JAN to MCO III (Flatulence and Turbulence)

This isn't my typical rant. Then again, it isn't a rant at all, but I wanted to share more about my recent trip to Orlando. This is part three of three. To see part one, click here.

I thought about using Southwest's Wi-Fi and doing a little blogging from 38,000 feet, but the flight to Jackson is very short. I figured that by the time I connected, we would be descending. So, I decided just to post some tidbits into Microsoft Mobile One Note on my phone until I landed. Here are my notes:



The Mrs. is cracking me up! This is her 4th flight, so it's still new to her. She wanted the window seat (and looked as if she was willing to fight me for it), so I swapped places with her. Unfortunately, for her, she ended up behind a guy who must have eaten a couple of bean burritos before the flight. The Mrs. has the most keen sense of smell of anyone I know. More accurate than a great white smelling a drop of blood. She exclaims, "Oh, my God!"

"What's wrong?"

"Someone farted!"

(LOL!) Now, I know that my immediate action should not have been laughter, but the word "farted" will even make an 80-year old man laugh. That word just cracks men up. I'm actually chuckling as I type now just thinking about her reaction.

So, the smell goes away and a lot quicker than I would have expected for the inside of a plane, but, 10 minutes later, The Mrs. makes the most twisted face I have ever seen. Immediately, I am laughing again because I know why her face is twisted like the love child of the Grinch and Whoopi Goldberg. The dude seated in front of her has passed gas again. Now, he appears to be asleep, so I am not sure if he is aware of his flatulence or not. But, he smelled like he needed an autopsy.



So, just when I thought that things could not be more annoying (for her), the guy behind her starts drumming his fingers on his tray. To top that off, his rhythm sucked. It sounded like a can of biscuits in a dryer.

As The Mrs. does a quarter-turn towards this guy's line of sight, the drumming gets softer and then eventually stops. Hey, there is an advantage, at times, to being stereotyped as "the angry black woman". The Mrs. is completely harmless, but sometimes a stern look gets results.



Now the flight has a little turbulence, but she doesn't appear to be too bothered. She likes flying now. Last year, she took her first flight (at age 35) for her birthday trip in Chicago. I remember the excitement she had and the excitement I felt for her as we took off. For this particular trip, she flew to Orlando on Wednesday by herself, so I guess I can consider her a veteran now. Outside of blogging in my notes, I slept through much of the flight as well as the turbulence. Plane sleep is the best to me. At one time, I couldn't imagine relaxing that much on a plane because I was terrified of flying, but now, I get comfortable and it's lights out until I reach my destination.

Well, the announcement was made for us to turn off our electronic devices. This week has been a pretty good one. I got a lot of work done in preparation for 2011 and The Mrs. and I sneaked in a mini-vacation.

Outside of a little flatulence and turbulence, life is good.

Soap Has An Aisle By Itself

I was assaulted this past weekend.

No, not like you think. Not physically, but by smell.

I had a woman stand next to me at a gas station and she smelled worse than anything I could imagine on a female.

"What in the world is that?" is what I first thought to myself when she got in line with a bag of chips in her hand. "Oh my goodness! Is that the woman behind me? There's no way a woman could smell like this!"

While these thoughts raced through my mind, the guy in front of me took notice. Of course he immediately turns and looks at me like I'm the culprit. I give him that look like, "man, you got the wrong one!"

How could a woman smell that badly? Now, curiosity is getting the best of me because I just have to turn around and get a better look at her. I start to realize that it appears as if she had just left a night club.

She has on a body dress that's tighter than a pair Chuck Norris' jeans. Her aroma was a mixture of Paris Hilton perfume and Black & Mild cigars. Her breath kicked harder than "The Transporter".

How can a grown woman, who most men hold in high regards as being the epitome of cleanliness, smell like she needed an autopsy?



By now, the guy ahead of me is staring at me as if he's positive I'm the cadaver in the building. Again I look at him and try to guide him with my eyes to the lady behind me.

He's not buying it. Great. Now he's probably online blogging about me.

Anyway, I get to the counter, take a deep breath and take out my wallet to pay for my Pepsi Max. I start to think about what my friend, Shawn, once said to a guy during a basketball game a decade ago. After realizing that dude was a tad bit "ripe", he said, "Man, soap has an aisle by itself."

I almost laughed out loud just thinking about that.

Imagine being the guy in the club who approached her to dance... "Hey, girl! Do you want to... (sniff), uh... (pulling cell out of pocket)... uh, I gotta get this!"

How many people thought there was a gas leak in the club? There's no reason a woman should ever smell like that unless she's on a coroner's table. Here's a decent-looking woman smelling like "who did it and what for"?

I just pray the bag of chips in her hand weren't Chili Cheese Fritos.