at Thanksgiving the airplane loads are always crazy busy, but having to sit next to someone who invades my space and that of the person on his other side is not the greatest way to start off the trip.  I was feeling awkward for this man, I'm sure he was feeling awkward as well . . . . and it was HOT.  It was hot to begin with and unfortunately he didn't have enough wiggle room to remove his coat or sweater.  I did, but he was sending off million degree sun spurs in all directions.  And right before we left the plane he said, "Are you going to visit family?"  "No, friends" I respond.  "Oh nice.  Tell 'em I said hello."  " . . . oh . . . ok."

2.  When traveling alone and you are nervous, repeat your mantra silently as 90 minutes of it can get old for those around you.  On the flight from Charlotte into Pittsburgh I was sitting next to a girl who was clearly afraid of flying.  She sat down, pulled out a doll, and then started repeating some mantra.  I don't actually know what she was saying, but she repeated it just loud enough for me to hear she was making noise but not loud enough for me to understand her ALL THE WAY TO PITTSBURGH.  She was so focused that when the flight attendant came and asked her if she wanted anything to drink she couldn't even look at her.  Instead she just stared straight ahead, eyes bulging, murmuring her little mantra.

3.  When traveling with a girl you're trying to impress, not everyone needs to hear how great you are.  Especially when the flight is 3 and a half hours and you have no inside voice.  Thank you for your service, but lecturing your date on how you allow her live freely is probably not making her want to go on vacation with you again.  I was happy to have a direct flight back to Dallas, but sad when I realized the idiot on the aisle seat needed to inform not only the girl he took skiing in Vermont but also me (who was trying desperately not to listen but to no avail) about how wonderful he is.  I'm sure you'll all agree that a veteran, super smart (just naturally smart, like he doesn't need to really work hard in school), tall (even taller than the rest of his family), good looking (he's just blessed to have good looking stubble), and engaging (he can talk to anyone - yes but the question is are they trying to figure out how to gouge their own eyes out?!) guy is a winner.  You'd never want to let that go . . . . but when we got off the plane I was this close to taking that poor girl's hand and just running with her to she could get away from his gravitational pull.

Ugh, dear government.  Please release the beam-me-up technology.  I hate flying.  On a positive note, Captain Williams made the smoothest landing I've ever experienced.  I only thought we were plummeting to our death once and that's about twenty-seven times less than normal.

Hobby Lobby is my Vegas

This year I decided to make my own Christmas gifts.  My mom says I'm following in her footsteps, but that remains to be seen.  Anyway, last Christmas Andrea gave me the Big Ass Book of Crafts, and armed with a few projects and a lot-o-ideas, I headed to Hobby Lobby.  Three hours later I emerged with a cart full of goodies . . . . . and then suddenly realized I'd lost three hours of my day.  I thought I'd been in there for about 45 minutes.  But, like a casino, there are no windows, no clocks, endless rows of cool stuff, and glitter and pink feathers at every turn.  How can you not spend at least three hours in there?!  Plus, everything is always at least 20% off.  Which makes me want to make 20% more gifts.  Even Harley loves crafting!

Exile on academic island

College professing is one of those jobs where, after a few years in, you suddenly realize you're living in exile in a tiny little fenced in pen on the island of academia.  Before you know it, your whole live revolves around school, and not in a good way.  Sure, we're all working 60 hours a week plus grading and lesson planning and sure we all spend 6, sometimes even 7, days a week in the office, but it's all the other stuff that really gets frustrating.  For example:

- You can't go anywhere without seeing a student: gym, restaurant, food store, our joke of a mall, Target, movie theater, even the gas station.  And students, you might think it's awkward to see your professors out and about but it's even weirder for us.  Do you know why?  Because there are so many of you, sometimes it's hard to place you outside of the classroom. Or maybe we recognize you but can't remember your name but remember when we had you (3 years ago, Italian 1020 section three at noon) but not your name.  Yup, awkward.

- The students find you on facebook and stalk you, no matter how many times you explain to them why you don't "friend" current students.  I already know a lot more about your life than you realize and I don't need to see that your sick day was a result of the "wicked kegger" you attended last night.

- Evil fees keep chasing you.  Like fees for professional organizations.  Or conference fees.  Or registration for conferences even though you're not presenting, attending, or chairing a panel . . . but you're subjecting yourself to the shark pit that are the interviews so you shell out another couple hundred (not to ever be reimbursed by anyone.  Ever).

- You operate three to five semesters ahead of the current one because you have to be selecting books, writing schedules, updating the course catalogue, selecting names for rotating subject classes, and finding new teachers to cover those "extra" courses.

You know how they say animals sense things like earthquakes before they happen?

Mine doesn't.  And he doesn't care when they hit.  We've had two earthquakes in two days and both times Harley could not have cared less.  On earthquake number one he was busy eating (read pushing his food up over the side of the bowl and then leaving it in an ugly somewhat moist pile around the cute little bowl that is supposed to keep him from pushing said food up and over the side).  On earthquake number two he was doing his other favorite thing: burrowing into the trains on my pageant gowns and making a fort.  And not because of the earthquake, he hides things in there.  Like mouse tails (not real ones, duh) and hair ties that he steals from me.  So I guess he won't be saving me from any collapsing walls any time soon.