Frenchy's Rant

It’s BACK!

The little counter that keeps track of how many people read my silly rant has returned! The people over at Blogspot that provide the little counter have been having all sorts of problems with their database and whatnot, they claim they’ve been overwhelmed lately (no doubt in large part to the Faithful Fifteen!)

I am almost at 2000 visitors since September, not counting the 500 a day that weren’t tallied when the counter crashed.

The best way to get more visitors – maybe increase the Faithful Fifteen to the Tenacious Twenty or so – would probably to stop being so lazy and write something worth reading once in a while.

But then again, I can always just blame my dismal stats on the defective counter.

Flying alone, I’m always at the mercy of the airline’s “Seat Lottery”

The elusive grand prize in the seat lottery, equivalent to winning the Powerball jackpot, would be something like sitting next to a 21 year old redhead on her way to nymphomaniac reform school. Sadly, this never happens.

Second prize would be an empty row, or at least and empty seat to stretch out on.

Last prize, the one that I’m usually awarded, would be a rotund, sweat-soaked porker with armrest-encroaching folds of flab.

In an effort to boost my seat lottery odds, I usually change my seat when I check in, throwing off the airline’s carefully calculated lottery

Yesterday’s Northwest Airlines Seat Lottery results:

Providence to Detroit – An old British gentleman with bad teeth and worse breath. He greeted me with “Cheerio”, which set the tone for the whole trip. At least he chose Cheerios, because any other breakfast cereal, like “Frosted Flake” or “Lucky Charm” wouldn’t have made any sense at all.

Detroit to Milwaukee – Gadget guy. This guy spent ten minutes fumbling with his Ipod, his Playstation Portable, his Blackberry, and worst of all, his stupid flashing wireless earpiece. These ridiculous earpieces have pretty much replaced earrings in middle aged men. And lately I’ve noticed people walking around wearing these things even when they aren’t talking. But that’s a blog for another day.

Anyway, this guy almost delayed our flight turning off all of his electronic equipment.

I also won the booby prize on this flight. The redhead nympho ended up sitting in the row I switched out of.

“I’d like a margarita, a dinner salad and the grilled tuna, well done please. OK?”

“Certainly. Excellent choices, sir.”

Five minutes later, the waitress returns with two Cokes. What the hell?

I ask my friend – and at this point I am not kidding, I actually believe this – “You heard me ask for a margarita, didn’t you? I mean, I asked in English, right?”

I thought for a minute that I’d figured out why I get Dr. Peppered so often. Maybe I only THOUGHT I was ordering in English, when in fact I was speaking a gobblydegook Martian dialect instead. Maybe she agreed with me because she was too embarrassed to admit she didn’t understand what the hell I said?

But no, he heard me ask. He understood what I wanted, so she must have too. And he heard me ask a second time… and then a third.

The margarita finally apeared, the salad never did, and the tuna was more like sushi than grilled.

I may not know why I constantly get Dr. Peppered, but at least I know it isn’t because I speak Martian. Maybe the waitress was from Mars… that could be it.

Naah, they’re from Venus, aren’t they?

I am not making this up, though I almost wish I was.

Three Arrested at Baby Shower Brawl

SPRINGFIELD, Mass. (April 5) – A baby shower erupted into a fight among guests in which one man was shot and several other people, including the seven-months-pregnant guest of honor, were beaten with a stick, police say.

Three people were arrested after the brawl, described by police as a “baby shower gone bad.”

Police said the shooting victim, Aristotle Garcia, got into a fight with a man who is dating his ex-girlfriend. The argument, over whether the woman let their 5-year-old daughter drink beer, escalated and drew in two other people – Jazz Rivas and Juan Velazquez, said Police Lt. Cheryl C. Claprood.

When the baby shower’s hostess tried to intervene, Rivas began hitting some of the guests, including the 22-year-old mother-to-be, with a large stick, she said.

Velazquez fired a gun in the air, then fired it into the crowd, hitting Garcia in the stomach, according to police. Garcia, 26, was in stable condition at Baystate Medical Center. The mother-to-be was treated after the incident Saturday and released. Velazquez, 19, was arrested Tuesday and charged with assault and battery with a dangerous weapon, armed assault with intent to murder. He had not yet been arraigned as of Wednesday morning.

The man Garcia was initially fighting with, Antonio Santiago, 25, pleaded innocent to similar charges on Tuesday and was ordered held in lieu of $50,000 bail.

Rivas, 22, pleaded innocent to three counts of assault and battery with a dangerous weapon and one count of assault and battery on a pregnant female. His bail was set at $10,000.

You honestly have no idea what day it is, what city you woke up in, what city you were in the night before, or where you’re going next.

You finally break down and wear the last clean pair of socks in your suitcase, and throw every other pair away, because they can pretty much stand up on their own.

A nearby Target or Wal-Mart seems like a Godsend, because you ran out of deodorant a week ago, and can replace your all your socks.

Your suitcase is missing a zipper/handle/wheel, and you don’t have time to send it out for repairs because you have a full month of work ahead, and don’t want to drag the “big” suitcase around for that whole month.

Getting trapped in an elevator at 3AM after your tenth straight day on the road is hilarious.

The mark of a superior hotel is twenty-four hour room service.

You forget your room number, because you’ve been in five different hotels in the past five days.

You angrily present your Marriot room key at the front desk, because it doesn’t open your room, only to be told you are staying in a Hyatt.

You know the difference between a “good” Westin and a “bad” Westin.

You’ll pay seven bucks for a piece of pizza and a soda in an airport, and feel it’s reasonable.

You know every restaurant in every concourse in every airport, and plan your airport arrival time accordingly.

You cringe whenever someone starts a story, “This one time I was on a plane…” because you already know the story, no matter what it is.

You know the airplane exit door weighs 43 lbs.

After a shower, you write “I’m Watching You” on every hotel bathroom mirror, and think it’s funny.

You look out the airplane window and recognize where you are.

News of Delta pilots authorizing a strike – not GOING on strike, just authorizing one – makes you break out in a cold sweat.

The guy at the airport parking lot booth knows you by name.

You dial 9 for an outside line at home, realize the milk in your fridge expired five weeks ago, and wake up in your own bed wondering where the hell you are.

You can measure your time home between flights in hours instead of days.

And finally, even though stupid and annoying things are happening around you every day, you somehow run out of things to blog about.