I’m writing from the other side of the country. And Boyfriend Brett is with me.
And that’s significant.
Because this is what happens to Boyfriend Brett when he flies.
Just think: I get to tap that sexy piece of meat...
It’s an odd thing, this affliction that plagues poor Brett. When he and I first got together, he nonchalantly mentioned as a total aside one day, “So, I’m afraid of flying.”
It was about the same time he told me he was hooked on zombie films. I thought he was joking about both.
Or not. (Seriously: Who the hell watches zombie flicks?)
Anyhow, I thought he was “afraid of flying” the way I’m “afraid of stupid people.” Or “afraid of comma splices.” Or “afraid of hairless cats.”
I don’t give them a second thought — but I don’t necessarily enjoy them, either.
I had no idea he is “afraid of flying” the way I’m “afraid of bricks.”
And to be perfectly honest, if someone said to me, “Are you afraid of flying?”, I’d probably shrug and say something like, “Yeah. I don’t like to fly.”
After all, I have giraffe legs. They don’t fit in the standard 5.875-inch allotment that separates rows. I hate dry roasted peanuts. I hate tiny bathrooms that are called “lavs” in order to make them sound all boutique-y and quaint. I hate that people think reclining from a 12-degree angle to a 15-degree angle gives them a much better rest, because in reality, all it does is CROWD MY GIRAFFE LEGS AND MAKE ME WANT TO KNEE YOU IN THE ‘NADS.
But I guess, in reality, I’m not afraid of flying. Not like Brett is afraid. Not like hives afraid.
Brett once told me about the root of his fear, and many of us have heard similar stories: It was a flight from hell, one with wind shears and screaming men and sudden drops and pasty-faced people kissing the ground as they deplaned.
And apparently, the boy ain’t been right since.
Before that fateful flight, he was practically a flying machine. He was raised in the Midwest, lived in the Caribbean for a decade, flew stateside many times and lived in Upstate New York for years before making the cross-country trek to Nevada. He was a SCUBA instructor in the Caribbean, and he even taught night diving.
Surround him with jellyfish and stingrays in black, shark-infested waters, and he’s Studly Do-right the SCUBA God. Hand him a Sky Mall and give him an oxygen mask demonstration, and all of a sudden he’s Hive Boy.
Our first trip together was the only time I’ve ever seen him drunk. No real biggie, except for one slight problem: He decided to get drunk the night before our trip.
Not so smart. He awoke the next morning still slightly drunk and at the early stages (just past “The Spins” but before “The Smell of Air Makes Me Want to Puke”) of an epic hangover — yet he still had to face his worst fears. Only we had no idea what was to come.
Because the only seats remaining were in the back of the plane (as luck would have it, I “scored” Boarding Passes Z-49 and 50, if I recall). There we had a bird’s eye view of this, appropriately taking place just under our (broken) wing:
I tried not to let him see. I tried distracting him by deliberately going through every single goddamn thing in the seat pocket in front of us: Look! A spew bag — yeah, maybe not the best thing to show him, as we’re definitely past the pre-pukey part; Emergency Landing Procedures — crap, he really didn’t need to see the picture of the plane spiraling downward then performing a water landing; Sky Mall — SCORE!
I then feverishly flipped through the ubiquitous seat-pocket staple, loudly declaring that we absolutely NEED the “Swoop-and-Scoop” bowl on p. 31 (that shit’s seriously cool: a bowl that doesn’t allow your cereal to get soggy? I’m totally there…). But as I fumbled through the pages, passing over Siamese Slankets (it’s a Slanket … for two!) and Top Secret Sound-Activated Video Camera Pens and the lice-and-bedbug-killing Nano UV Disinfection wands, I watched as he looked past me and saw this scene unfolding.
Or should I say, devolving.
Hive Boy was almost in complete panic-attack mode. What you don’t see in these pictures — and I shit you not, cross my heart and hope to die in a fiery ball that used to be a plane filled with stupid people and hairless cats — was the guy on the ground who had just flipped the instructions over … and then turned them right side up again. Then flipped them over again.
Fuck.
And then came the final straw:
Yeah. Ladder boy is now on the phone. On the tarmac. Have you ever been on the tarmac of an airport? Cuz you can’t hear dick on the tarmac of an airport. And clueless instruction manual dude is still trying to read the instructions…
Not a good way to start our first cross-country flight together: Frick and Frack can’t figure out what’s wrong with our wing. And Drunky McDrunkerson is next to me, slurring his words, already breaking out in red welts, hiccuping and threatening to spew. In the pocket of the 15-degree-reclined seat in front of me (there’s a spew bag there, right?). Over my giraffe legs.
That, my friends, was our first cross-country flight together. And today I write after completing our second. Well, half of our second, because we haven’t quite made it home yet — that fun flight happens in just a few days.
But I knew this trip would be different. Because it started like this.
Drinking the night before a flight = EPIC FAIL. Drinking in the airport bar right before a flight = duh, WINNING!
And then, instead of blatantly taking pix of Brett’s blotches, I surreptitiously snapped this shot of our third-seater reading the in-flight magazine:
(I should add: I also DID NOT pay him...)
It’s like that line in When Harry Met Sally, when Bruno Kirby’s character says to Carrie Fisher’s character: “I’ve never had someone quote me to me before.”
Or something like that.
Because I wrote that story in Southwest Spirit Magazine. Then that dude was reading it! Made me all tingly…
So here we are in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. Where Baptist churches and strip clubs are on every alternating corner (so “sin” and subsequent “redemption” can happen without shamefully wasting gas, I guess) and nub-filled-foods like grits and hominy are commonplace.
I mean, where else in the world would you see this bat-shit craziness?
Mmmm. Finger-lickin’ good…
So before I go, I thought I’d ask:
- Has anyone had any experience with visiting and/or living in the
ConfederacySouth? Because this is an eye-opening experience for this northern girl… - What exactly are grits, anyhow?
- Anyone else with irrational fears you’d care to share (or admit to a zombie-flick fetish)? Any tips for Hive Boy? Because we still have that flight home in a few days…
Thanks, y’all. Wish me luck! 
I am laughing out loud but fear of flying is real and not funny to the one experiencing it. But I am laughing- he looks so calm in the bar. He must like you a lot to get back on the plane.
Where are you seeing hairless cats? I never have. I lived in the south once. Told I was nothing but a damn Yankee girl. Not talking baseball fan either. Anyone thanks for a great day starter.
You’re right: It’s no laughing matter…
(But OH MY GOD it’s so fucking funny!!!!!)
I think he does love me, but we’re actually here to visit his kids — so I think I love him more. Especially because I have to put up with him and his silly hives and oh-my-God-we’re-gonna-die paranoia…
The hairless cats are just a thing that Brett tries to push on me every now and again. I’m allergic to cats and dogs, so the hairless variety will be the only kind that ever grace my home. So he sends me occasional pix.
Those things are fuckin’ creepy…
Thank you for the fun comment — I’m a Yankee girl, too! (…and definitely not a baseball fan…)
Mikalee, I am a southern girl. We call ourselves Girls Raised In The South (GRITS). To be perfectly honest, grits are an acquired taste. They are made by torturing corn until it turns into little bits of yumminess. I’d suggest that you find a restaurant serving cheese grits and try them there.
As far as Boyfriend Brett’s hives, try a pre-flight dose of Benadryl. It might help. And even if it doesn’t it might make him too sleepy to get stressed out.
Hey Liz: I was thinking about you today, as we visited one of those cheesy souvenir shops and I saw the sign:
GRITS: Girls Raised in the South
You rock — totally right on!
And yeah, Benadryl is OK. But Valium is FAR better…
As I started reading your latest, great post….I could have sworn , I heard in my head, the Late, CBS 60 Minutes host, ANDY ROONEY ( spell check ?) SPEAKING YOUR PIERCING PERSPECTIVES on life.
I think you need to be writing for TV ! … HELLO UNIVERSE !!!!!
AS for great, SOUTHERN, Roadside Cuisine… YOU NEED TO GO TO “WAFFLE HOUSE” !!!!!
Wow — I’m truly honored, as he was an incredibly witty, funny, astute commentator about so many aspects of life…
Seriously: Thank you!
And I’ve been to a “Pancake House.” Does that count???
No no no! Pancake House is not good enough. You MUST go to a Waffle House and order hash browns.
Crap. Now I’m Googling “Waffle House.” Hope you’re happy…
I’m thrilled. Waffle House is great. Except for being kinda’ greasy. It’s not exactly a daily or weekly indulgence.
And my ex-husband eats there often, so I don’t go because I don’t care to run into him.
Excellent … Fluffy 3 egg Omelets and diet COKE
…oh yeah, and there’s that too…Diet Coke is not the preferred drink in the South. Diet Pepsi and Sweet Tea are!
Yet another reason I do not live there…
As an ex-flight attendant for a now defunct major airline, the answer is “Yes”.
Every time I was seated in a restaurant in the South I was referenced as a Yankee. I was from the West coast….. apparently history never existed West of the Mississippi….
Great Post!!
Thank you so much — and believe me, I have SO MUCH to share about my observations about the South. Truly a “different” part of the country (like WAY different…).
I can only imagine what you’ve seen, Miss Ex-Flight Attendant. The stories…I’m sure they’d make an incredible blog! (hint hint…).
Wait — there’s liver AND gizzards?!
I’ll bet they’re affordable, too…
Pearl
Indeed. And served with bacon and smothered in gravy. And served with Sweet Tea.
I’ve spent much of my post-college life in the South, and while some things I’ll never understand (like, the Civil War – aka The War of Northern Aggression – ended almost 150 years ago, y’all, the North won, GET OVER IT), I adore grits. Plain, with butter, with cheese, with bits of bacon torn in, with….
See, grits are the kissin’ cousin of Northern Italy’s polenta. You like polenta, right? It’s just that grits can be a bit … grittier. A slightly coarser grinding of corn, not as fine as polenta. Although I once ate brunch in an upscale North Carolina place that I swear used dry polenta for its smooth-as-silk grits, most grits are mildly crunchy. Sort of al dente. They’re supposed to be. It’s like toast in Briton – bloody hell, don’t swathe it with butter and let it lie limp on the plate, stand it up in a toast rack, woman! Because both UK toast and US grits are supposed to provide textural contrast to the scrumptiousness of eggs.
So try those grits. Add your choice of embellishment. Remember that you’re eating a slightly altered rendition of polenta – which is also a basic, downhome food. You may be pleasantly surprised. Hope so! Non-Southerners who like grits are gifted with sense and sensibility.
And that’s a segue for me to plug someone else’s book, about which I blogged recently (“Becoming A Mensch, The Jane Austen Way”) : A Jane Austen Education, by William Deresiewicz. If you read no other memoir between now and November 2012, read this one. It’s wonderful, amusing, frown-producing, and ultimately warms the heart.
God, do we need that, these days.
Alrighty then — I’m totally with you on the hold-overs from the War of Northern Aggression, but I’m still a bit reticent about the grits. I’ll let you know.
(Keep in mind: I have texture issues. Remember, I think tapioca pudding is DISGUSTING because of the nubs. I mean, who needs NUBS???)
But I’m putting all my faith (and taste buds) in your hands. Wish me luck.
I’m totally picking up the memoir. Because that’s how I roll…
Thanks for the tip!
Mikalee, I love the title of this post. You know you’re going to have to start a series about the adventures of Hive Boy and Writer Girl. The photos are priceless (and your Brett is awfully cute!). Well, you had me laughing in the aisles. And I am 100 percent with you about the south.
My most memorable experience was back when I was living in the D.C. area, I went to a festival in Virginia, where they were doing what they do best in those parts of the country: having a Civil War reenactment. There was a mother and her son (about 7 years old) sitting nearby. I heard the son ask, “What are they doing?” He was referring to the reenactment that was occurring up on a hillside. She explained about the war. Then he asked, “Who won?”
Her response? Shaking her head, and getting all sad, she said, “We lost, Hon, we lost.” The way she said it, you would have thought the Civil War just ended earlier in the year and not over 100 years ago! So, in other words, it’s like they’re still fighting it!
…oh, they’re DEFINITELY still fighting it. Incredible, ain’t it? (OH MY GOD I’m totally turning into one of “them.” I can probably even tell you the difference between a “redneck” and a “hillbilly.” Someone get me outta here!!!)
Thanks for the feedback, Monica. And I’ll definitely get to work on my memoir!
I am a Tennessee girl all the way! Good luck, because I know the South feels like some bat-shit-crazy circus to newcomers. Grits are a staple, but don’t really taste like anything. Funny how that works, huh?
It’s like water: We all love it (and need it), but it tastes like — well, water. Right?
I live just north of Myrtle, moved here from the midwest. If you are from the north you probably have seen cream of wheat. Well grits is like that except it is made from corn instead of wheat. I really nee to get my hands on that article, I love your blog you are too funny! Maybe you should work on getting a sitcom I would watch that.
You are too kind, Rachel — and it’s nice to meet a “local” who doesn’t look at me as a “honky” with no business in her “hood.”
Or at least that’s the impression I’m getting here, anyhow…
Hilarious. All that agony to get to a place where you can eat liver and gizzards at KFC. Does the drinking continue throughout the trip as well as in the airports?
Hey there!
Its been countless hours and days that I read something that you wrote and truly a long time since I last checked in this site so of course I’m Sorry
I just loved this one here. You really have a lot going on it seems and I cant miss to mention that I would love to hear more of the Adventures of Hive Boy and the Writer Girl. They definitely are a very cute couple
You Rock Lady!
Ravi
No apologies necessary — I’m just glad you’re back!
Hive Boy and Writer Girl will return … as long as you do! Thanks for the visit and the comment, Ravi!
Wow! I dream of someday seeing someone reading something I wrote! How cool is that!
Haha, I feel for Boyfriend Brett. I have a weird kind of acrophobia, but I don’t get hives from it. Sweaty palms and hyperventilation yes. Ugly red splotches no. I’m one of those freaks who tortures myself with it though. I deliberately look out the windows of planes during lift off for the panic attack. Some people do horror films. I do plane windows… or glass elevators… or skydiving… or whatever. I just recently jumped off the Stratosphere. Scariest thing like ever. If I get hives though, I’m done.
Love it here! Great post as usual!
Coolest. Feeling. EVER!!!
Thanks for commiserating. I can understand the panic attacks — I am claustrophobic, but I don’t understand the whole fear of flying.
But girlfriend: That Stratosphere ride??? Fuckin’ CRAZY!!! (I stayed in the Stratosphere during my last visit, and they were just constructing it — you’re INSANE!!!!!)
There’s nothing irrational about my fear of snakes and/or grammatic errors. Best post I’ve read in November so far.
Wow — I’m honored! Thank you for saying so…
And I will absolutely agree about with you about the fear of snakes and/or grammatical errors. I’m totally with ya…
Hi Me Too,
FWIW, grits is the same as mush – hope that helps!
And it appears that you are one of those sophisticated educated women that know how to say FUCK!
Cool
Grits = mush. No bueno…
And I’m glad you approve of my language, BTW.
Wow, I thought I was afraid of flying but…just..wow! I love the hairless cat part too, I have two hairless cats and one is pretty damn scary. As far as your giraffe legs, I’m sure they are fine. I would love to be tall. I pretty much haven’t grown since you last saw me at twelve years old, so I am still 5 foot 2. My mom used to always tell me I would be tall, I would have to be since my feet were so big (8 1/2 – 9). But I stayed short with freakishly big feet, my own boyfriend called my shoes “treeboks” and “three-blocks”..I broke up with him and now wear Adidas. I hope Brett is ok and that there are no difficulties on the flight back. I would get a valium prescription for the times that I have to fly (oh wait, I did) it makes all the difference to just be able to sleep through it. Oh and how cool that dude next to you was reading your article! I would have surreptitiously left some form of id on the tray table or had myself paged or something, maybe next time. Keep writing, we miss you!
You HAVE two hairless cats???? How do you sleep at night?
And should I tell you that I wear a size 8.5-9 shoe — and I’m 6 feet tall? Or would that just be gloating?
Just kidding, of course. Something tells me your feet aren’t the first thing people notice about you…
Thank you for the comment, Sarah. It’s good to be home, with a hive-free bf… and it’s wonderful to be writing more consistently again!
I have read and liked this article. was really very
Very…
???
Watch “My Cousin Vinny” for a primer on the south, and for a discussion of grits.
Good call. It’s been a while, so I’ll add that to my NetFlix cue!
In answer to your questions, unless they were rhetorical:
1) I am.
2) Are you being serious?
3) A – Yes; being a responsible adult. But it’s a little late now.
B – Codeine, and lots of it.
Codeine, huh? Hadn’t thought about going that route…
Also, My Cousin Vinny is a funny movie, but it’s a caricature of the South, not a fair representation. For that, see The War (1993), starring Kevin Costner, Mare Winningham, and a young Elijah Wood.
Not only is The War a great movie about the Southern culture (not on the skids) in general, it’s quite possibly the best movie I’ve ever seen. Ever. And I’ve seen a few.
Excellent advice. I’ll have to add that to my NetFlix cue — I heart Kevin Costner (“Waterworld” notwithstanding…)
I guess I never caught that you had texture issues! Me too! Food should not be crunchy, gritty, and soft or smooth at the same time. Like, no nuts in cake or brownies. Leave the nuts on the side please. Coconut too, well don’t just leave it on the side throw it far away! I may have tried grits once, yep once that was enough. Tapioca pudding and Creamed corn, ’nuff said
Now water shouldn’t have a taste. Unless you put kool-aid in it like I do, to avoid any other taste. Being a plumber I have gotten my doses of water from pipes. So I can “taste” the pipes in the water, hence the kool-aid.
War of Northern aggression? Uhm history says Fort Sumter was attacked by the South first. The US does not give in. So the South fired upon a US installation first. Who aggressed who there?!
We lost? Americans fought Americans. WE all lost, but no one is around any more to take it personally. The South lost, yes, but WE are all Americans now. Much ado about nothing now. Get over it. Move on.
Enjoy! Safe travels!
We’re kindred spirits, Harold: no nuts in brownies or cookies? TOTALLY agreed. Coconut? On its own, a horrible texture. Tapioca pudding? WHO EATS FOOD WITH BUILT-IN NUBS????
Thanks for the comment and the Civil War primer. It seems many southerners don’t agree, however…
husband hive boy? Just sayin’
Wow. You’re good…
Husband hive boy? Did I miss something…
Hahahahaha! No, you didn’t miss anything — Salmart was just mentioning in a previous comment that I love alliteration so much, I probably only considered boyfriends whose names started with a “B” because then I could happily put “Boyfriend” in front of it…
Then she suggested I consider changing Brett’s name to Horace or Horatio or something-or-other so that I could potentially marry him.
And now she seems to think that my calling him “Hive Boy” fulfills my alliteration obligation.
Whatev.
Oh phew I thought you got married and didn’t tell us!!
Yeah. Um. NO!
I will admit I do like zombie flicks.I don’t really like the older films much, but enjoy the remake of the Dawn of the Dead series and I love love love Zombieland. My boyfriend and I even go to Zombie prom in Chicago during May. Yes we do make up and all.
I haven’t been down south since I was a kid when my Dad went to visit his family. I don’t remember much of it.
You even do make-up??? Awesome. Must be fun.
My boyfriend likes that zombie show on TV — The Walking Dead, I think it’s called? Do you watch that, too?
Benadryl. Skip the booze and go straight for the sedative. It might even calm the hives.
Good tip. I’ll just need to make sure he’s not driving — of course, he can’t drive when he’s DRINKING the entire flight, anyhow…
I love to fly because it gives me uninterrupted time to read or write. I settle in like a tiresome relative. I am the only one on the plane that does not want the flight to end. Flight attendants have asked me to turn off the lights when I leave the plane.
As to the South, I’m a Southern man who needs to say that much of the southern identity has been lost. It remains only in the sophomoric jokes of bad comedians. A new shtick is needed by these guys.
As to grits, they are just an excuse to eat butter and salt when our doctors have told us not to. Even our doctors know that you can’t eat grits without butter and salt.
I will admit that I do LOVE that aspect of flying: There are no other times in my hectic life when I get to NOT feel guilty about reading for hours on end. On yesterday’s flight home, I devoured almost an entire book. That rocked…
Love your perspective about the grits. Good point — and apparently, I made the mistake of eating them as served. Yuck.
I am not sure what grits are but do not ask if you can try just one. They will laugh at you. Drinks at the airport are always amazing.
Good advice. They didn’t take kindly to my asking for a “sample, just to see if I like them,” either…
And you know what? I discovered on this trip that Southwest Airlines’ in-flight Bloody Mary — Mr. & Mrs. T’s with a good vodka — is pretty damn tasty. Far tastier than our 5-minute stop in Chicago, featuring a watery Bloody Mary special…
I too am afraid to fly. I took a class for people like me that couldnt get on a plane. In the class they showed how the wings wont fall off the plane, this is a common fear for us. They took a 747 and strapped it to the ground and bent the wings so that they touched above the body, then let them go and they went right back into place. That made me feel a little better till one day. I was sitting in a friends living room telling him about the class as we were watching the news. The news story on was about a fire fighting plane that went down while dropping that red stuff on the forest fire. The wings fell off the damn plane and it was caught on video!! Now I just take some Xanax prior to the flight, enough of that and I really dont care if the wings stay on:)
Oh my GOD that is too funny — and BTW, I just read your comment to Boyfriend Brett. He laughed, but I also think I saw him scratch something on his neck. I think just the thought of the wings falling off was enough to inspire an almost-breakout!
Now I just need to find a way to get ahold of some good, prescription-grade Xanax…
Oddly enough, I just had grits for breakfast yesterday. The secret is to add something to them…anything…just to give them flavor. Salt, pepper, butter…whatever floats your greasy Southern boat!
This post, btw, does not help with my own lack of enthusiasm over flying. I’ll be boarding a plane come Christmas day (and, incidentally, also downing a Bloody Mary or two before the flight).
Thankfully, I don’t have giraffe legs to contend with.
Grits yesterday?!?! That is bizarre. And I only wish I had read about the idea of “adding flavor” to grits before I ordered them.
I ate them as served.
Keep one thing in mind before you fly, which Brett and I discovered yesterday: If you have an early flight, an airport bar might be *gasp!* closed. He had to fly the first leg stone-cold D-R-Y. NO BUENO…
That post was hilarious. I’m afraid of heights like Bret’s afraid of flying!
I lived in Mississippi for a year, moved all the way from Kuwait to Mississippi… so talk about culture shock!
Check my blog for some stories on the South and while you’re over there make sure you get lots of cornbread, biscuits, sweet tea and apple pie!
I’m not a fan of heights, either — I have much more fear for heights than flying, that’s for sure! So I can relate…
And Kuwait to MISSISSIPPI????? How did you ever survive?
Haha, it took me some time to adjust… I also thought the “southern hospitality” was a myth at first. But then I started meeting all the right people
I absolutely loved it.
Good to know the “right” people actually exist. Guess I just met all the wrong ones!
I love liver.
Also it’s always pretty great to see anyone randomly mention, read or enjoy your work.
Those two thoughts are only just barely related.
Here’s a bizarre admission from this texture-issued blogger to you, Posky: I love chicken livers. How’s that for random and bizarre?
And is your second sentence tacit acknowledgment that I should, indeed, tattoo your name on my forehead?
Finally, I love your only-just-barely-related unrelated sentences.
GASP! I’m pretty sure the real question here is “Who doesn’t watch zombie movies?”
Um. I don’t. Because I’m old, apparently. And totally uncool like that.
Of course, Brett is OLDER…
“Just think: I get to tap that sexy piece of meat…”
Hilarious! Nicely done.
…and yet, so true…
I’m one lucky girl!
I have to admit, I got a good laugh out of this. It’s so wrong, but so funny at the same time.
Hehe…it is so wrong, isn’t it? I’m just lucky to have an amazing boyfriend who allows me to expose his (teeny tiny little) vulnerabilities…
Thanks for the comment!
I was actually born and lived the first seven years of my life in South Carolina. Our family vacations were to Myrtle Beach or Charleston. I’ve gone back a few times, but frankly the upper Midwest suits me a million times better. College towns in general and university culture is what it’s all about, and the rural south is about as far from that as you’ll find.
I couldn’t tell you what grits are, exactly, but I can tell you that they’re delicious with a pat of butter and your preferred jam or jelly (I go for grape). I’ve heard they’re great with shrimp, also, but I’ve never had the chance.
Too bad about the hives. I think flying is a blast. You get a view that some people will never have the chance to see.
Yeah … we flew into Charleston and drove the two hours north to Myrtle Beach. I live in a university town myself, and I will absolutely agree with your assessment … couldn’t be more different. I was surprised that I didn’t really encounter that storied “southern hospitality” … in fact, if anything, it was southern disdain that permeated our encounters.
I really, really wish I had read all of your comments BEFORE trying the great grits experiment. I thought I was supposed to eat them as served. Wrong…
Oh my goodness! I’ve never seen anyone actually break out in hives from fear of flying before. I would say holding off on the alcohol until you get into the airport would definitely be the way to go on that issue.
On the topic of the south, I did grow up in Memphis. The city is so much different from the rest of the south, though. But my father’s family mostly lives in Mississippi, so I understand how out of place you can feel. That and grits are gross. My mom likes the cheese ones, so perhaps finding those somewhere would be good.
Good luck with your return trip!
Thank you so much. The return trip proved uneventful … thankfully!
I do wonder why there are little enclaves of the south that are so different — much like Myrtle Beach and, it sounds like, Memphis too. Myrtle Beach is so touristy and commercial … perhaps that is the problem? Definitely didn’t get a “southern hospitality” vibe there.
I’m so glad you agree that grits = gross. I was beginning to feel like I was missing something!
Tell Brett that for whatever it is worth I am proud of him. I get panic attacks ( not from flying but from more than enough other unavoidable factors) I don’t get hives but rather really charming convulsions and twitching that makes those around me think that I smoked just a wee bit too much crack with a triple espresso chaser.
I don’t mean to laugh at you — but I did laugh out loud at your description! I can only imagine how bizarre that must be to witness — and painful for you.
The body is a bizarre thing, isn’t it? Fascinating how it chooses to manifest fears and panic…
I don’t do this very often, but I’m going to be totally serious.
I lived in the south for a few years as a kid and, as a kid, had far too much about the world in general to figure out, without understanding regional differences. Only much later, reading a book, did I start to get a clue. Here is the book:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Albion's_Seed
Read, and be enlightened.
Looking forward to it…I would love to be enlightened.
And now that you’ve gotten the serious out of your system, we’ll get Gimped images and snark again, right?
I was starting to worry about you. Your last post said you were sick, and then silent for more than a week. We’re used to seeing your comments every day. You ok now?
…aw, thank you for being concerned. I’m much better now, but was using the pause as a dramatic device — was kinda hoping you’d all think I had been abducted by the dead hooker ghost.
Just kidding, of course. Super busy with work, kids and holidays…but I’m back at it now!
Thanks for checking in!
Now, now, it isn’t nice to talk about Marilyn that way.
(With a backhand to anyone who tries to stop you.)
Diet Coke just came out of my nose.
Don’t worry, I won’t tell the Diet Coke people (who went to such trouble to get you the Diet Coke supply you were promised).
Please write something new. I’m tired of coming to your blog and seeing your boyfriend’s hives and I’m betting he’s tired of them being seen. If it’s easier for you, just change the picture. In fact, a shot of you in the same pose, would be okay. I believe it would produce more views of your blog than your boyfriend’s hives. Just sayin’
You make me smile.
Sorry Boyfriend Brett’s hives don’t do the same for you.
And nope, you will not see me in the same pose. Unless I’ve had too much to drink and am feelin’ frisky!
Great Story ,Nice post .
Thank you kindly!
So many reasons to love this post (and your blog in general) – I also had an unpleasant divorce (can’t wait to read earlier posts)…and…I am DEFINITELY hive afraid of flying. Beyond hive afraid. I’ve left nail marks in the arms of the passengers unlucky enough to find themselves next to me during turbulence. I’ve cried to flight attendants, begging them to land the plane. I kick the plane three times with my right foot before I board; I need to personally introduce myself to the pilot before I take my seat; and I ALWAYS have to have a tomato juice (even though I hate tomato juice). Tell your boyfriend he’s not alone – I get it. He can fly with me and we can commiserate.
I’m so pleased that you visited my blog and left your url. Look forward to reading more!
OK, you and Boyfriend Brett DEFINITELY need to fly together. Love love LOVE your superstitions! And I wonder: Do you introduce yourself to the pilot so that he puts a face to the faceless masses flying behind him … so that he feels more beholden to a “real” person rather than a nameless “soul” on the flight? Cuz I can kinda see that…
I hate tomato juice, too — yet I have a Bloody Mary on each flight. But I think that’s just so that I don’t kill Brett mid-flight.
All joking aside about tapping that rashy piece of ass, I LOVE that the guy was reading your article! That seriously is the coolest thing!
It. Was. AWESOME!!!
Thanks so much for reading and commenting — and seeing the fun in the dude reading my writing!
Your word choice is razor sharp and hilarious! YES! You aptly describe flying- I have giraffe legs too! Also, it must be pretty sweet to see somebody in flight reading your article. Thank you for a hilarious post. You also describe hangovers accurately, enough so I too almost felt The Spins!
Danke!
Haha…glad you could relate, and sorry for the almost-Spins…
It does suck to have giraffe legs. That is, until you’re in a crowd and realize you can see OVER every one else!
I found your blog a few months ago and it always makes me happy when there is a new post. Now I can’t wait for a post about the South!
Plus you can eat at Paula Deen’s restaurants and she would never fail to put plenty of butter and salt in your grits! 
I am from Germany, but I have been living in Georgia for about a year and a half now. The South is definitely even more different from Europe than other parts of the U.S.! As for grits, I am starting to like them more and more now. I like them with plenty of butter and some salt, but the best grits I have ever had were shrimp grits. Grits are pretty versatile. It seems they can work with whatever meal depending on what you put in them.
Being a foreigner, I have definitely experienced Southern hospitality. But I am not sure if Myrtle Beach is the right place to find it. I went there last month and thought it was a strange and fake place. Like a Vegas meets Disneyland meets some family vacation destination on the coast of Florida. How many miniature golf places could you possibly need in a town? And how many restaurants that call themselves something really similar to “International House of Pancakes”?
I’d recommend Savannah (+ Tybee Island) for the next time you check out the South. Savannah even made my super skeptical boyfriend like the South better.
I hope Boyfriend Brett felt better on the flight back! Does he always get hives from flying or just this one time? I once got terrible hives on a flight, but it was actually an allergic reaction to an antibiotic I had taken. Apparently flying really amplifies these things. I had no idea.
Thank you, Nadine, for the awesome comment! I’m LOVING your description of Myrtle Beach: “Like a Vegas meets Disneyland meets some family vacation destination on the coast of Florida. How many miniature golf places could you possibly need in a town? And how many restaurants that call themselves something really similar to ‘International House of Pancakes’?” SO TRUE!!!
Savannah sounds like the place to go. Paula Deen is a kick — but I’ll need to diet for a year before visiting…
So far, the hives were an isolated incident. But I’ve never met anyone more afraid of flying. He seriously has to brace himself against the seat during take-off and landing. I always ask, “What good will that do?” And of course, he doesn’t have an answer…
Holy, shit! You are so funny. I am afraid of the south the way your dude is afraid of flying. I’m twitching just thinking about it. Twitch, itch, twitch.
http://kvetchmom.wordpress.com
Love it! I think I share this fear — a bizarre place, to say the least.
Thanks for reading and commenting … always appreciated!
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So here we are in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. Where Baptist churches and strip clubs are on every alternating corner (so “sin” and subsequent “redemption” can happen without shamefully wasting gas, I guess) and nub-filled-foods like grits and hominy are commonplace. Thanks.
You’re … welcome?
I enjoyed this post very much. Especially the pic at the airport…. really made me lauph
Thank you! Brett + airports = good times!
very interesting, I hope you give me your opinion on mine. is about architecture.
Look forward to reading more!
Delighted to know I’m not the only one who loathes NaNoWriMo. Thanks for that.
Oh no, my blogging friend — you’re DEFINITELY not alone!
(she types, hoping you don’t read my latest post, in which I admit to a self-imposed post-a-day challenge for 12 days…)
haha. I did see that, but I think it a different thing entirely. You’ll notice that I’ve subscribed- I’ll be looking forward to those next 11 posts.
Yeah, I noticed…and I’m totally GRATEFUL!
Thanks for hanging with me. Can’t wait to explore your blog!