So, I went flying. I am one who flies.

Happy Birthday to ME!

I would have to say that a highlight of the birthday celebrations (bwah! highlight!!!) was the plane ride. A friend of mine has a pilot’s license, so he flew down from Rexburg with some other guys for Labor Day. Since it was my birthday and therefore the world must and does revolve around me, he took me flying.

Now, it’s not that I’ve never flown before. I’ve actually achieved Silver Medallion status because of the many thousands and thousands of miles I’ve spent wedged into dander-infested airline upholstery, breathing other people’s recycled air and watching (or not, as the case may be) quality films like Legally Blonde 2. I had to put a massage therapist on retainer to get the airline abuse out of my neck—and then had to stop using her, not because she was a lesbian and kept telling me about the times when she used to be LDS and did things like go on a mission, but because she raised her prices, so I can’t afford her any more. I’ve even (sit down for this) been upgraded to first class a couple of times, where I tried to remember my roots by smiling kindly at the people being herded past my nice leather seat on their way back to coach. But I probably just glared at them, since they were the unwashed rabble preventing my own personal flight attendant from getting me my orange juice and warm towels the second I requested them. It’s sick what power does to you.

Anyway, point. While I have most certainly been in many forms of aircraft, up to and including military cargo planes (don’t ask), I had never before been in one of those cool small private planes with the propeller and everything. But now I have! The weather was clear and gorgeous, and we flew up through Provo Canyon and over Deer Creek before turning around and heading back. I saw my apartment and the fall leaves and the back of Mt. Timpanogos, with its, ahem, “glacier.” I took pictures so that I could capture the beauty and wonder of the moment, but also so that I could brag. I almost got to use the controls, but it got kind of bumpy, so Flyboy decided that wasn’t a good idea. And I could accept that, because I didn’t want to actually crash an airplane on my birthday and become some tragic John Denver-type figure.


bawb said... [reply]

Your sense of humor is basically perfect. Thanks for giving me your address; it's always such a pleasure to read.

Streets of Belfast said... [reply]

Happy Birthday again! Oh and by the way, could you possibly tell me what time it is?

Nemesis said... [reply]

Hah! It's 12:15! I can totally do that one!

For the rest of the group, Streets here helped me pick out a watch. But it only has the 12 and the 6 on it, so I'm worried about my time-telling capabilities. I mean, how do you know if the little hand is on the 5 or the 4?

Savvymom said... [reply]

you could always get an exacto knife and etch on to the glass where the hands go. That'd be funny.

Coop said... [reply]

You've already achieved John Denver status in my book! You didn't even have to die!

Cicada said... [reply]

Your blog fills up my senses!

Seriously. This was hilarious. Great pictures, too, by the way. Thank you, thank you for taking them.

Miss Hass said... [reply]

Did you feel as Rocky Mountain high as you were? I'm just wondering.

Kelly said... [reply]

Happy Birthday!

I can't think of a snappy John Denver joke. Sigh.

Th. said... [reply]


I have a wonderful story about John Denver dying, but this doesn't seem like the right time.

Enjoy the friendly skies.

daltongirl said... [reply]

I can't even type through the tears. I loved John Denver. Oh, the summers I spent lying in front of the record player, singing along. . . wondering what all that "pass the pipe around" stuff meant.

I'm glad you had fun, Nemesis, and I'm sorry about the glacier being too small for you and all. I'm also glad things with Flyboy didn't go as far as Grandma's feather bed. You're better than that.

daltongirl said... [reply]

Oh, and what's your ex-massage therapist's name? I think I might know her. On a professional level, of course.

Nemesis said... [reply]

My ex-massage therapist's name is Janece, and she's pretty much amazing.

I don't think my grandma has a featherbed. The back of the plane did, though! Not sure why that was there.

Savvymom said... [reply]

John Denver is lame. And he looks like Kermit the frog. What's wrong with you people?

DanaLee said... [reply]

Brilliant! Simply brilliant. I agree, it's lovely to have the Federal Gov take your birthday as a holiday. I too enjoy that every Presidents Day Weekend. Long live Lincoln et al.

CoolboyH said... [reply]

Yeah, people from Utah don't really know what a glacier looks like. Deprived souls.

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