Life and Lemons

I realized last night, that I tend to spend at least five hours a week looking at flights (specifically on priceline.com; Dear William Shatner, I love you.") Unfortunately, I never have enough money (or a credit card, which would be dangerous in my mitts) to spontaneously book a flight like I so desperately want to. Well. I've decided that the first flight I find that costs $30 or less, I am going to book. I never really felt at home anywhere and something inside of me is saying, "Hey, Diane. I'm pretty sure that you were meant to go to this place and possibly live there. Do what you want, but I truly believe you should buy this ticket before it's too late and life has completely passed you by and you're still at home living with your parents and working at a menial job where you feel like nobody listens to you (actually, most of the time they really aren't listening to me as I learned today after I spent at least two minutes talking to myself, which is not a very good feeling and not something that I would liken to having sex, which is clearly a very good feeling... most of the time.)" Sometimes I feel like a fly stuck to that gross fly killing icky sticky tape that hangs from the ceiling and boys don't take down from their rooms for what seems like months (yes, I know this person.) They're fucking dead. Remove the shit and start anew. Right, back to me being a fly... There are moments when I think I can break free from that morbidly disgusting tape and start my own little colony of flies in some back-alley dumpster behind the best French restaurant around (oooh, or Japanese. I would so lay my eggs in that extra portion of chicken teriyaki that overweight fat kid shouldn't have ordered in the first place. Man up, kid. If you're gonna do it then do it right.) So, I pull away from the tape and my face rips off a little bit, maybe the tip of a leg or two (I really need those feelers, this becomes problematic.) Right as I'm about to totally break free ("They can take our land, they can take our women, but they will never take our freedommmm!!" *insert picture of me mooning you all; it's okay I have a great ass*) this huge gust of wind blows my way and ONCE AGAIN, I am a fucking fly stuck to that same piece of tape that little shit of a dude (actually, he's a very nice person) WON'T THROW OUT! Ugh. Whatever.

Dear Priceline.com or William Shatner or any airplane company that flies out of New York,

Hey, how's it going? I would really appreciate it if you would fulfill my destiny and give me a cheap one-way ticket to somewhere that isn't here. Ideally, I would prefer a place that is both warm and tropical but I'm willing to negotiate (Priceline, I know you are a fan of this whole 'negotiating' thing. Hook a bitch up, motherfuckers.) Thank you so much for your consideration and be sure to send me an e-mail (I'm green-ing it, so no letters) as soon as you figure it out. I'm leaving it up to you. But, remember: $30 or less!!!

Love,

A confused fly with her wings clipped and a feeler or three missing.