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Celestia looks like an idiot today. She’s wearing this white tank top so thin that you can see the lace pattern in her push-up bra, a black cardigan, a black peasant skirt that goes to her ankles, and a pair of black leggings with ballet flats. WTF.

It’s 2008, and you’re not at the ren faire, you dumbass.

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It occurs to me I didn’t write about my time in Virginia. I could sit here and write all day about how wonderful it was, and how much I love Scott, and all the hot sweaty sex that happened, but instead, I’ll direct you to the photos I took while I was there, and you can see what we did (there are no sweaty sex photos, you pervs).

I like Virginia. I didn’t think I would, but I do. I’m sure it’s because it’s new, and different, but I really feel so comfortable there, that I almost (ALMOST) feel like if Scott told me, “I’ve decided that I don’t want to move to the west coast. I want to stay here.” I just might say OK, and kiss California goodbye. Although, I have to tell you, those Virginians don’t like me. No matter where we went, I always felt like the people looked at me like they knew I wasn’t from there, and that I didn’t really fit in. I told Scott that, and he said, “Well, I’ve lived here my whole life and they look at me like that.”

I met Scott’s mom for the first time. This is something that I was very nervous about, because I was worried that my preconceived notions might color the way that I acted toward her (I am not very good at being fake), and I was nervous about what she might think of me. But everything went OK. We had a nice visit, and it was nice to get to see where Scott came from.

My flight home was a NIGHTMARE. After I got to Dulles, I went to Subway and got a sandwich. I ate half of it then, and saved the other half to eat later on my flight.

I chose a window seat, because I like looking out the window, and I like taking pictures. My flight out there was a breeze, because it was a light flight, so there was just me and one other guy on our row, so there was lots of room to move around and be comfortable. So on my flight home, I hoped that it would be similar.

I boarded the plane and sat down in my seat, watching people come down the aisle, always hoping that they’d keep moving and pass my row. The plane was nearly full when I saw this guy get on. He was tall, sweaty, disheveled, and pretty big. (I am not hating on the fact he was fat - hello, I am fat. But for the context of this story, size does indeed matter.) I looked at him, and all his crap, and thought, Man, I feel sorry for the schlub that has to sit next to that guy. Guess who he sat next to?? I was already in my seat with my armrest down and my seatbelt buckled. He tried to sit down next to me, and promptly lifted the armrest right back up, because he couldn’t fit in the seat with it down. (In my own defense, I do fit in the seat with no problems.)

I scooted myself up against the wall as much as I could so that I wouldn’t be touching him, because he was hot and sweaty, and as a result, smelly. The plane wasn’t even taxiing (sp?) down the runway and I was miserable. (I also noted the guy on the other side of him felt the same way, and was also as far to the other side of his seat as possible.)

JetBlue has TVs in the back of the seat in front of you, and the remote is on the right armrest. The left armrest has the button to recline your seat. Well, since Fatty McSweatStench couldn’t get his armrest down, every time he changed the channel or the volume of his TV, he had to lift his arm and reach up to the armrest between us. As I mentioned, the button to recline my seat was also on that armrest. Guess what happened? Almost every fucking time he touched the channel controls, he would touch the button and my seat would go back. I looked at him after the third time, and he apologized, and was very nice about it, but it didn’t stop it from happening.

He got up to go to to he bathroom about six times. Which sucked for the guy on the aisle, because he had to stop what he was doing to let the guy out, and half the time it meant shutting his laptop, putting the tray up, and moving his briefcase.

JetBlue doesn’t serve meals. They do give out drinks and snacks twice during the flight, but at any time during the flight, you can ask them and they’ll give you more. Every time he came back from the bathroom, he had bags of chips and bottles of water. But he would always just shove them into his bag. He ate probably four bags, but easily, he put away five or six. I did not understand this guy.

He called the flight attendant over, and ordered a beer. She brought him a can of Budweiser and a cup with ice. He opened the can, took one drink, and promptly spilled it into his lap. Which went, guess where? In my lap too, because he was half in my seat, too. This, by the way, was only about halfway through the flight.

So I’m sitting there with this sweaty, stinky guy and beer spilled on my jeans. I really just kind of wanted to cry at this point, because it was so fucking miserable. I reached in my bag and got the sandwich I bought earlier and started to eat it. He watched me eat it. I was so uncomfortable that I turned my body to face the window so that he couldn’t stare at me anymore.

If there were any empty seats, I would have asked one of the attendants IN A SECOND if I could move, but it was a full flight. As soon as I could feel the plane descending, I almost cried tears of joy because I knew I only had about another half hour of this to go.

When the plane finally landed, I almost couldn’t contain myself, and almost jumped right over him to get the hell off of that plane, but I couldn’t. Instead, I sat and watched as he crammed all the chips and water he got into his bag, which didn’t fit, so he emptied it all out and put in three times to make it fit.

OH MY GOD PLEASE SOMEONE KILL ME.

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So here’s an interesting photo of a couple, both totally heterosexual, completely in love and kissing each other in a TOTALLY NATURAL AND NORMAL WAY.

Are their lips even touching? And look at Will’s expression. Like he’s saying, “Ok, even though I’m pretending this is Tom, the paps are totally catching this whole thing, and now me and Jada can carry on like we’re normal for a little while longer. You guys are getting this, right????”

Someone asked me, “Why do you think everyone in Hollywood is gay?”

“Because THEY ARE.”