"You mean now you actually have to BUY one of those awful sandwiches on an American Airlines flight?"  I asked Ashley, the flight attendant from Dallas, Texas.

She laughed.  Maybe it was the way I asked the question, but she laughed a lot.  She seemed to like me.  I could see her nipples getting hard under her uniform.

Before I knew it, I was in the back of the plane learning what the "mile-high club" was all about. Her uniform flew open as she rode me to her orgasm.  With the flight from Albuquerque to Los Angeles completely full, this seemed like a dangerous thing to do.  But since I’ve always been afraid of flying, I still wore my seatbelt.  As Ashley the flight attendant moaned and came, I thought I heard her say, "Thank you for flying American Airlines."

That’s when i woke up, a legal pad in my hand.  I was going to write a post for this blog, but I must have fallen asleep on the plane. 

I was on the flight with Sophia, her eyes bloodshot, her nose dripping all over the place from her cold.   A baby was crying behind us.  The businessman in front of me leaned his chair back, giving me officially two inches of leg room.  After three weeks away, first at my father’s funeral, then in Albuquerque, it was time to come home.

Life Goes On.

Now that my father has been gone for a few weeks, the "missing" him part is settling in.  It’s weird that he’s just "gone."  I can’t just call him up whenever I want, knowing he’ll be there.  He always ended his conversations by saying, "Be of good cheer," which I always found very weird.  Did he learn that in a British movie from the 1940’s?  But I’ll miss him saying it.

When you’re younger, you think the world revolves around you.  Part of getting older is realizing that it doesn’t.  Even when you go to the better world (whatever that is) —

Life Goes On.

I was out of Los Angeles for three weeks.  Did life just stop there while I was gone?

"Of course not," said the voice on the American Airlines overhead speaker.  "This is Roger Andrews, your pilot.   As we approach LAX, Neil, I’d like to thank you for flying American Airlines, especially since we were too cheap to give you a bereavement fare and you had to use your frequent flier miles.  But then again, it’s fitting that you flew with us, since your father always went with American  American for some unknown reason.  Maybe he thought it was patriotic.   "Always fly with American," he used to say. 

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know that," I said.   "So, what happened in Los Angeles while I was gone."

"Neil, this is Roger Andrews, your pilot.  Life went on, as it always does: 

74,300 Iced Blended Non-Fat Mochas were sold at the Coffee Bean.

6,105 women had their boobs made from a B cup to a D cup.

1,520 really bad screenplays were registered with the Writers Guild of America.

7 freeway chases occurred on the 101, four of them covered live on Eyewitness News.

575 new members were inducted at the Hollywood Scientology Center.

4 ICM assistants were promoted to talent agents after giving oral sex to their bosses.

758 Los Angeles residents moved to Oregon.

3, 878 illegal Mexican residents moved to Los Angeles."

Life Goes On.