if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s entertaining myself

I wasn’t able to get a good picture of “the cougar,” since I was in the seat behind her…and my middle school note-passing attempts between seats didn’t convince Tim to take one of her with his iPhone. I kept writing: “Just say cheese. SHE’LL KNOW WHAT TO DO.”

He finally turned around and gave me the “Seriously. Stop. We’re IN A PUBLIC PLACE. REMEMBER? YOU PROMISED.”

So I had to make my own fun. And if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s entertaining myself.

I started writing random sentences on my book draft like, “did you know reading me is a crime?” and “your dress is on fire” for The Snoop on my left.

I took sky pictures


I made myself some free advertising.



When the flight attendant came around to inquire about my “snack selection,” I tried to ask him for the “cookies that started with a B.” They are my most favorite cookies IN THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE. I’ve also decided that these cookies only exist on airplanes, because I’ve never seen them in a sensible place like a grocery store

The flight attendant just stared at me like the altitude was affecting my ability to communicate. I was trying to explain via bastardized sign language what I wanted, because he was too far away to actually converse with and there is just no yelling on a plane. It’s like taboo or something.

Finally, we connected.

Or he’s just really good at charades.

And he brought me a stack of these:


Other than the cougar trying to prey on Tim, The Snoop next to me that kept trying to read my book and would look away all, “WHAT? I was just looking out the window.” Um…window’s closed, missy. So unless you have like, X-ray vision…I think not…and the dude who almost dropped a massive suitcase on a poor old lady while he was putting it into the overhead bin and almost caused a brawl…a fairly calm flight.

When we got off the plane and made our way to the security doors that separated ‘those with a ticket’ and ‘those without,’ Tim’s parents weren’t waiting for us, smiles plastered on their faces

And since FOREVER, his parents have picked us up from the airport. There has not been a SINGLE INSTANCE where they weren’t waiting RIGHT OUTSIDE the security area.

So, when they weren’t at-the-ready and in position, Tim was all, “What the hell? Where are they?”

He sent them a text message and I was all, “Why not CALL THEM?”

Tim: This is just as fast.

Me: No, calling and having someone pick up is faster.

Tim: Well, my dad’s usually really fast responding.


Not today, he isn’t.

We sat around baggage claim for a few minutes, with no bags to claim…because we refuse to PAY TO CHECK A BAG if we don’t have to…I can find a way to do without the five extra pairs of panties and twenty-eight shirts.

Anyhow, Tim finally decided to call his dad…when out of nowhere, Tim’s sister, Kristen, walks up with her newest little addition, Colton.


And of all the things that happened from the moment we left the airport to the time we spent at her house visiting, nothing could top the last five minutes, except maybe Kristen’s two doves that chuckle like humans.

I didn’t even know doves could do noises other than cooing.

Right, so the last five minutes…Tim was holding Coltwith baby-googly eyes that plainly said I WANT ONE. And at that precise moment, Colton decided it was time for a little exclamation of his own – shot it right out the back end.

Little is actually being nice. Tim said later he felt the reverberations run all the way up to his shoulder and the resulting steam left little droplets of moisture on Tim’s forearm.

The remainder of the evening centered around food (Italians, remember?).

And how do you say “Welcome to America!” to full blooded Italians?

You make pasta from scratch.

Well, YOU as in Abbie, Martha Stewart Junior, who is married to Tim’s younger brother, Josh.

Abbie knows how to MAKE JAM and KNIT SCARVES and can probably do the whole macramรฉ feathers into gold bit.

I will never be an Abbie.

Obviously, that is not my hand making pasta, as I am not allowed near appliances.

It’s Martha’s Abbie’s.



7 Responses to “if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s entertaining myself”

  1. 1 LB @Wait, She Said What? September 19, 2009 at 10:59 pm

    Ok, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone make pasta from scratch. Ever. My idea of having pasta means boil some water and dump a box into it. That’s “real cooking” to me, because in my world average meals include the microwave. It’s either that or I kill everyone in our building. I think my neighbors would rather I didn’t. Just a guess.

  2. 2 Nona September 19, 2009 at 11:42 pm

    Look at all that hair! Love babies hair.

    And what says love more than homemade pasta?

  3. 3 bevchen September 20, 2009 at 4:38 am

    Yum, homemade pasta.

    I wonder if anyone will follow the link you wrote on the crossword?

  4. 4 Jenny September 20, 2009 at 10:09 am

    Hi! Funny post! It scared me because it sounded like me and I thought you had somehow invaded my head. My kids tell me I have ADD and I want to say “what???? you think!!!!??????” but I usually loose my train of thought after they make the statement and wander off to do something else. Glad you got your cookies with a “B”…I’ve never had those on a flight…you must go higher class then me! Thanks for visiting my blog. It looks like I will enjoy yours!

  5. 5 Shelly September 20, 2009 at 12:48 pm

    You can make pasta from scratch? Huh. Who knew?!

  6. 6 Daphne September 23, 2009 at 12:17 pm

    I have a present for you – http://www.amazon.com/Gourmet-Center-Biscoff-Family-Pack/dp/B0001FFK40. Buy some and be happy on and off an airplane.

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