So I took the red eye from Vegas (where my layover from Reno/Tahoe was) to home. I should be asleep right now, because all I've had in the last 5 days were four nights of drinking sleep, and then five hours of airplane sleep, the worst sleep there is. Drinking sleep isn't so bad if you do it right. There is that window. You can be black-out-pass-out-stupid-drunk, wake-up-with-a-boulder-on/in-your-head headache or you can have that three beer buzz that doesn't let you go to sleep. Or you can have that wonderful in-between where everything from the night before is crystal clear, nothing to regret, and there is nothing groggy in sight. It's that kind of drunk where you think, "This is why people drink. To get to this right here." I don't know what that fine balance is, what the trick is, but sometimes it's just downright smashing.

Anyway, airplane sleep. Ugh. Luckily, I had a window seat on this completely full flight. Unluckily, I was stuck next to an old man who kept touching me. That sounds gross. He wasn't creepy touching me, he just couldn't keep to his side of the armrest. So he kept waking me up. I couldn't figure out what he was doing. Every time I looked back at him, he appeared to be looking for something. He looked all nervous and his head would look back and forth and then he would stare. He reminded me of me when I had mice in my old apartment. They would wake me up with there little feet tapping the linoleum. I would sit up and stare at the crack of light beneath my door to catch a glimpse of the little fuckers. This guy was me. I think he wanted a flight attendant to take away some trash he had, so he could put his tray table up.

Anyway, he kept hitting me and waking me up. I had fallen asleep with the help of a Tylenol PM, otherwise there is no way I would have fallen asleep. I can't sleep on any form of transportation without help. Unless of course I am driving, then I can nod off with the best of them. So I fell asleep with my seat back in its upright position. I don't like putting it back because it's an odd angle. It's a tease of an angle. So at one point during my ever so fragile slumber, I wake up with a jolt. It was my seat crashing back to its "reclined" stage. The fucker next to me pushed my button. And when I looked at him, he didn't say sorry or have an apologetic face on. He pretended as though he was just looking beyond me and through the window, as he found his button and s l o w l y reclined back. After a few more bumps into me during the flight, I finally said to him in my cranky airplane sleep mode, "Could you please. Stop. Hitting me?" It started off really forceful, but ended kind of with an "Oh, what's the point" intonation.

The worst part about the flight was a lovely couple who wouldn't shut the fuck up sitting across the aisle. As I mentioned in my previous post, this was the proud Puerto Rican guy who paid for his ticket, so he could do whatever the fuck he wanted.

So he and his girlfriend, who resembled a doormat with acne, talked as loud as possible to each other the entire second half of the flight. It woke me up here and there, but I'd fall back asleep. I think someone might have said something to them at one point to keep it down, but no one listened. If you have never been on a red eye flight, or one that is traveling at a time when most people would be sleeping, it's common for everyone to be as quiet as possible. They turn off most of the lights in the plane, so it's perfect for sleep. If you do speak to each other, it's with a whisper. But I guess that unwritten rule doesn't apply to a Puerto Rican from the Bronx who paid for his ticket. At one point he said "fuck" kind of loud, and then said, "Pardon my French. But I'm Puerto Rican and I don't really give a fuck."

It wasn't until we landed and everyone was getting their bags from the overhead when he really flipped out. There was a tall, middle-aged white guy who was standing very close to him, which prevented Puerto Rico to lift his bag. In Puerto Rico's defense, the guy was a little too close to him, which I think was a passive aggressive attempt by the white guy to communicate to Puerto Rico that he didn't appreciate how loud he was for the flight. So Puerto Rico says, "You know, if you just get out my way, we could bofe be getting our bags quicker." True that, but I think white guy wanted trouble. He said something back, which I didn't understand. Then this brilliant dialogue took place:

Puerto Rico: Step off and don't hate on me.

White guy: Don't hate on me?

Puerto Rico: Yeah, I said it. Don't hate on me.

White guy: Don't hate on me? I don't know what that means.

Puerto Rico: You don't want nothing to do with me.

White guy's daughter: Dad, come on, this is stupid. Don't...

Puerto Rico: Everybody got a problem with me 'cause I talk loud, well fuck that. I paid for my ticket, none a y'all did, so fuck it. You don't want to mess with me. I'ma go home right now and drink a Colt 45, because that's how I start my day. I'm from the Bronx. And oh, by the way, I'm also an ultimate fighter, so I don't think you want to bring it.

Effeminate Male Flight Attendant: Sir, you have to be quiet right now. One more word and we will have security meet you at the gate.

Puerto Rico: OK see, I respect you. I respect you, I'll do it for you.

Effeminate Male Flight Attendant: One more word. These people don't need to be subjected to this language.

Puerto Rico: OK, well I just want to let you know... (he trails off)

Effeminate Male Flight Attendant: One more word.

Puerto Rico: (mockingly) One more word.

End scene. It was fucking retarded. Seven in the morning. No one wants that, although it was quite amusing. The best part by far is the casual mention of being an ultimate fighter. I'm not sure if he was or not (I didn't have time to fact check), but it did make me laugh.

And just so you know, I was killing this guy with my internal monologue. If I was someone who enjoys confrontation, I would have been able to go toe-to-toe with him. At least verbally, not ultimate fighterly. I was on. I forget exactly what my comebacks would have been, but I remember thinking to myself, Oh, that one probably would have gotten a round of applause from the rest of the plane. They would have claimed me their hero and carried me out, all the while chanting, "Two four six eight, who do we appreciate? The guy from seat 22A who stood up to the Puerto Rican from the Bronx that may or may not an ultimate fighter and starts off his day with a Colt 45 and has an odd respect for effeminate male flight attendants! That guy! That guy! That guy!"

There was much more from my trip that I had wanted to mention, but that guy stole the thunder and pushed other memories from me skull. If I remember them, I will regale you. You will be regaled.