Jeff and I managed to sneak away for an anniversary/work/shopping trip to Las Vegas. As you know it all started there, 8 plus years ago, and now, we go back to visit the scene of the crime, any chance we get.
The trip started with some airline drama. I have a laundry list of the pet peeves associated with flying. My top two annoyances include over zealous, wacky, rah rah rah bullshit flight attendants and bitch passengers. On this trip to Vegas I hit the jackpot before we even touched down at LAS.
Of course we flew non stop on Southwest, so I took advantage of the early bird boarding pass for an extra ten bucks. I would get on in the A group, secure two seats together for me and my honey, and enjoy the blissful 5 hour ride. I found our place on two aisles, right across from each other. I sat my laptop underneath the seat in front of me, and put my carry on lunch tote on Jeff's seat so that even the knuckleheads would realize someone was coming to sit there.
As I skimmed the Sky Mall magazine, this bitch from hell approaches my saved seat. She asks, "Is someone sitting here?" I reply with, (smiling) Oh, yes, my husband, he is boarding with the B group. She makes a smirk, hands me the lunch bag, sits down and says, "Hmmmm, well, he is not here now!" And just like that she plops herself in the space I saved for Jeff.
Thankfully I am fully medicated. I sat there, stunned. I wanted to grab her by the neck, toss her into the exit row, inflate the slide and send her packing, but instead I shook my head in disbelief. Who does that? Who snatches someones seat on a plane when there are tons of open seats available? She could have sat anywhere.
I would have moved too but I had already stowed my stuff and was sitting next to this really nice older couple. They were 85 years old,married for 57 years and were small framed folks. My fear in switching seats was being wedged between two smelly, sweaty people. I was safe with the octogenarians. Or so I thought.
Before Jeff even got on the plane, the bitch from hell pulled a stunt. She asked the gentleman sitting in the window seat to trade seats with her. She loudly boasts, "I do not like the aisle." Ummmm, okay, then why the ferk did you select a seat on the aisle, especially one that was taken? Keep in mind, the plane is less than half full at this point, and she could have moved her nasty ass to any other row with a window seat. I was fuming.
Jeff finally made it on with the other peasants in the B group, and was really mad that I did not save him a seat. I tried to explain but realize that there is no way I could do the situation justice at that time. He schlepped to the rear of the aircraft and we waved our good byes. So much for a 5 hour snuggle.
Ten minutes into take off, the old folks start farting. Both of them are dropping butt bombs like they each ate a bag of sliders from White Castle. They are blasting the loud, cheek flapping, ass horn style stinkers at random intervals. Of course they acted all innocent about it, but I know it was them. I was stuck between two tooting trouser trumpeteers for 5 hours. FML.
We had "Zippy" the flaming flight attendant that sang, told lame jokes, and drove me bat shit crazy every single time he clicked on the overhead system. He was so high on life, that he was buzzing through the aisles, chatting it up with every Tom, Dick and Harry. Enough already. Put down the low carb Monster Energy drinks and sit your ass in the jump seat. This was not about his gayness, it was about his need to hear himself speaking. I wished for noseplugs and earplugs.
We made it to sunny Las Vegas after what felt like an iternity. I went to the rental car kiosk while Jeff waited for Argenida's parents. I used priceline to secure the minivan at the lowest possible rate, and got Budget Rental Car as the provider. I filled out all the paperwork for the vehicle and I answered all the questions. I checked and initialed the forms. I declined this and signed that. The agent asked me for my employer, so I said, I am a domestic diva. She nodded and continued to process my paperwork. It was not until I got to the guard gate and handed in my receipt before I noticed this:The Budget Rental Car clerk wrote my name and employer as, HOUSE WIFE. OMG, seriously? Who says that anymore? Unless you are referring to the Real Housewives plural, that term is so not right.
I knew there would be plenty of drama once we arrived in Las Vegas. I just did not expect that the first 6 hours of my 66 hour vacation would be so damn fraught with blog worthy material.
What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, unless you have a blog. Welcome to the drama destination of this House Wife.
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