WYSNLYBTG Day One Continued, Or: Flying SUCKS SERIOUS BALLS

So, for those of you who don't know about the Why You Should Never Leave Your Basement Travel Guide, (or, WYSNLYBTG, GOD DAMNIT that acronym is clever!) it's a new segment that I've started that details why you should never leave your basement. Let's continue.

I catch my flight in Minnesota because I have a FOUR HOUR LAYOVER. In this time, I ride all of the moving sidewalks because moving sidewalks ROCK. Which leads me to my first piece of travel advice, considering that you decide to leave your basement, which I recommend not doing.

1) When at the Minnesota Airport, ride the moving sidewalks. That's pretty much the only entertaining thing you can do in the Minnesota Airport. It might also be the only entertaining thing you can do in all of Minnesota.

I successfully board my plane and, before we go any further, let me tell you something about myself.

I LOVE sleeping on planes.

Mostly, I just love sleeping on moving things. I think it comes from being a child of the 90's, where everyone five and under was obsessed with water beds. I can sleep in cars, buses, the back of police cars, the back of SWAT vans, in prison community service buses, pretty much anywhere.

So I board this plane and I'm stoked because I plan on sleeping for the entire 9 hours of this flight and occasionally waking up to drink as much of the complimentary box wine as they are legally allowed to pour in my tiny plastic cup.

But guess what, dregs?

I AM SO WRONG.

The man next to me is EFFING CHATTY CATHY and wants to talk to me for the entirety of our NINE HOUR FUCKING FLIGHT about his pastoral lifestyle in Wales as a child. So I eat my Kid Cuisine dinner in my cardboard airplane seat and nod pleasantly because even I know that pissing off middle-aged people on a nine hour flight is a HORRIBLE idea.

But after about three hours of listening to this man, I'm nodding off. Literally nodding off, where my eyes close and my head gets heavy and falls to one side, which makes me wake up and jerk my entire body in a terribly violent way because I'm freaked out, so I end up making a huge scene and drawing attention to myself, which makes CHATTY CATHY want to soothe me with his melodic Welsh voice. You are WRONG, Wale.

I somehow manage in the midst of the melee to fall asleep for maybe an hour. I have unspeakable dreams because I'm Lucy Beelz DUH. I wake up out of my unpleasant slumber, shift in my seat...

And CHATTY CATHY IS STARING AT ME.

Like this man, only imagine him REALLY close to you. And Welsh.

So I startle, (I tend to startle pretty easily when people are EFFING STARING AT ME WHEN I WAKE UP,) and he proceeds to pick up where he started, telling me about a game he used to play in the Welsh fields with his Welsh brother where they tagged each other with their tiny Welsh hands and laughed with their quiet Welsh voices.

Will CHATTY CATHY ever stop talking to me? Will I ever meet up with my travel buddy? Where the Hell am I going anyways? Sierra Leone? Bangladesh? Manhattan, Kansas?

Tune in next time for another nail-biting edition of...

WYSNLYBTG!

That acronym still BLOWS MY FUCKING MIND.

Lucy