Leaving on a jet plane...

My flight left at 6:40. I was supposed to be at the airport at 5:30.

I woke up at 5 AM. In panic, I stumbled around my room in the dark, tripping over J. Crew bags, kit bags, running shoes. Perhaps it was fate or perhaps my mind was functioning at "genius" level thanks to the crisis at hand, but I fell and ripped a J. Crew bag. And remembered that I had bought a lovely dress in Jersey. Since I was flying stand by, I had to dress up and this was perfect. I don't remember the name of the color, but it was something bizarre like persimmon or golden watercress or Kentucky Fried Chicken red.

I grabbed my lovely L.L. Bean tote. Over the summer, a few friends and I had gone outlet shopping. L.L. Bean was one of the stores and they had a bin in the back with embroidered totes that had been returned for whatever reason. We bought a tiny "Abigail Emergency Anaphylactic," a medium "Miss Bunjun," and a GIANT "Soul Rebel." Me and my sweet Soul Rebel bag made it through security, where the man in front of me was pulled aside for security check and where the security guard left him to flirt with me.

When I told a friend later, her reply was, "How do you know he was flirting with you? How do you know it wasn't racial profiling and Homeland Security had marked you?" Well, for one, he complimented me on my dress. He said the dress was beautiful. Then said I was beautiful. And then said my eyes were beautiful. I smiled, awkwardly, and went to grab my Soul Rebel bag.

I figured I had plenty of time, so I went to the bathroom to get my face did. I had read online that if you fly stand by, you should always look super good to impress the airline people into letting you on if there were open seats. I really wanted to make this flight, so I went and did my face. When I got to the gate, the waiting area was empty. Because everyone else had already boarded. I went up to the desk and asked what the chances were of getting on this flight. She looked me over, told me to wait. 30 seconds later, she gave me a seat assignment. As she checked me in, she commented on the lovely color of my dress and how cute I looked.

All I have to say is this dress must be smoking hot because I flew first class. And this trip to Atlanta was much better than last time I flew to Chicago by way of Atlanta. Last time, I sat next to two men who were deeply religious. I didn't realize it at first, until they started making small talk. And giving me a talk about finding God and going to a Billy Graham revival and reading from their Bibles. One guy gave me a Bible comic about making good life choices, right after he asked me (very very loudly), "If this plane went down right now, would you be scared? Would you be afraid of going to Hell?" The other guy talked about his wife. Who he met when they got married because he was introduced to her on the phone. She was his sister's neighbor or something, and they met because of their love for God.

This all ties in together because on the plane, I sat next to a man who saw my Soul Rebel bag and asked me if I was a "sinner." Awkward. I read some magazines, drank my unlimited supply of soda and my complimentary alcoholic beverage. All the drinking caught up with me. As soon as the "buckle seatbelt" sign came on, I realized I had to use the restroom. I got up and headed toward the bathroom when all of a sudden, a flight attendant screamed at me, "What are you doing?! We're landing?! Sit down, sit down!!! You're not allowed to stand up! BUCKLE YOUR SEATBELT." It was like we were going down or it was some sort of landing emergency. She had already strapped herself into the flight attendant's seat.

I went back to my seat, and a few minutes later, another flight attendant came down the aisle to see if I was ok. She asked if it was an emergency, if I needed anything, etc. I told her I was fine, she smiled her polite smile and went off to get the woman across from me another bloody mary.

The Atlanta airport is a nightmare. I bought yogurt from one of the vendors because it looked delicious with granola and berries. The stupid thing cost me $6.27. WHAT KIND OF YOGURT IS $6?! Yogurt laced with gold. Which this was not. There was one saving grace: madras shorts! Everywhere!

Here are my undercover pictures.

Well. Apparently pictures aren't working right now, but when they do...

Dumpling Man NYC style

I really like Marco and Luca's in Charlottesville. The dumplings are juicy and pan fried so the outside has this seared crisp layer. Then you sink your teeth through the dough into a ball of mouth watering and well seasoned pork. The sauce it comes with is this mix of soy, hot chili, and possibly hoisin. I've never questioned the ingredients because my mouth has always been crammed full of food.

I swear, this isn't all about food. After Chinatown, Big really wanted some dumplings from the Dumpling Man, a little food place we found online. Somehow, probably because the word "dumpling" is in the store name, Big thought the Dumpling Man was in Chinatown.

No. Wrong. So wrong. My backpack is crammed full of baked goods, I'm sweating through my shirt, I'm stumbling down the street in a dehydrated state listening to Big ramble on and on about how she doesn't like sweat, when this group of guys hollers at us. I am now 2 for 2 for being hollered at in a city I'm visiting. He calls out, "Hey sugar." When we don't respond, he uses another name. I don't remember what it was. Something not as appetizing as "sugar." Like "salt" or something.

The only reason I remember "sugar" is because Big and I debated who was who. I insisted I was sugar. She could be salt or spice or taco or whatever he called her. My trump card was that I already had a prison name so I had more street cred than she'll ever have. "Scrumptious" makes me more gangster than anyone else I know.

We walked past NYU's campus and through what has been referred to as a very trendy area. Let me tell you, my seersucker = sooooo in right now based on all the looks I got.

The Dumpling Man is actually pretty small. You can order at the to-go window or go inside and sit down. It's kind of like bar sitting. Stools and a high bar are along one wall, and chairs and a low bar are on the other side of the room in front of the dumpling makers. Big and I ordered and sat right in front of the dumpling makers to watch these classy Asian ladies at work. We got steamed vegetable dumpling, daily special vegetable dumpling, daily special meat dumpling, and this pumpkin pie batch of four.

They were alright. The pumpkin pie batch was so rich and thick and sweet and I could only have one. Big decided she wanted more and since she had got the first round, I went to get the second.

Here is the completely unrelated to food part - the guy taking our orders was very... nonchalant about everything. He wasn't really focused and was a poor listener and just terrible. He had a very hipster lady friend come in and the whole time I was ordering, she kept looking me up and down in what I considered a very judging way. I ignored her and sat back down. Big insisted that the "judging" look I saw was really her checking out my butt. I knew these seersucker shorts = magic.

I needed to go to the bathroom, so I headed to the sketchy back area. It was a one room bathroom for both men and women. I did my business and when I tried to flush, it wouldn't go. Most people, as I have learned from others telling me I'm an idiot, would have just left. I wanted to fix it. I lifted up the back of the toilet and noticed the water level was down. I turned on the faucet and started scooping water from the sink to the toilet. In the process, water was splashing everywhere. All over the floor, the toilet, the walls, the trash can... and the sink wasn't draining as fast as the water was coming out, so then that overflowed.

At this point, I'd only gotten like... 3 cm of water into the back of the toilet. I see a 409 bottle and decide that is perfect. I unscrew the top, dump the 409 in, and try to fill the empty bottle with water. Of course the bottle is too big to fit, so I bend the plastic with my brute man-strength and fill it with as much water as I can. A few rounds later, the water level is finally where it should be. Proud of my achievements, I flush... only to watch nothing happen. FAIL.

I wash my hands and go out to tell Big we have to leave before my efforts are discovered. She points out that 20 minutes later, our food still hasn't come (I want to point out that 19 of those minutes was spent trying to fix the toilet). We sit there and wait, watching everyone before and after us get their food. Meanwhile, the cashier who rung us up has gotten off and he and his lady friend are sitting at the high bar behind us.

1. No man that big should ever wear jeans that small.
2. It wasn't even like they were painted on. I don't know how it's physically possible for him to have fit into those pants. Unless he used like... a shoehorn or something.

The lady friend is still staring/judging me. We sit and wait. And wait. And wait. As we're waiting, as my luck would have it, the lady friend suddenly decides she needs to go to the bathroom. She is in the back less than 30 seconds before she comes back out shooting me death glares. I pretend to not notice. She grabs her giant shoehorn-man-friend and they leave.

At this point, I go the front and ask them what happened to our order. They have no idea. To make up for this FAIL, they give us twice as much.

Why do I always write about food? FAIL.