Mile High Country Club

I love planes. And flying. And traveling. But if you've flown enough (or even just once. Or even just met another human being), you know that people are weird as weird sometimes. I often wonder if airports bring out the extreme in people - maybe they are dressing up for the special privilege of sitting in a metal tube with 200 strangers for 5 hours, 36000 feet above the earth? - or if humanity really is just that strange. Once I sat next to a woman who wrapped her arm (elbow to finger tips) with an ace bandage, then with gauze, then another ace bandage, and finally with masking tape. Her perfectly healthy looking arm. (And yes, I got a picture.) Or, there is that one time I flew 11 hours from Honolulu to Atlanta and sat next to an intoxicated, overweight, incredibly rude middle-aged man whose left arm kept falling onto my right leg and who sprayed me with his yogurt cup when he attempted to open it. I cried for half the flight. There always seem to be incessant talkers who take the challenge to talk to you through your ear buds, guys who hit on you despite you closing your eyes and turning the other way, people who apparently are always angry, and people who need better oral hygiene. I usually hope I get seated next to disinterested sleepers!

And then, magically, you find 36E and sit down only to discover an amazing seat mate who makes the whole cramped experience worth it. On my way to Spain, I sat next to Inez from Catalonia who was currently living in Minnesota and studying to be a veterinarian. She taught me some common Spanish phrases (and reminded me how to say spoon), told me about the different parts of the country, and gave me her email and phone number in case I needed a friend while I was there, even though I would be on the opposite side of the country. Most recently, I sat next to a girl about my age who lived near my hometown and was traveling to Seattle for business. We talked a little on the flight and then the entire way from the gate to baggage claim. She told me about her job and showed me pictures of her year-old twin girls, and I told her about the twin girls I babysit. It was quite pleasant. When we realized we were heading back the same day, we looked to see if we had the same flight (we didn't. Boo). I hope her return flight seat mates realize how luck they are to get her and not the drunk yogurt guy :)

If you can't be with the one you love...

...love the one you're with. My two favorite little snuggers, Huck and Emmy, live 3000 miles away now. Naps have been quite pitiful since they've been gone, and my lap is empty more often than I care for it to be. Lately, though, I have had the surprising joy of snugging with Colby, an English cocker spaniel. So while I'm missing those two little heat blankets, Colby has been trying to help ease the transition. He is really cute. And really cuddly!

Huckers and Emmylou

One of their favorite hobbies - and greatest skills

Colby

Being sweet :)

Keeping me company (and warm!)

Yeah? The maple kind?

I promise I don't think about food this much, but I had some really awesome Mexican last week and I need the world to know. Well, I had two really awesome Mexicans, actually. One was a cheap walk-in place called Rancho Bravo. It's literally on the corner across from the apartment complex and it's so tiny they don't have a website. But they all speak Spanish and just a little English, so it's pretty legit. I heard about it from Shiloh, the gal who cut my hair (it touched my back when it was in the highest ponytail I could muster = not my fav). Shiloh said RB looked "like a rundown KFC" but had the best burritos. She was right! (Full disclosure: I had a quesadilla. Still good). I've passed the place 1000 times and wondered what it was (there's also no sign), and thought it looked sketch. Sketchy? Si. But really good.

The second awesome Mexican was a swankier Seattle joint a few blocks over called Barrio. I love chips and salsa (what generic white American doesn't?) and theirs was ridic good. I also love tequila, but am not a fan at all of margarita mix; i.e. I never get a marg when I'm at a restaurant because they're usually made with that disgusting crap. Not at Barrio, though! It was fresh and limey and had just enough tequila to make everything way more fun (which, let's be honest, I'm getting older and it takes way less to do that these days). The actual restaurant was cool, too, though. It's street side was all open to the sidewalk and it had whole walls that were all cut out for candles. Que chulo.