Dear Eminem,

I've been listening to your new single, you know, EVERYWHERE, and there's something you should know. This might be hard to hear, but you should probably listen.

People don't think about you nearly as much as you think they do.

"Feels so empty without" you? Dude, I didn't even know you were gone. I'm sure I'm not alone.

Sorry 'bout the bubble burst,

Jamie

We woke up really early Monday, and Shannon dropped us off at the airport at about 8 a.m. First, we stopped for some organic turkey sandwiches to eat later, and some coffee. Shawn is so funny. She's like a little kid, all scared to try something "organic." When her mom found out that I have her eating veggie burgers, you'd have thought I raised the dead. Anyway, Shawn freaked out all day long, afraid her turkey sandwich would be all scary and natural.

She didn't like the organic coffee, though. So while we stood in the long-assed security line (out the front door, down the sidewalk...), I had to hear non-stop how much she wanted coffeecoffeecoffee.

Standing in line in front of us was a man wearing a plaid beret. You know those people who just don't understand anything? God, he was annoying. He had to question every step we took. He was confused by each and every aspect of the security inspection process, and asked moronic question after question after question. We wanted to shake him. (If I sound intolerant, remember, it was about 8:30 a.m., and you already know what my weekend was like.)

Once we got through, it was time for breakfast. We first tried this deli off to the side. Everything was crowded. While we waited in line, Stupid Plaid Beret Man walks up behind us, leans over, and asks the counter person - I shit you not - "Is this McDonalds?"

Yes, yes it is! See the big golden arches? Why, there's Ronald McDonald now!

NO, YOU IDIOT! If it was McDonald's, the sign would say, "McDonald's," not "Crappy Airport Deli." Sheesh.

Once we got some food and got to our gate, Shawn and I tried to sleep, but it was difficult since the airport was regulated at SUB-ZERO TEMPERATURES. Now, I know we're all spoiled in the Keys and all, but it was ridiculous. The force of my teeth chattering could probably have propelled the airplane the entire way home. And no one else seemed to be bothered. They're all walking around in their shorts and sandals, like it's not a fucking meat locker. Freaks.

As we got closer to departure time, Shawn and I became very amused by an older (50s?) woman trying to scam her way into a free first class upgrade. Bleached hair, lots o' makeup, scary long fingernails. We'll call her Princess Bleach. She whined, she pouted. She pulled out all the stops. (Except for, you know, PAYING for an upgrade.) She didn't get her way. Shawn and I were pleased.

Pet Peeve Alert: I hate when people think they are entitled to special treatment.

Once we boarded the plane, Princess Bleach went for the upgrade again. When she failed, she then proceeded to act like a bitch to the rest of us coach underlings that she was stuck among. It was especially amusing when she tried to get the flight attendant to bring her a drink before take-off, and the attendant was very polite in turning her down, but her face said, "Jesus, lady. Wait a fucking second." Another passenger finally gave her a bottle of water. I'm surprised Princess Bleach accepted an item that would certainly be coated in coach germs.

During our layover in Charlotte, Shawn and I dined at a place that billed itself as having "The Best Chicken Sandwich In The World."

Their slogan should have been, "This Is A Chicken Sandwich? Are You Quite Sure? All Right, If You Say So."

I did, however, lose my Krispy Kreme virginity. The donut was patient and gentle, but I still had an orgasm.

When we went to the gate, we were pleased to see that our in-flight entertainment would once again be Princess Bleach. She again tried the begging-at-the-counter maneuver. She again failed.

Once we boarded the flight, she got really obnoxious. She whacked a kid in the head with her bag, and didn't apologize or even turn around to make sure he was still conscious. Once she got to her seat, for some reason, she stood in the aisle the entire time everyone else was boarding, so they all had to squeeze past her. She was loud, rude, and really, pretty snotty. Everyone around us was discussing what an asshole she was, so Shawn and I took it upon ourselves to fill in our coach comrades on Princess Bleach's past shenanigans. Since we all are so mature, about three rows of seats began a running commentary.

"That flight attendant wouldn't upgrade you? Try the next one!"

"No? Too bad!"

"Aw, her neck hurts. Fuck, let her drive the plane!"

"Hey, maybe your neck wouldn't hurt if you'd stow your bag and sit the hell down!"

The Princess then began rubbing her neck and crying big, fake tears. (Not because of us. She wasn't deeming to acknowledge any of the other coach underlings at this point. She was all about the scam, baby.)

When the homosexual flight attendant with the look of deep concern on his face approached her, we knew she'd won.

As she walked up the aisle to first class, the heckling continued.

"Awwww!"

"Booo!"

"Hey, my neck hurts, too!"

"Me, too!"

"I have a sore back! I wanna go to first class!"

"Me, too!"

The rest of the flight was pretty uneventful. Shawn slept a lot. In Ft. Lauderdale, the Baggage Claim Gods continued to smile upon us, and we got our bags quickly.

I drove home. When we arrived, we were greeted by that stank-ass fridge.

Back to the grind.