Wednesday, April 18, 2007

Mile high club

Ok fine, I admit, I am a member of the much-hyped club. But it's not as crazy as it sounds, I just happened to date a pilot when I was 20 and we were alone up there with the auto-pilot on. Moving on.

I've never been scared of flying. I normally sleep during take-off, the soothing noice of a jet engine rocks me right to sleep in my comfy first class seat. Dad used to joke and say I was raised in first class, which isn't too far off, since my parents were jet-setters and I travelled at least once every other week. When I went to school in Switzerland, I knew the staff at the airport lounge by first name. I knew the wine lists offered in many airlines' first class. But the last few years I've made New York my home and after dad died, I have no reason to travel on a weekly basis. I pity the people to fly coach though, it's worse than riding a filthy bus. First class is sophisticated, no sloppy clothing, no screaming children and fine wines - as all of life should be.

However, I hate not having my own first class service on ground. When I left Luxemburg last week after having visited a friend, I was treated like an ordinary worthless citizen. It is humiliating to have to remove items of clothing such as belt, jacket, even boots in front of 'the vermin'. I walked through the arch, a sweaty woman (with a vibe very German shot-put) told me to stretch my arms out and she then padded me down. Not kindly, but brutally, as if to punish me. (I now know what Jesus must've felt before bearing the cross.) She felt me up like I was her bitch, and I could not believe it when she put her filthy fingers inside the linen of my very low pants. I had no panties on, as it's more comfortably flying without, and she touched my sacred parts!!

In panic, I yelled 'security' only to realize I was already surrounded by them. A manager of some sort tried to calm me down and assure me the pervert had done nothing wrong, as it was supposedly all part of the process and 'for my own safety'. As if being violated makes me feel secure! I immideately went to file a complaint. I won't fly again until they can assure me no filthy Jerry Springer groupie can legally put her hands down my vagina ever again!

Thursday, January 04, 2007

Militia men

Men in uniform.
I've never really understood why women obsess about them.
I dread the military, think they fill no purpose and how sad are the people that willingly and eagerly sign up to get killed for a country that doesn't give a rat's butt about them. The guy can be hot, but when in any form of uniform I can't help but thinking "sorry fuck, he sold his soul to the devil and all he got was a lousy hair cut".

Anyyyyway, I got a call yesterday from a guy I dated back when I went to school in Switzerland. He was in the Austrian army then, now he trains their navy seals. I prefered him incognito, no uniform, nothing to reveal his sad choice of path in life. But I liked him because he had muscles in places I had no idea they could grow. I made him break up with me, beacuse I was lazy.. I called him 'an extended SS-officer in a German colony' and the Austrian government 'Hitler's long lost string puppets', which I knew would make him stop loving me. But this was way back, and he'd gotten over it. Last time he'd called was on xmas 2 years ago - from a brothel. He'd given his top soldiers gift certificates there and was waiting in the bar with a cranberry juice.
"Hmm.. I just realized I kinda miss you".
If it was the juice or the environment that made him reminisce, I wouldn't know.

Either way, he was in the city and we made plans to meet up for a drink. As I ran out to my cab I realized I should txt hubby I wouldn't make it to our planned dinner. Said and done.
Me and my Austrian mate laughed away at old memories for hours and many drinks, and I didn't even look at my cell. Back outside, when the bar closed, I said a heartfelt goodbye to my friend by squeezing his buttocks and I heard my cell ring.
"Where the hell are you"? it was a voice full of despair. "I've called 415 times! I was so worried you'd relapsed!"
Hubby had been driving around, going from my fave bar to the other. I gave him the address I was at and less than 1 minute later his car came to a halt beside me.
I was too emberessed to make eye-contact and looked at my MJ-clad feet.
"Here honey", he said and suddenly there was a big boquet of red roses in my hands. "I'm sorry I yelled at you.. it's just.. today was our anniversary, of when we first met, and I'd planned a whole night to surprise you".
I cried tears of joy while mumbling 'sorry' over and over again into his suit. Tomorrow I will make all this up to him by ordering him a new boat to be delivered in spring. Yes, that's the least I can do for my love. Maybe I should also get him a sailor's uniform, complete with the tilted mini hat - the only uniform that makes me swoon.