People keep asking me if I’m scared. The answer is, yes. What people mean when they ask if I’m scared though is if I’m scared of picking up and moving to the other side of the world, moving in with a family I’ve never actually met (skype doesn’t count) and staying there for six months. The answer to that is “no” because I’m too busy being terrified of the imminent 17 hour flight.
Fact: I hate airplanes.
Fact: There is no way to survive a plane crash.
Now being the clever, resourceful, and all around wonderful person that I am, I may or may not have come up with a game plan. Federal regulation says I can bring as many 3.4 oz bottles as I want on the airplanes so long as they fit into a quart sized baggie. In addition to being clever, resourceful, and all around wonderful, I am also very good at math. One shot equals 1.5 ounces. There are 32 ounces in a quart. Divide 32 by 1.5 and you get 21 and 1/3 shots, which is more than enough to get me through a 17 hour flight.
If I do this, one of two things can happen:
I can drink my quart of liquor, PTFO (pester the frugal opossums), wake up in Sydney, and not even realize I was ever on a terror-inducing mechanical bird as shown below(minus the nudity, bottles, picnic table, well actually minus everything except the fact that she’s passed out):
Or I will become Annie from Bridesmaids, become extra terrified, and get kicked off of the plane on whatever remote island we happen to be flying over because I mistook a female flight attendants gender:
Seeing as it will probably be the latter, I think I’ll just bring some chocolate milk and a shit-ton of sleeping pills.
**Also, seeing as my family will probably be reading this, I think it would be fairly appropriate to point out that I have no intention on taking 21 shots on the airplane or even bringing booze. In addition, I am in no way affiliated with the girl pictured above. I met her through google images. Thank you for your time and understanding**