The Mile High (Blood Pressure) Club

Howdy bitches!

I have been in Nashville past few days eating fried gator, drinking beer and hiding my Judaism. Unfortunately my hotel doesn’t have Bravo (already complained to management) and there will be no recap this week. On a lighter note, Jim Marchese tweeted me and I was able to tell him personally about my distaste for his light wash denim #troll.

True to form my pilgrimage to get here was… interesting. Anyone who knows me knows I have the shittiest luck on planes. There was the time when I was 12 and got hit by a Dutch woman for kicking her seat, the time the crypt keeper 95 year old had a heart attack in my lap on my way home from London AND MOST RECENTLY the time I sat next to Shamu’s obese fire-crotched cousin on my flight to Nashville.

I get that obesity is kind of a disease and this is politically incorrect (I can already hear the aggressive emails flooding my inbox) BUT as human beings we must be mindful of our pros and cons. For instance, I am fully aware a con of mine is my incessant need to share my digestive issues with strangers. And I probably should stop saying “fuck” so much.

Because of these truths, I try to limit my exposure to small children, Mormons and holistic practitioners. If one more fucker tries to insist exercise will help my bowel movements I am going to flip… doesn’t anyone get that I am the pioneer woman for “Say NO To Cardio”?

I should clarify I have no problem with fat people. I appreciate their lifestyle and plan to be amongst their body type one day.

As I settled into my chic economy middle seat, I was incredibly pleased with my seatmate to the left (a mid-30s New Yorker with 3 phones, a Balenciaga bag full of sleeping pills and a standoffish personality – no potential for idle chit chat). The plane was very full and mere seconds away from take off. And sweet – I am next to an open seat!

As soon as a smile of relief spread across my face, the plane shook disturbingly. I choked on the smell of bacon and diabetes as a behemoth took his first step down the aisle. I looked up hesitantly…Fuck. Sure enough, he sat right next to me. Fuck. He had worn sweatpants and was armed with a bag of McDonalds – ready to rumble.

It’s one thing to fly coach, it’s another thing to fly next to someone you could skin, inflate and live inside of. For the first time in my life, I became a victim of the armrest boundary free passenger program. I am not someone who is great sharing personal space and most definitely not a bitch who was ready to be a human pillow for a 4-hour flight. The flight attendant assured me I would have to retract my armrest so that my flight mate could fit in his (and my) seat. Pardon?  Booboo passed out after his 8th Big Mac and I was stuck watching the Main Menu and scrambling the letters to make words because he was drooling on my shoulder and blocking my armrest remote with his fucking tricep.

In reality he had 1 1/2 seats for himself and I had only half of my own seat and a near panic attack. Despite my frugality, I tried flagging the stewardess and begging her for the open seat in first class. Trying to arrange this without waking (and offending) the beast was a struggle and ultimately not an option.

I probably wouldn’t have written about this if he was a nice person I could empathize with but he was a life ruiner.

About 2 hours in, I needed a Bloody Mary or I was going to jump out of an emergency exit. To paint a picture – big boy was lounging across our seats, spread eagle, straddling both his and my leg area, and SNORING. His ham hock of a foot (shoes off by the way) was plopped down on my travel bag. I wanted to shank myself. I had to get my credit card out to pay and needed him to get his sweaty ass foot off my shit.

I gave him a gentle tap… no response. I tapped more aggressively.

“Hi sir, so sorry to bother you, just needed to grab my wallet. Again, so sorry to bother you.”

I know via written word I seem like I would be one ballsy bitch but the truth is I am a total pussy in real life.

He looked at me like I had just eaten the last petal of his Awesome Blossom. He let out an irritated sigh accompanied with an eye roll.


The stewardess handed me my beverage with an empathetic smile and I quickly sucked it down. I really had no choice, I was unable to put my tray down without chaffing Ginger Snaps’ nipple. I swallowed my pride and let Rotundra abuse my personal space. I am now a proud member of the mile high blood pressure club.

American Airlines – you owe me a free flight and at least 67 drink coupons. Kisses.


2 thoughts on “The Mile High (Blood Pressure) Club

  1. bensbitterblog says:

    Sooo…rude. Seriously if you’re going to take up 1 1/2 seats at least be a little self aware enough to know that you shouldn’t be sleeping on someone all akimbo and sigh passive aggressively when one thing doesn’t go your way. Ughhh.

  2. Beth says:

    Oh, he’ll no!! You actually had to PAY for your drink? Lardass should have paid your rent, and A.A. Should have given you enough drink tix to fill the aforementioned Balenciaga!!!

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