So I’m flying. For real. I’m like 30,000 feet up. (I have no idea really but that sounds impressive) And guess what? I forgot to eat today. But they serve snacks. Peanuts. And something that resembles crackers . So I’m good. I’m washing it all down with cheap whiskey and ginger ale. Also cheap. And it makes the crackers taste worse.

You know, I’m not an alchojolo, but I play one on tb. Tv. I just re-read that sentence, and I’m going to leave that word there. It was supposed to be alcoholic, but I like that better. Anyway, I’m not a lush, but I stayed in a Holiday Inn Express last night. Actually I didn’t. And that’s a really dumb commercial. But I remembered it, so I guess it achieved it’s goal.

I have so many great thoughts when I’m flying. I wonder what kind of person I would be if I lived in the air? And drank all the time? And not like the Space Station, because there’s really no air. Okay, there’s air inside. But not outside. Wait, is air the same as oxygen? It just took me 3 minutes to correctly type oxygen. Anyway. It’s not flying so it doesn’t count.

And I don’t mean a pilot. Because that’s work. I just want to live on a plane. With a bar. And some people to make it interesting. My phone tried to type interstellar, which I think is pretty cool. My phone does love me some time.

You know what’s weird about drinking ALMOST too much? I totally get that I’m drunk. Well, drinky. Whatever. It’s like I’m on the outside looking in. My brain is just fine. My motor skills, on the other hand, make me very happy I didn’t sit in the emergency row. I wouldn’t be any help at all.

No, I take that back. I would tell jokes and sing songs and make people not care so much that they were exiting a fiery plane filling with water. Or whatever.

Anyway. They’ve turned the stupid lights off, so I guess it’s nap time. Really, I’m 49 years past daycare and naptime flashbacks still haunt me.

My phone screen is the only light on. I feel like a rebel. And an asshole. But really more like a rebel. A rebel without a drink at this point. Just ice cubes.

So I think the fight attendude is judging me. But it’s okay. There’s salt on my upper lip (maybe the crackers?), so I’m switching to tequila. It just makes sense.

I’ve asked for a chalupa, but no one seems to know what that is. All I can hope for now is that the cab driver knows a good taco place when I land. I think even Shake Shack will be closed.

Stupid Texas weather.

Also… fight attendant. Haha!!! I’m leaving that.