There are many joys attached to having a flight attendant cousin. My favorite is fielding the inevitable question that follows as soon as the words, "my cousin Jake, the flight attendant" fall out of my mouth, which is, "Is he...(dun, dun, DUUUNN! Crowd gasps.) gay?" Then I continue on with my sentence, "and his hot, busty, blonde wife Nicole, who is also a flight attendant..." to answer their question without actually answering it.
My second favorite is the occasional free stand by plane tickets he passes on to lucky family members. This year they went to me, my sister and my brother-in-law and we came to visit Jake and Nicole at their new house outside Phoenix in Goodyear, Arizona.
OK Jake, you provide the plane ticket and I'll provide the ridiculous, unintended, but appreciated entertainment.
As stand by travelers, we were excited to even get on the plane Thursday night and didn't care that we didn't all get to sit together or that the plane was crammed full of smelly, fat people. However, I did mind that the largest douche (not in size, but in character) of the 50 states planted his ass right next to me.
At first it was just nice little bantery chit chat, then mild bragging about his daring career moves and life as a "native Californian." Then, as the flight attendants kept his little plastic cup full of merlot, it quickly turned into him commanding the conversation, cornering Gina and I in our plane seats while he blabbered on about religion and politics and gay marriage and how his wife was a crazy bitch and all the other controversial stuff that you just don't push on two, cornered young women on a crowded plane while contradicting himself on his unwanted scary conservative views every five minutes...oh, and did he mention he was a "native Californian?"
My sister, the understanding nurse, muttered a polite "uh huh," "yeah" whenever he would allow while I buried my face in my book trying to ignore him completely while the bullshit continued to spew from his face. At one point, he discovered that I was 25 and HOLY SHIT, he just about crapped his pants with delight! My age automatically meant that I was mentally retarded and he began condescendingly referring to me as "the 25-year-old" saying things like, "oh you little 25-year-old, you'll get it someday," or "So, 25-year-old, what do you think about the topics I've just discussed?"
I wanted to say, well, it doesn't take somebody over 40 to realize that you're a complete flaming, dicknosed jackass, so at least I have that going for me. Instead I opted for a simple, "they don't really interest me." That got him to shut up for a whole two minutes until the plane started to land and I began to feel nauseous. This happens to me once in a great while during decent, but it was surely highlighted this time because this great douche of a man was practically in my lap blowing his shit smelling breath straight into my nostrils.
He continued to talk non stop and attempt to "soothe" me, since, ya know, us little Kansas girls have never been on one of these here flyin' machines before *he yuk,* all while humping my right arm. I breathed in and out slowly to not only avoid vomiting, but also to refrain from screaming SHUT THE FUCK UP! I'm going to punch you in your stale red wine breath blowing mouth you bastard. Why don't you talk some more shit on your wife to a different group of perfect strangers because your douchebaggery has not only exhausted me, but has caused my ears to fold in on themselves in an attempt to block out your verbal diarrhea.
After the plane landed and he went to the back to poke at the flight attendants, the people in front of us, who heard the entire train wreck, felt so sorry for us that they shoved us in front of them to help us get away from him.
Now, with a start to a trip that bad, needless to say, the rest of the trip was absolute bliss. We went straight to dinner to meet up with some of Jake and Nicole's friends we met at their wedding in Cabo in February. I sadly passed on beer because of my lingering barfy feeling and passed out early because I had slept a whole four hours the night before. I was up until 4 a.m. finishing an editing test I had to turn in at an interview I had Thursday, which I initially thought I aced, then my neurosis slowly set and now I'm fairly certain I bombed. Fuck.
* The next day, we made a trip to a GIANT liquor store, then out to Lake Pleasanton where we floated in the lovely clear water getting shitfaced, talking about life and laughing at me trying and failing to wakeboard.
"See Lara suck at watersports."
We returned home to some extremely excited doggies - Loretta and Sadie, then decided to invade the neighbor's pool. This involved me squeezing into and paddling my drunk self around in a pink kiddie raft, then slipping and busting my ass on the deck:
Yes, I know I'm quite graceful and talented.
* The next day, we tubed down the Salt River and discovered that pink marshmallows floating in the river = MARSHMALLOW FIIIIIIIIIIGHT! And we thoroughly enjoyed pinging each other and people we didn't know in the back of head with slimy, swollen marshmallows. Other highlights - Scott taking a dump in the river and discovering the largest nipples ever seen on a man.
* We later treated ourselves with the delicacy that is In-N-Out Burger - how I love thee. I often ponder, why isn't Kansas, the land of cows, home to one of these glorious establishments? I'm waiting patiently and when you do decide to move further east oh holy In-N-Out gods, when I'm 105, I'll still be your best Kansas customer, even if I no longer live here.
Then we climbed on a plane at 6 a.m., got home in one piece and now I want to sleep for four days straight.
I'm totally calling dibs on next year's free stand by tickets...