Marrying George Clooney

i am not a traveler. let me rephrase that – i don’t like flying. one more time with feeling: i especially don’t like flying. it feels unnatural and i often find myself wanting to go straight to the cockpit, and say out loud to both the pilot and the co-pilot, please just fly a teeny bit slower, and please, for god sake, stay in one lane.
it’s a control issue, i get it. i know it.

i know it. but knowing it, honest to goddess, doesn’t make it any easier, or better.

today we flew from newark to los angeles. continental. we were in the last row on the plane. the last row. any further back we would have been in the bathroom. this was not at all comforting to me. i of course tried to have us moved closer to the cockpit. i feigned a bad back, blindness, i used ken’s swollen knuckle as a trap. everything from complicated to simple. nothing worked, no one cared. i mean my god, after you take your shoes off at checkpoint – really – is changing your seat ever a simple request again?
i was seated in between ken (he wanted the window seat) and a very lovely grunge performer type person. i wasn’t quite sure if she hadn’t bathed, or if she had bathed and then decided to coat herself with tar ball type things. maybe she was a rock star, maybe she was psychotic. one never knows if it’s fashion, or fear.
the food of course was abysmal. it used to be that you actually got a meal. but since 9/11 no one gets food. or utensils. no one eats. maybe they think if you eat you’ll be a little more spunky – that food, any type of food – can actually add a kick or two. i can tell you straight out from my own experience that pretzels and iceberg lettuce will do nothing to encourage a “maybe” terrorist or hell raiser to get out of his seat and start a ruckus. pretzels keep you dull. and pretzels and bloody marys, forget about it. you might as well find a blanket (which they no longer have, you have to purchase a friggin’ blanket … repeat: PURCHASE A FRIGGIN’ BLANKET) and sleep off the dullness.
but the one good thing that happened. i watched — for the tenth time – the devil wears prada. MERYL STREEP. goddess extraordinaire. for whatever reason i cried. maybe it was the flight. the seat. feeling unbelievably cramped between a rock(star) and (HERE COMES THE SAP…) a “heart” place… but after watching that movie i decided that A) i would be the best frickin’ voice for women over 50 that i could possibly be. honest, cross my heart. i made a vow in row 34, seat c. i will not settle for mediocre, or good enough. i wanna be the best voice, the voice of my generation. and by god, when MGC goes all over the world – london, and italy and paris as a play — krista and ken and i are gonna be holding hands and wearing fabulous gowns (and yes, a tux) and high heels, and bowing & curtsing in front of the queen. we are. period.

as the plane began it’s descent toward LAX i vowed to the goddess meryl that i was going to be the best writer, use my voice to inspire & awaken ALL women, be the best playwright – co-author – i could ever be, and make eliza ventura proud. and yes … frank ventura. both. proud. as can be.

and i made one more vow.
i will never — never ever — sit in the back of a plane again. at least not by the toilet.

once you’ve made a pledge to curtsy in front of the queen (any queen), you need a little more leg room.