I’m flying tomorrow… I mean as a passenger… on an airplane… not me actually flying like a bird or piloting a plane.
Anyways, I have no aversion to flying. It doesn’t scare me. It’s actually quite the opposite. I love taking off and landing; turbulence is sort of fun. I love sitting in the window seat and looking through the window excitedly pointing out everything like a five year old.
My only problem with flying is that I get restless and bored easily. I know. What’s new? It’s not like a road trip where you can dance and sing while driving. I tried the dancing through the aisles on a plane once, and it was not well received by my fellow passengers and definitely not by the staff. Likewise, I’ve also tried singing at the top of my lungs and got collective “boos” from everyone within earshot… including birds flying in the sky (I don’t know. Do birds even fly that high?).
As a result of my short attention span, I’m always forced to find something to keep me occupied during a flight. And that’s exactly where my first thought went when I saw this book -
Where’s Waldo – The Ultimate Travel Collection!
It sends me through nostalgia-land. I have flashbacks of my childhood when we poured over Where’s Waldo books in school. Some kids hollering in triumph when they found Waldo. Other kids insisting silence while they continued to look for the hidden red and white stripes clothed fellow. (Myself? I was usually in the latter group.)
I apparently have no care if I look like an eight year old walking through the airport carrying this book.
Mostly because it’s awesome!
That one should keep me busy for awhile.
Tomorrow my fellow fliers can thank Waldo for keeping me quiet. They can thank him for sparing them the once in a lifetime chance to hear me sing or dance… or sing and dance. It’s their loss… really… perhaps hearing loss.
has an article titled “Surprising Signs You’ll Live to 100.” Let’s see how I measured up.
You’re the life of the party. Life of the party? Hardly. Funny and approachable? Usually. Socially awkward? Sometimes. A hermit? Once in awhile.
You run for 40 minutes a day. Sort of. Some days I run for an hour. Some days I run for 30 minutes. Some days I don’t run at all, except to fetch my Lean Cuisine out of the microwave and maybe to grab a beer. It did specify “for a total of about 5 hours per week.” I’d say I usually get close to that, so I’ll put myself down for a YES.
You feel 13 years younger than you are. I turned 25 this year. 13 years younger would make me 12, so on most days, YES! Well… wait… do they mean mentally or physically? Hmm, mentally, I’m an immature 12 most days. Physically, there are days I psych myself into thinking I’m actually 64. This one is still out for the jury.
You embrace techie trends. I’ve got my iPhone attached to my hip, and I can hardly get out of my computer chair because it’s been molded to my body, so I would go with a YES. Finally, a solid ‘yes.’
You make every calorie count. Their definition of ‘making every calorie count’ is limiting daily caloric intake to 1,400 to 2,000. I don’t count calories, so I’ll have to get back to you on that one. I do know that by my definition, I make every calorie count. I shovel my favorite foods into my mouth without ever looking back, and I rarely, if ever, feel bad about doing it.
You don’t snore. I don’t snore, but I have been told I make weird squeaking noises in my sleep. Apparently at night, I have delusions of becoming a baby chick. Snoring is a NO though.
last night. I know, I know, a little late to the party… or rather a sob fest, complete with boxes of Kleenex and mascara rolling down my face.
before I watched the movie, and I don’t recall soaking the pages with tears. In fact, I’m positive I didn’t because I just checked my copy of the book, and there doesn’t appear to be any water damage to the pages. Hey, you never know with me. The movie kept compelling me to think about Kritter and Thomas (of course, it didn’t help slow down the tears when Kritter sat on the floor with her head slightly tilted and a look of concern while her momma cried). I should have prefaced this blog by saying that the only other pets I’ve had are a goldfish I won at a school carnival named Skittles and a handful of hamsters. When my goldfish died, my mother bluntly told me I should never have pets because I can’t handle it when they die (she’s probably right though).
Reason 203 that men’s magazines are better than women’s! This is from Maxim. ‘You had me at beer’ works so much better than ‘you had me at hello’…
