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Somehow by the grace of god, buddha, Vishnu, whatever diety you choose to worship, I made it back to Los Angeles on Wed from my unexpected trip to Ohio. Unexpected to the very end including waking up Wed morning for my 6am flight and not being able to find my driver’s license. Now usually I travel with my passport just because I think it’s cool that I finally have one (got it to audition for The Amazing Race in 2006 and then didn’t use it until 2008 when I went to Aruba for 3 weeks) and because I’ve been mugged before while traveling but luckily had my license in my jeans pocket. This time, though, I was in such a rush to get to the airport that the boyfriend said the passport didn’t need to go….oh, you are sooooo lucky I made it back here today mister!

In this whole process, I’m once again reminded that US Airways has some of the friendliest customer service reps in the business. So friendly, I would rather take my chances of sticking my head in a hungry alligator’s mouth than deal with them. Call the airline, tell them I can’t find my idea and they’re like “well looks like you’re not going anywhere today. I guess you can try talking to TSA when you get to the airport. Good luck with that” and hangs up on me. This is the part where I’m thankful that I’m from a small town where the people may be backwards in their ways at times, they still seem to have some compassion as well. It’s also the part where I’m thankful that I’ve been on a couple lowbrow television shows like “1000 Ways To Die” that appeal to rednecks in middle America.

I put my cheeriest 6am smile on (trust me, it can exist…I’m an actress after all) and explain the situation to the first MALE TSA agent that I see in the airport. He walks me to the security checkpoint and the interrogation begins along with my handing over every single card I own with my name on it & asking me if I have any prescriptions on me with my name and address (yes, I have prescription and yes it has my address, but it’s not my name and I’m trying like hell NOT to give you that because I don’t need that interrogation as well…and don’t lecture me about taking other people’s drugs. We Hollywood peeps know what we’re doing….for the most part)

Recite birthdate, social, address, stuff like that. Where you from? What you doing here? How long did you stay? Why you going back now? Where do you live there? How long have you lived there? What do you do out there? As soon as I mention that I act & model, here we go…What have you been in? Um, 1000 Ways to Die….”oh really, I watch that! What ep?” and as soon as I explain my 1 episode, it’s like I’ve been given the golden ticket. The guy recognizes from the episode and tells me to have a nice trip.

Well that mission accomplished, somehow. Now the next 3…obtain alcohol without an idea when you have a baby face despite being closer to 40 than 21, getting an appointment with the DMV in L.A. to get a new license since I have to fly again next week and somehow not getting stuck on the long portion of my flight in the middle seat. DMV…not a problem, online appointment set before I leave the ground in Dayton. Thank you, Iphone!

I decide not to press my luck in Dayton on the id thing, so Starbucks it is. Well that and my plans to have coffee at home with mom were destroyed when we were playing hide and seek with my driver’s license. I wait until I get to my connecting airport in Charlotte. I think they put beer in their kids’ baby bottles or at least they did when I lived in NC for 9 months back in the 90s. I find the bar that serves the local brews and with a couple of ladies working who look like they just won’t give a shit. Set up my computer before ordering so it looks like I’m doing mad crazy work (mostly writing for class) and I’m on my way…no id, no problem…bring on the brewskis. Maybe I take back all those nasty things I said about your state when I left in December of 97.

Now to get rid of that pesky middle seat that US Airways told my boyfriend’s mother I’d be able to do when she booked the flight for me on Saturday afternoon.

You can’t get any work done when you’re seated in the middle of the airplane row and if you’re an anxious flyer, it’s not to fun being stared at because you have the Vulcan death grip on both of the armrests. The window seat, you can pass out against the window or just hug it for dear life and the aisle seat, well worse case scenario, you can bolt to the lavoratory and have a meltdown for a few minutes. Also it’s impossible to get any work done on a computer while in the middle. Well you can get work done, but everyone is going to want to make it their business as well. Take for example when I was flying back from Ohio today. Sure it probably wasn’t the best idea to write on a 5-hr flight after washing down half a xanax with about 40oz of Carolina’s finest local blonde brew, but when inspiration strikes and you can’t sleep…go for it. (Or I thought at least try to go for it).
I should’ve known this flight was going to be a problem with regards to that when I first asked to get reassigned to a window or aisle seat. I’m what we call a “white knuckle flyer”. Vodka and valium are usually my friends and have been for about 10 years. Having your plane take an unexplained dip of a few thousand feet will do that to a person. So I make my request only to be brushed off like I’m joking about this anxiety problem. Now normally, I would have turned on the bitch switch and gave this unfriendly gate agent a piece of my mind, but I thought doing that while flying without a photo id and after 2 beers probably wasn’t the smartest of ideas even though she made The Grinch look like Miss Congeniality.

So there I am, stuck in the middle of the row with Bonnie who has decided that everyone in the row needs to introduce themselves, say where they are from, what they are doing, where they are going and why. Awesome! Another interrogation! Like the one I had this morning from TSA for not having my photo idea wasn’t fun enough. I now have Bonnie wanting my life story before takeoff. I can only wonder if our in-flight entertainment will be holding hands and singing cumbaya while Matthew (the guy to my right produces it for YouTube since he’s a music producer)

“what you writing? What you listening to? (I wanted to tell her a mash up of Miley Cyrus with satanic death metal)? Do you want to read this? (offers me the same skymall magazine that I have in my own seat pocket)” ahhhhhh stop looking over my shoulder to make sure I do my homework , mom!

I finally get back to Los Angeles, my boyfriend is amazed at my ability to fly without a photo ID and then while I’m unpacking. I see something weird in the lining of my carry-on bag. Wait…what the hell? Is that a pocket within a pocket that I didn’t know was there? Why yes it is and oh look what’s in there….MY FREAKING DRIVER’S LICENSE!!!!

Oh well, at least I didn't have to go to the DMV the next day.