The Airplane Bite

"Um I think Gay Sue Beth has a crush on me... Like for realsie7."
2/4/09 1:49 pm

"Okay I don't know what for realsie7 is but I meant just for realsies."
2/4/09 1:50 pm

My bestie has a problem. She is very straight but, for some reason, gets hit on by women. Like, a lot. I have personally witnessed at least three of these lady-type advances--one by a gas station attendant, one by a convenience store worker, and another by a very forward friend of a friend of a friend. And now Sue Beth, who we refer to as Gay Sue Beth, for clarity's sake, and who works with my bestie.

My favorite of by bestie's various being-hit-on-by-a-woman stories is this:

Once, on a plane ride from the Midwest back to the Northwest, my bestie was sitting with her younger brother, minding her own business, probably reading some trash magazine, when she noticed, out of the corner of her eye, someone looking at her. She glanced up to find, two rows up and to the left in the aisle seat, a very large, "butch" woman staring at her. And I mean staring--full on turned around in her seat to ogle my bestie. She had knee length cargo shorts, a big tee shirt, and a buzz cut, and her eyes were not straying.

So my bestie looks away as quickly as she can, turns to her younger brother, and makes him check to see if the woman is still staring.

Her brother, a young teenager at the time, knew a check-out when he saw one and boy did he see one. So my bestie keeps turned away from the woman and tries to just naturally carry on conversation with her brother. He gives my bestie the all-clear, like the woman has finally turned away. So my bestie turns to look but her brother had lied for his own amusement's sake and she is now full on facing her checker-outer, who, keeping eye contact, proceeds to do the bite. The bite. The air bite. The one where if someone does it in your direction there is no mistaking their intentions.

So my bestie is so horrified that she is completely frozen and can't turn away. The biter then gives a silent laugh and turns to the woman next to her who is also sporting men's clothing and a buzz cut.

When my bestie regains composure, she explains what has happened to her brother, who missed the whole thing. He was way bummed about missing the bite and so, somehow (and if you know my bestie this isn't that hard to imagine) convinces my bestie to reciprocate the bite in an effort to procure another one. She gives a bite, the lady shoots back another one, and they both turn away, apparently satisfied with the exchange.

Nothing to see here.

"ps I bought new dishes... Because I didn't have any clean ones. I think I have a problem. On the upside they're sweet dishes."
1/22/09 11:40 pm

Related story:

My bestie has her own apartment. This is horrifying for a number of reasons, the biggest being that there is no one to force her to clean up after herself. Over Christmas break, she left for a few days' vacation with her family and didn't think (or maybe just didn't bother) to clean before she left. When she came back, we made plans to hang out at her place with a couple of other friends. I went over about an hour before only to find the most appallingly unsanitary conditions that I have ever seen. The entire place smelled RANK. The kitchen was a complete disaster; some of her dishes, including an entire pot, were so covered in mold that we had to just throw them away. The only cleaning supplies she had were sponges and she didn't even own a dish towel. Apparently she normally just grabs a full-size bath towel and uses a different section of it each day (or, more likely, month) to dry things, and then just throws it on the counter until she needs it again. The picture shows the result: a completely crusty, gross towel, the folds of which do not move with shaking. Bonus: a surprisingly well-adhered PastaRoni box.

The poop, the scoop, the skinny.

Genuine (?) demanded that I set up a blog with the express purpose of showcasing the many ridiculous text messages that I get from my best friend.

No texts posted have been altered or in any way contrived--they are all the product of the inner workings of said best friend's insane mind.

For those of you who know my bestie, this blog is a secret. Her awareness of my posting these messages could result in a deterioration of the quality or quantity of the texts, which would be a shame.

I may also occasionally use this blog to share amusing anecdotes from my real life, not just my texting life.

With that, here is a sample text to give you a sense of what we're dealing with here:

"Don't ever hold ziploc-bagged peanut butter in your hand. It feels like dog poop."
2/4/09 2:28 pm