America is Weird

My Room. It basically hasn’t changed since high school.

I’m back in America and everything is so weird. For real, this country is insane. Everywhere you look there are adds for diet pills… or exercise videos… or some crazy futuristic weight loss program that hasn’t even been invented yet (although everyone is still fat). News anchors speak like over-excited robots and look like they are made of wax. Everyone has creepily nice teeth. Strangers smile at you. And to top it off, I think my parents are aliens.

Traveling here was a nightmare. Never fly Zoom Airlines. Budget hell. They only let you check one piece of luggage. I wasn’t aware of this asinine rule and brought two, then subsequently had to throw one out (aka half of my worldly possessions). It was so embarrassing. Everyone in the airport was looking at me with expressions that said Oh that poor girl and Thank fuck that’s not me. To be honest though, I wasn’t as bummed out as I thought I’d be. As Blaine rightly pointed out, most of my clothes were either filled with holes or stained with lipstick and semen anyway, so realistically it wasn’t that big of a loss. Still, it’s semi depressing knowing that everything I own in this world can fit in one moderately sized suitcase.

Things started looking up when the aircraft was half empty and I got an entire row to myself. However, my spirits came crashing back down again when I realized that I was sat across from a giant pervert who literally stared at me for the entire first two hours of the flight, repeatedly shoving his hand down his pants to stroke his cock. Under different circumstances I might have found this semi arousing, but I was so not in the mood.

“Excuse me miss. Have you heard of the Mile High Club,” asked the pervert, staring at me intensely.

“Uh, yeah,” I responded.

“You a member?”

“No.” (Although I did once give Blaine a blow job under a blanket on a plane home from Prague once. We were wasted on absinthe. I ended up chickening out halfway through and he had to go finish off in the airplane bathroom. But he came back afterward and slapped me across the face with the cum he’d saved up in his hand. Does that count?)

“Well, you wanna join?” he asked.

“Not particularly.”

“Come on. Live dangerously.”

“To be perfectly honest my idea of living dangerously isn’t sticking your infected dick inside me in a tiny bathroom covered in piss,” I cringed, “but thanks for the offer anyway.”

“Oooh, a feisty one,” he grinned, sliding casually into the seat next to me. After a few minutes of trying desperately (and quite aggressively) to get him to move, the stewardess walked over to see what all of the ruckus was about. She was offensively ugly. (In my years of traveling I have come to realize that the quality of an airline is directly related to the attractiveness of their staff. Yet another reason not to fly Zoom Airlines—all the stewards have zits.)

“Can I help you two?” asked zit face.

“He’s sitting in my seat,” I answered, pointing at the sexual predator

“Is that true sir?” asked zit face.

“Well, I was cramped in my other seat and I saw that this was open, so I decided to move. I didn’t think it would be a problem.”

“Is that ok with you, Miss?” the stewardess asked me. I could feel my eyes turning red with rage.

“No,” I fired back, angrily. I was sweating profusely and grinding my teeth in frustration. She looked terrified.

“I’m sorry Miss,” she said with a forced smile, “but you can’t take up all three seats just because you want to lie down.”


Needless to say I spent the remainder of the journey shaking with anger and contemplating hanging myself with the oxygen mask, while the pervert sat next to me grinning, clicking his gum and flicking through the pages of Maxim. Fuck everyone.

But somehow I made it home without killing myself or anyone else, and now I’m in upstate New York surrounded by woods and people named Melissa. Barely anything has changed since I was last here one year ago. My mom still watches Oprah religiously. My grandparents are still senile. VH1 is still playing reruns of The Fabulous Life of Paris Hilton on repeat. My dog is dead though, so that’s new. And my little brother has a beard—also new. He’s cool actually. Last night he said he hopes heaven smells like a burrito. So far I’d say that’s been the highlight of my trip.



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