Members Only: The Mile High Club

It seems like a great time to go on a cross-country roadtrip. Kate Digby Skinner and I were Skyping, and throwing around ideas for such a trip, and somehow, the subject of having sex on a plane came up, and I told her this story.

I tried to join the mile high club, once, sort of. On my way back from Paris last year, I had a connecting flight in Munich. I've flown with a boyfriend on one trip, we did not do it, and the rest of my limited time in the air has been alone. Darcy once had a party on a trans-continental flight with the crew and some of her friends in the back of a plane, and during a rowdy game of Never-Have-I-Ever half the staff admitted to doing it, which makes me really want to be a flight attendant.

It was overcast but bright, in Germany that day, and the terminal was very white. Very few of the signs were in English, and it's really ignorant of me to assume that everything will be in English everywhere. So I'm exhausted, ready to go home, almost out of money, with a long day and a long flight ahead of me. I was probably alternating reading a book and people watching, trying to decide who was American and who wasn't, which I was terrible at. David Sedaris had a really funny passage in Me Talk Pretty about identifying Americans by their clothing, but it didn't help. Just as I'm thinking about this, a man sat next to me, a few seats over, and starts talking. Really, I couldn't have cared less. He seemed like kind of a d-bag, bragging about how much he travels and how easy loud, obnoxious American tourists are to spot. (If I can't identify them, does that mean I am one? Like, if you don't know anyone like Michael Scott from the Office it means you ARE Michael Scott?) He's wearing jeans, sneakers, a ball cap, possibly lightweight North Face jacket. Oh, and a black longsleeve shirt, made of some kind of material that people buy if they are very physically active, or camp a lot... I only know that it dries fast and does something like wic the sweat from your body. Darcy was helping me pack for the canoe trip last year, and she said to bring fleece, polyester, or wool... Anything that will dry fast. That's when I realized all of my clothes are cotton- no excessive physical activity or die hard camping for this kid.

I digress. This guy tells me that he's not even sure that he's getting on the plane, because it's overbooked and the airline offered him $100 cash and a night in a hotel to stay in Munich for the night to go on standby. I'm thoroughly annoyed- why didn't Luftansa offer ME that deal? I had a really difficult time getting to Munich, and they owed me. If I had little interest in talking to this man to begin with, when I found this out, it was gone. He was only talking to me because I was alone, American, not fat and under 25- he striked me as the type of guy to have an oval sticker on his SUV. I have this way of acting like a raging bitch and causing people to not want to talk to me anymore, and that's what must've happened, because he got up and walked away.


Without a doubt, I'm judgemental. But as quickly as said judgement is made, I'm willing to change it. I get in line to board, they take my ticket and I'm in. It's a huge plane, and there are a lot of babies and it's taking a long time to get to my seat. I'm at a window, towards the back. When I finally get there, guess who is in the seat next to me. That guy.


"I swear I'm not following you," was my opening line. He smiles. I realize that this guy, Joe, and I are going to share an arm rest for the next six hours. We start talking, and as he's telling me about his travels (Germany for two weeks, drinking a lot of beer,) his job (nurse, but, people often mistake him for the doctor, which probably pisses off the actual doctor, royally,) where he lives, (Idaho,) his hobbies (volunteer smoke jumper, deer hunter, marathon runner, amateur photographer,) things we have in common, (the iPhone, taking planes from Munich.) He laughed at my jokes, I laughed at his. We had two poor quality meals together, he flirted with the stewardess and we got as many free drinks as we wanted- I even napped on his shoulder. It was like a six hour date, and the more time passed, the more attracted to him I became. His body was rock hard, and though I've been known as something of a chubby chaser over the years, this guy was hot... or the pressure in the cabin was low and I was delusional.

It was after I had to stop watching Marley and Me, the in-flight film we were both watching, (because I was going to start sobbing uncontrollably if I didn't take my headphones off immediately and stop watching,) that I started to consider how to make this mile-high club thing happen. Hey, I wasn't a virgin anymore, I could have sex with anyone I wanted to! The world was my oyster! I let my leg touch his leg and he didn't move. I brushed my body against his when I got up to use the bathroom an annoying amount of times, hoping he'd read my mind and follow me in. I'm good, but I'm not that good. But there was no condom, was there? Absolutely not going to risk it. There was no way to get kicked off the plane if we were caught, but would I have to pay a fine or something? We were the only two people in our row, but I was paranoid someone would hear me if I started talking about it.

To make a boring story shorter, we stayed together until the bitter end, through customs, through baggage claim at Logan, I said goodbye, and that's it. I texted him and said he was the handsomest guy I'll ever fly from Munich to Boston with, and we're now friends on Facebook, which is the new first base. I seriously regret nothing happening, but I'm prepared for next time, though, thanks to Kate's sweet Googling skills and this eHow article she found. My favorites are steps 6 and 7:

Having sex on an airplane is many people's fantasy. The idea of engaging in sexual activity high above the rest of the world is so exciting that it leads people to have sex in very uncomfortable situations, like tiny airplane bathrooms. If you want to join the mile high club, follow these steps.

 

Difficulty: Moderately Challenging

 

Instructions

1. Book a flight to anywhere you desire. If you want to have a better opportunity to have sex, take a red-eye flight--most of the passengers will be asleep and you will have more privacy.
2. Find an attractive person to have sex with, if you didn't bring a partner along. Choose someone who is traveling alone and try to negotiate a seat close by so you can invite him to join you in the bathroom.
3. Get up and head for the bathroom one at a time so you are less obvious. Go at a time when you are least likely to be disturbed such as during the in-flight entertainment.
4. Clean the toilet seat and cover it with a seat protector before you sit down to be extra cautious. It's safest to have sex while one partner sits on the toilet so you avoid injury if there is turbulence.
5. Finish quickly because other people may need to use the restroom. Be courteous to others and don't tie up the restroom for too long. Clean up all evidence of your adventure so you stay discreet.
6. Exit together and if anybody approaches you about having sex, deny it. Having sex on an airplane is illegal, so pretend that one of you got sick and the other was helping out.
7. Brag about having sex on an airplane to your friends. You have officially joined the mile high club and you deserve bragging rights.

My New iPhone Case

So, if you know me at all, you know I'm obsessed with my iPhone. I can't LIVE without it, I send and receive 1,500 text messages a month, and you can judge me all you want, just don't take it away. I update my Facebook status, I check my email all the time... Anyway, I'm a huge klutz, and since the iPhone is always with me, it's endured some significant wear and tear. Actually, I broke it twice, and had to get it replaced... Which explains this recent trip to the Apple store, where I got this new case. It's kind of funny, right? It reads, "Juicy Couture: Born in the Glamorous USA."

Train Car Cobbler

Sometimes I consider changing the name of this blog to “My Life with Mandy.”  Together, we’ve had some ridiculous adventures, some hilarious stories, and I believe soon, we will be working together in a more official capacity. She’s my silly little redhead, and if it wasn’t for her, I might not be in Portland at all- I could still be in Burlington, or Boston, or Paris… who knows. Last week, we had once such adventure... to Westbrook.

Mandy has a million pairs of shoes. She needed a pair to be fixed, so we headed out to Paul’s Shoe Repair in Westbrook.  There are a few different cobblers in the area, and it’s one of those things that it seems like everyone has an opinion about. Mary likes the one on Stevens Avenue; Rebecca likes the guy in South Portland, etc. It’s like finding a locksmith or a taylor- something you never think about until you desperately need one. Since I love giving directions to places and I love being right, I always want to know what the best places in town are. I think I’m the only person I know that’s ever been to Paul’s to have shoes repaired, and although it seemed pricey ($50 to repair and resole my boots,) the work was quality, so I didn’t question Mandy’s decision to give this guy her business over the other guys in town. Since my office used to be in Westbrook, and I know that town like the back of my hand, I was able tell her where to park and the fastest way to get there. We even stopped by Mich's work on our way home, just like old times. The shoes in question were bought on Heather’s Etsy, and the tap on the heel crumbled as soon as she got them home. Heather gave her a refund, but they’re too amazing to just cast aside.      

It’s a sunny Friday afternoon when we arrive at Paul’s. The counter is directly in front of the door when you walk in, and we are immediately greeted by a 50-something year old man we can only assume is Paul. It’s like being on stage. There’s no time to look around, gather a feel for the place, talk in low voices to each other to decide what we think. Immediately, you have to state the nature of your business. You know how if you walk into a furniture store, or a record store or the Apple store, wherever, and someone approaches you and you turn them away to say no, you’re just looking, or you need a moment? That was not the case.  After a short lecture about how she could’ve ruined the shoes and that she should’ve brought them in immediately after the taps fell off, he quoted her twenty dollars. Twenty dollars happened to be her preset limit, so we’re good to go.  He’s friendly, in kind of a fatherly way, and since Mandy and I are customer service veterans, we know how to turn on the charm and small talk. I would’ve gone with the whole boring, so, how long have you had the business, are you from around here, etc.  Boring, right? But she jumps in and starts explaining that there were many other cobblers that she could’ve gone to, a subject I feel sort of uncomfortable about, and I have no idea where she’s going with this. So, she’s like, “This isn’t the most convenient location, and you didn’t get the best recommendation, but when I found out there was a cobbler in a train car by the tracks in Westbrook I knew I just had to come! I love trains, my great grandfather spent half his life on a train, I used to manage the Narrow Gauge Railroad… if there’s anything I know and love, its trains. I am a train expert! I even had a one night stand with the man who drives the Amtrack Downeaster!” (Oh, wait… that last part… that was me.)  She is really enthusiastic about this whole train car thing and makes it explicitly clear to this guy.

Paul is holding her debit card in his hands, up high in the air, as if he’s going to conduct an orchestra with it. He’s about to run in through the machine, stops, and says, “Maybe I shouldn’t run this.” Mandy looks confused, and Paul gets serious. “Because… this isn’t a train car.  It’s a mobile home I painted to look like a train car.”

Nice job, train expert, identifying the train car. We leave sheepishly, Mandy's tail is tucked between her legs, and yes, it is so. obviously. a trailer.

The Strangest Email

I recieved this email from my dad yesterday. I'm not entirely sure what exactly he's asking for, but I thought I'd share...

I am on a vengeance to track illegal movie viewing and need your help. Is there some site that I can use to track these pirates? I am working on getting paid for all the illegal sites I can report but I need to know how to track the site for their source of movie downloads.   Basically I want to be a CSI for pirating. We could work together on our computer skills and make some serious money.   Any info you might have on this subject would be a real big help.   Love   Dad

I walked to Save-A-Lot this morning in my pajamas and accidentally bought Jesus eggs.

Fo' Shizzle

Mandy might be one of the whitest white girls you'll ever meet. Not only does she have flaming red, Irish hair and the palest porcelain skin to match, she's also extremely... white. She's from Mechanic Falls, Maine. She'd never had rice until age 21. She listens to Black Music that Black People Don't Listen to Anymore, and wears scarves and drives a Jetta. Which makes the story I'm about to tell so. much. funnier.

Snoop Dogg, legend of hip-hop, played at the Gray Cage at Bates College in Lewiston, Maine, my hometown last week. ("Seriously? Snoop is playing in LEWISTON? They hate black people there." Well, kind of.) Snoop Dogg is kind of a big deal and he's had a pretty huge impact on my life. The week leading up to the show, I kept getting this one song stuck in my head everytime someone said his name... the one where in the background someone sings, "Snoop-dogg-y dooo-ooo-awg."  When I decided to try drinking alcohol for the first time, I went with gin and juice, because that's the first thing that came to mind. When "Drop It Like It's Hot," came on the radio in my car, I'd crank it and try and click my tongue along to that part. You know the part. See? I'm really white, too.

Anyway, Mandy talked to Snoop Dogg on the phone once.

Last week wasn't the first trip to Maine for Snoop. Back in 2004 (I Googled it), Snoop played at now-defunct the State Theater. That night, Mandy, age 19, was working at the Bull Moose warehouse in Scarborough. It was 10pm, there were, possibly, two customers in the store, and she was working with a girl she describes as a beautiful, voluptuous, lesbian named Jamie. They're getting ready to close the store, when a giant limo speeds into the parking lot, almost crashing into the front windows, tires squealing. Mandy assumes that it's a fancy date, prom or something, until two black dudes covered in bling step out of the car.What the fuck? There are hardly any black people in Maine, and none of them ride in limos and have bling. It's just not how we do.

These two guys walk in, one is older, with a bulldog face, droopy red eyes, and the other is a little bit younger and slightly overweight. He says to Mandy when he walks in, "Yo, girl! Yo, girl, where's your soul section?" So she walks him over to the section, and as she's about to walk away he's like, "I need some babymaking music, I need some BABY-making music. You know anything about soul music?" Which is a little bit ironic, because at the time, Mandy was a virgin. Technically, she didn't know anything about babymaking music (disclosure: neither did I.)

She's not really sure what he's looking for- like, if he wants the best one she has, or an assortment, so she starts grabbing whatever and throwing it in his arms, running back and forth to the used section. Compilations, Al Green, Otis Redding, and before she knows it, there are like, 20 cds in his hands. At some point, the bizareness of the whole situation just gets to her and she asks, "So you mind if I ask, what's going on here, who are you?"

"Oh, yo girl, I'm Snoop Dogg's cousin!" WHAT?? And that's when it dawned on her, holy fucking shit these cds are for Snoop Dogg, because he's playing tonight, in Portland. "Yo girl, Snoop told me to come down here and get some BABY makin' music for after the show. Yo girl, you gotta help me out."

Now, maybe I'm being stereotypical here, but this guy was 30ish, and the other guy was probably closer to 45. How is it that they had no idea about any soul music at all? "Yo girl, you think this one would be good, you think this one'd be sexy?" This guy probably said babymaking music like fifty times... to Mandy, the 19 year old virgin. He's probably got like hundreds of dollars worth of cds in his hands at this point when he's like, "Yo girl, I like what you got for me here. But hold on, hold on just one second. We gotta make sure, we gotta make sure just one second." He pulls out his cell phone, which back then was probably a Motorola Razor, and makes a phone call. Mandy, again, is thinking, what the fuck.

"Yo Snoop, yeah, yeah, I'm here. I'm lookin at the soul music right now- I got this girl, she's helping me out. Let me read off to you what I got," and he names a few things and pauses after each one then stops. "Hold on- hold on Snoop, Hold on." And hands the phone to Mandy. "Yo girl, Snoops on the phone. You gotta tell him what we got, he's gotta approve."

She stands there for a second, with the cell phone extended to her, and she knows that on the other end of the line is Snoop Doggy Dogg, waiting to talk to her.

"Hello?" She's like, terrified.

"Yo girl, I hear you're picking out some babymaking music for me tonight." So she starts explaining all the different gospel soul, southern soul, modern soul, and even though this sounds completely ridiculous, after every single thing she said, he responds, "Fo' shizzle."

Mandy: I've got D'Angelo, Untitled.
Snoop: Fo' Shizzle.
Mandy: Sade, self titled.
Snoop: Fo' Shizzle.

She finishes reading off everything and asks what he thinks, is that good, is that enough.  "Yo girl, that's great girl, I can't wait." She hands the phone back, ending the coversation. He called her girl like five times, and said fo' shizzle like 50 times. While she's ringing them in, the older guy speaks up for the first time and says to Jamie, the lesbian, that he think she's pretty attractive, and the young guy disagrees and says that Mandy is more attractive. Then they give the girls the room number at the Eastland, where Snoop is staying, so they can come party after the show. Mandy doesn't go.

This is an excerpt from the article I found in the Press Herald about the 2004 show:

"If you're wondering what the kids mean when they say "fo' shizzle" after you ask them if they want takeout for dinner, you can thank Snoop Dogg for the linguistic confusion. Meaning "for sure," the phrase is part of a slang vocabulary created by Snoop Dogg, aka Snoop Doggy Dogg, Snoop Dizzle, the …"

Amanda, You're like, the Bomb

On a recent Monday night trip to the Dogfish Bar and Grille on Free Street, I was hanging out with this kid from portlandtaps.com, catching up. Some more friends showed up, and after a couple pints of Arrogant Bastard, we started talking a little bit about how fun unlikely hook-ups can be. This chick started laughing, remembering the time she hooked up with a man she was convinced was 90% gay. "It was so much fun, even though he was totally completely gay. We laughed so much! He really loved my boobies... and hey, a blow job is a blow job, right?" (Dad, now would be a great time for you to stop reading.)

So I started telling the story of the most fun, least likely hook-up I've ever had.

It was last May, and I met some friends at the most lengen... wait for it... dary house party on Exchange Street. Everyone was there... It was a beautiful spring night, there were Jell-O shots. We all left around three a.m., after the fourth floor deck shifted under our weight and the toilets started clogging. Well, I tried to leave. But I saw this cute guy... and asked him for a drag of his cigarette (I don't smoke, and this is a very clear indication that I've had too much to drink.) We started making out. The plan was to leave with Darcy and crash at her house... but then this kid, Connor, ran outside after me, begged me to come back in the party, and I said no, and drunkenly agreed to let him walk me home. (Ditching my friends and leaving with a complete stranger was obviously a huge mistake, I was hardly standing, let alone able to make responsible decisions about my safety. I also got into a huge screaming match with this super obnoxious queen outside of the party... I said he was generic, he told me I was like Janeane Garofalo. I told him to find a new hangout and he replied, I am! It's called SAN FRANCISCO!)

In the morning, it took me a few minutes to remember his name, where I was, and what happened the night before. Then I remembered he was four years younger than me. Just a baby, he turned 21 only a few months prior. I'm cringing, thanking GOD that I didn't have sex with this stranger. I roll over, so completely hungerover I could've actually slept the entire day. When we met, Connor was wearing those Vans, the ones with the checkers on the side, faded black Levi's, and a black Jesus Christ Superstar T-shirt. We talked a lot on the way home. He was from Sanford, loved skateboarding, and worked at a pizza joint in town.

"Amanda." Oh my god he's talking to me, and he remembers my name. What if he doedsn't realize that I was wasted last night. Oh God. "You're like... the bomb." I laughed out loud and looked him in the eye. He was serious. This kid totally talks like a Jeff Spicoli from Fast Times at Ridgemont High. "Amanda... how did an ass hole like me wind up in the bed of such a beautiful girl like you. Oh man, you know, when I go out drinking like that, I should be waking up in the gutter somewhere or something. This is like, awesome." He's right, there is no way I would've been into him if I wasn't drunk, but it was kind of awesome. I laugh, roll over and say, "Five more minutes." We alternate snoozing and making out for a little while.

"Amanda. I just like, really want to spend the day with you. I've got some VHS' at my house we can watch." I laugh. VHS aren't hip and retro. He pins me.

"Amanda. Let me take you out to breakfast. How about Denny's?" I roll my eyes. "No? No, Denny's? How about the IHOP. Denny's or IHOP. No? C'mon, what's the deal? You don't eat? It's a free meal! Who DOESN'T want a free meal. What? Is it me? Do I smell?"

My phone rings, it's Darcy. She probably thinks I'm dead in a gutter somewhere. I reach for my phone, and Connor pins me again. We wrestle for a little while and I'm laughing hysterically. This kid was so much fun! Finally, I answer and apologize PROFUSELY to Darcy for ruining the rest of her night by going completely MIA. Feeling even worse, I try and roll over and go back to sleep. At this point, Connor can leave for all I care. My back is turned... and he pulls down my underwear, like the Coppertone baby. I giggle, and tell him to quit it. He does it like four more times until I turn around really fast to make him stop. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Uhhh, nothing. I was just going to dickslap you."

These Boots

It's no secret that one of my favorite songs to karaoke is "These Boots Are Made for Walking," by Nancy Sinatra. It's easy, short and I have a little dance, and it works because even in the summer, I'm usually wearing boots.

A few months ago, I was running across Middle Street to see Tess Van Horn at the Black Parrot, one of the best clothing boutiques in Portland. That day I happened to be wearing a pair of caramel colored imitation-leather knee high slouch boots. I got them at the Salvation Army for six dollars, and wasn't totally crazy about them- my old Nine West boots had huge holes and were in dire need of repair. Six dollars for new boots was a lot less than the fifty dollars I'd probably pay at the cobbler to have the Nine West boots repaired.

So this woman, probably 50 something-ish, sees me run into to the store, parks her car and follows me in. She says that she loves my boots, and asked me if I got them there. I tried to not look completely shocked- there was no way in a million, bajillion years I'd ever be able to afford ANYTHING at the Black Parrot, let alone the boots! They were six dollars and not even leather! She told me they were a great find, I blushed, agreed, and tried to explain that she should just get Frye boots, which are expensive, but would probably last her the rest of her life. She shrugged and left the store.

At the time I could've never anticipated the events of last week... I got tipsy at (well, before and during,) the Black Parrot anniversary sale, and went home with these Rachel Comey boots. Thank you, student loan refund.