I think the Internet is some sort of metaphysical quagmire stuck right smack in the middle of the space/time continuum, because man… When you’ve been away for the Internet for two weeks, it seems like ten thousand years.

So I was gone for a while, during which I completely sucked at life. Including falling far behind on my blog commenting and failing miserably at the online writing group I JUST JOINED. Way to make a first impression. Sheesh.

But I am not going to whine too extensively during this post (YOU ARE WELCOME) and instead tell you all about my travels!

• In the past three weeks, I have been on eight different airplanes. Since I hate flying, and since taking off and landing terrify me, the past few weeks have been fraught with much tension and breath-holding and muttered repetitions of pleasedon’tcrashpleasedon’tcrashpleasedon’tcrash and many many daymares based on all the documentaries about plane crashes I’ve ever seen. Throw some footage of the 9/11 tragedy in there and season liberally with unfamiliar plane sounds that the flight attendants are TOTALLY OBLIVIOUS TO, and you’ve got some fun times.

• First I flew to California for my girls’ weekend. Which was awesome and involved much drinking of wine. Fun fact: If you drink one-ounce portions of red wines all day long? You grow to hate red wine.

• Another fun fact? If you go to Napa with a bunch of girlfriends, you will likely spend a LOT of money. Like, a LOT. Like, ohmygodwhatwasIthinking.

My husband and I have been saving and saving and saving (we save my entire paycheck, every month, in an untouchable savings account). I am pretty sure we’re saving for our eventual house, but I also think we are saving for Just in Case – you know, some terrible tragedy or job loss or car crash. (Okay, my husband probably doesn’t think in terms of Worst Case Scenarios. But SOMEONE has to!) But we are building up something nice and sturdy for ourselves. Nothing to brag about. But we feel proud of the little nest egg we’re creating.

So it shouldn’t be like, detrimental to our future if I splurge a little on a weekend with the girls. But I can’t help feeling Enormous Guilt.

My husband and I certainly aren’t rolling in it, but we have enough. Enough to live on. Enough to save. Enough to pay for some lovely little luxuries. We are so very fortunate.

But I am one of those people who is always waiting for the Other Shoe. And while I don’t actually know the origin of that phrase, I always picture myself sitting on a chair or whatever, minding my business, when all of a sudden a giant shoe – like a big ol’ black Doc Marten boot – comes barreling out of the sky and wallops me in the face.

Now that I had this Super Big Fun Spendy Weekend, I am certain that the universe is searching through a stack of Spice Girl platforms and spike heels, selecting the perfect one to toss in my face.

• On my flights to and from California, we actually got a meal. A meal! On the airplane! That we didn’t have to pay extra for! I thought those were relics from a kinder, happier time – like handwritten letters. But no – Continental gave me a meal. It was a “chicken enchilada” which was actually pretty tasty! Although I was so ecstatic that they were feeding me on my five-hour flight, I would have eaten goat testicles with great gusto.

• When I travel, I usually find myself completely irritated by human kind. Like the lanky German gal who sat next to me on one flight and kept elbowing me. As in, she couldn’t keep her stupid arm on the armrest and insisted on violating my personal space.

Note to travelers: If your arm touches the arm of the person next to you, and she immediately pulls her arm away, do not accept that as an invitation to move your arm closer to her.

Nowhere do I value my personal space more than on an airplane. I mean, you get about six cubic feet of space all to yourself – well, yourself and your overstuffed purse – and I want every single centimeter of that space to be inviolate. So when my fellow passengers feel the need to get all up in my grill, I get CRANKY.

But anyway. On one flight, I met some purely charming people. People who were actually NICE and THOUGHTFUL. People who cared about other humans and who were CONSIDERATE of their fellow passengers! It was like hitting the air-travel jackpot.

First, I fell asleep. (This is my coping mechanism for the Flying Terror.) And I was apparently asleep when the flight attendant came by with the meal. (The actual meal!) Instead of letting me wake up and drool all over the meals that they got and I didn’t, my seat mates snagged me a meal! And stowed it on their postage-stamp sized tray table until I woke up! How sweet is that?

And then – because I also try to Be Considerate – I waited to pee until my seatmates started unbuckling to go use the bathroom. (I was in the window seat.) And, to make things easier, they let me go first!

I love them. And I love how they held hands and prayed together during the takeoff and landing.

When I saw one of them by the baggage claim a few days later (we’d apparently flown home on the same flight), she squealed like we were long lost friends and asked me all about my weekend.

Now how often does that happen? Faith in humanity restored!

• Now that I’ve gotten the happy, positive “Not All Humans Suck” bullet out of the way, let me tell you about the Bad and the Ugly of my flights.

The Bad was a mother sitting behind me and the sweet, considerate couple. She had two girls, ages about five and seven, I’d guess. And the girls spent the ENTIRE five-hour flight kicking the back of my seat and the seat back of the girl next to me.

When I’m on an airplane, I have the weird ability to sleep no matter what. (Coping Mechanism, I’m telling you.) So I just… slept. But the poor gal next to me. She kept turning around, and very politely reminding the girl not to kick her seat.

The mom did NOTHING. Not a single thing.

Now, I know it must be hellacious to travel with kids, let alone TWO kids. And I will concede that MAYBE it’s possible for a mother to not notice her child brutalizing the passenger in front of her. (Although my mom would have grabbed my ankles and given me her Do Not Eff With Me glare and told me it was unacceptable the instant my toe touched the seat pocket.)

But come on. If the passenger in front of you has to turn around and asks your kid not to kick the seat… Not once but like, ten times… Wouldn’t you feel MORTIFIED? And wouldn’t you do SOMETHING? Like at least admonish your child?

I mean, I guess it’s one thing if your kid is two or three and doesn’t understand consequences or something. But I’d say a five-year-old is old enough to know better, wouldn’t you? And a seven-year-old should be able to at least restrain HERSELF. Not to mention the WELL OVER THREE-YEARS-OLD MOTHER, who could have put the kibosh on the whole matter with a few words and/or threats.

It is not bad parenting to discipline your kid. It is not bad parenting to prevent your kid from doing something they want to do – especially if that something is driving other people crazy.

• And the Ugly… This was a dude in front of me on the eighth and very last flight of the past few weeks. He had doused himself in a pungent cologne of Eau de Sweat and Onions. And he was wearing a tank top. Do I have to tell you about my Deep Disdain for Non-Exercising Men Wearing Tank Tops? Do I? And of all the dudes in all the lands, this dude is the very last one who should ever wear a tank top.

• Speaking of tank tops. When I fly, I wear jeans, a shirt, and a sweater or sweatshirt. Because airplanes are FREEZING. In the winter, I wear boots and heavy socks – even if I’m flying to Florida.

(I wore sandals on all my recent flights because I didn’t have room in my luggage to NOT wear them, and my feet nearly fell off they were so cold.)

But it seems to me that the vast majority of travelers prefer to wear, well, nothing. I saw countless teenagery-age girls in the terminal wearing teeny little camisoles and those might-as-well-just-wear-boy-short-underwear Daisy Dukes and flip flops.

How do they not freeze? HOW?

• Take this as a public service announcement: Be really, really careful when you open your 3-ounce bottle of hand sanitizer while on the plane. I was careless and ended up with hand sanitizer in my eyes. Like, a lot of hand sanitizer. Two ounces, if you want my super-scientific estimate.

Since the last thing I want to do is Panic On The Plane, I silently squealed in pain and terror as I contemplated my impending blindness. Then – without opening my dripping, goopy eyes – I felt around under my seat for my purse to fish around for a Kleenex or a napkin.

I normally keep all matter of handy little doohickeys in my purse – from plastic silverware to band-aids to hair ties to packets of hot sauce to a fold-up hairbrush to a mirror to an extra bracelet to bank deposit envelopes to Shout wipes and more – but on this occasion, I had neither Kleenex nor napkins. So I had to make do with a Charmin toilet seat cover.

• And this is totally not related to travel at all, but my OCD is preventing me from ending with just nine bullets…. Have you heard the Katy Perry song about peacocks? If so, please answer me this: What the hell is wrong with her? And what the hell is wrong with people who ENJOY that kind of thing? (Which, in case I come across as too judgy here, includes my husband, who has played that song for me no fewer than 29 times since I got home.) (Punishment for leaving him for so long?)

Happy Friday, Internet!