Day 126
I have made it back to Canada. It was a long trip that began in my native airport where the nearest McDonald's is always on the opposite concourse but seems like a good idea (it never is). The good news is that my luggage came down the chute (actually, it clogged the shoot) and the glass of my framed cow picture didn't break. Plus, I found a wayward friend who wanted to share a cab with me. The cabby drove a minivan and had a cartoonish turban on. I need to look up turbans on wikipedia because I have a feeling they aren't just for joking purposes.
Anyway, after boarding the plane we (my fellow passengers and I) were forced to wait for a half hour for 6 passengers who had not yet boarded. One of those passengers happened to be my seatmate. I learned the following things from her during our 3 1/2 hour flight:
She is 24 her husband is 29 and their baby is 20 months.
They had four dogs traveling with them. They were the reasons why we had to fly at a lower altitude, so they won't turn into shitzusicles.
Her mother and her sister both like Coach brand and both have Coach umbrellas. My seatmate likes Gap umbrellas but her Dad stepped on hers and "killed" it.
Her husband used to slick back his hair and wear cargo pants until she got ahold of him.
The reason why her baby looked at her with hatred was because she had just woken up from a bad dream about her mommy. So she says.
She likes Old Dutch brand potato chips.
She was in labor for 40 hours and 47 minutes.
She was called Satellite Head and Slinky Head when she was in public school.
She once drove all around town wearing those tiny eye protectors that you get from tanning salons.
Her kid has watched at least two Shrek movies per day for the past 365 days.
There are too many more things to list here. She did ask me what I wrote about...I told her I make up stories. It just sounded better than saying, I write about people I meet who tell total strangers their life stories.
While waiting for my baggage I watched as many goofy-looking items came down the carousel. Tonight I got to thinking that packing a picnic and watching ugly luggage come out of a shoot would make a great first date. It'd be a little better than going to a McDonald's when you are a vegetarian and sitting by the Playland you can no longer play in (don't worry he dumped me after awhile).
I invited myself to a Persian dinner this evening. My friend called me up and told me to bring chicken for myself. I said, "Okay." After I hung up I realized that I haven't eaten meat in the past seven years and I don't remember much of yesterday let alone purchasing any uncooked chicken seven years ago. How do you know what to pick out? Is there some kind of trick to it. I just bought a package of peppered salami. It's easy to tell if salami is good all you have to do is read the label and if it reads, "salami" it's fine. I don't see the need to go meddling around with unidentifiable chicken parts imagining if they are tender or not you have to do that too much with men when you are single.
Well, I think I am off to bed. The more you sleep the greater your odds of having a steamy John Stamos dream, right?
Goodnight Canada, I love you almost enough to learn your anthem.
-Canadian Castaway
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