Dispatch One--Somewhere over the Atlantic

Time to Destination: 3 hours and 52 minutes. Okay, that’s just until Dakar. Then it’s another 7 or so hours, but at this point, who’s counting?

So our flight from Boston to Atlanta was delayed by a wicked bitchtard (official flight attendant lingo) who decided that her 45 foot 200lb suitcase would FIT JUST PERFECTLY in the overhead compartments. Of course it didn’t, so she got into a fight with the flight attendant regarding the laws of physics. Finish her, Einstein! My favorite kind of bitchtard is the bitchtard who is rude as hell and then assumes she’s been horribly, horribly wronged. Yes, queen of the douche nozzles, you write that complaint to Delta. And here’s your complimentary punch in the teeth. Sorry, we’ve been on a plane for a long damn time. In any case, because of said fighting with flight attendants, we had to haul some serious arse and run all the way to our gate, Home Alone style (except neither of us have children that we accidentally left behind to foil a Christmas time robbery and learn about the importance of family. At least not that I know of.) to catch our connecting flight to Dakar. In any case, it’s a good thing we decided on the work-out clothes pajama look, and it’s a good thing that Lauren made Shannon run that half-marathon, because she kicked it into high gear and with Lizzie throwing hard elbows, we were able to make it right after the final boarding call, out of breath and smelly as we were.

Then came movies (Indiana Jones 4 for Shannon. Holy crap that movie is stupid, and Get Smart for Lizzie. Hilarious! Sometimes) and dinner (it was no cube steak, but there was an Oreo-laden brownie. Shannon only eats Oreos in brownie or ice cream form). After that came the music.

Ahem.

So maybe ONE of us was flipping through the music selections, and the other one of us had already chosen and was listening to music, and say SOMEONE pointed out that the Spice Girl’s greatest hits were an option, and the other person, her ears full of rockin’ tunes, yelled “OH YOU’RE LISTENING TO THE SPICE GIRLS?” cue the record spin off. NO. NO, I’m listening to Feist right now, surely. Oh look, there’s the Dream Police by Cheap Trick! All of these cool tunes! Who would possibly be listening to something so vapid and craptastic as…

Really really really wanna zigga zig haaa!

Also, an important side note about dinner. We just learned that we’re not allowed to actually leave the plane at our layover. Dinner, though passable in terms of taste, if your tastebuds have been mostly killed by over dosing on aspartame, like ours have, had that excellent vague categorization “chicken” or “beef.” Well, interesting *note* on the beef. Not just beef, kids, but rather….spicy, spicy, peppery, bowel-tickling beef.

So yes, the last two hours have been a fun olfactory adventure!