Luckily, this does not apply to my life personally, but it is so wrong it oozes dysfunction, therefore earning a spot on my blog. The best way to put it is, “eeewwwwww!”

“Woman files lawsuit against AMR because passenger next to her masturbated while she slept

A 21-year-old Harris County woman filed a $200,000 lawsuit against American Airlines alleging employees on a flight to Los Angeles from Dallas/Fort Worth Airport failed to protect her while she slept from another passenger who masturbated to her and ejaculated in her hair, according to a lawsuit she filed last week in Tarrant County.

The Harris County woman alleges employees knew of the risks associated with failing to “police the passengers to ensure that passengers do not hurt one another,” the suit states.

Airline officials did not return calls seeking comment. In a statement to a Houston television station last year, a spokesman said the company regretted the incident, but the flight crew took appropriate action.

The woman and her lawyer could not be reached for comment. The Star-Telegram does not identify victims of sexual crimes.
Destined for a Spring Break visit with family and friends March 19, the woman flew from Houston to DFW Airport and had settled into her seat for the last leg of flight 2074 to Los Angeles about 11 p.m., the suit states. The woman slept most of the flight, but awoke about 20 minutes before landing when the pilot announced the plane was on decent into Los Angeles. When the woman opened her eyes, she saw that an unknown man had moved into the seat next to her and was staring at her as he masturbated, the suit states.
The woman turned toward the window in embarrassment and in an act of nervousness began to run her fingers through her hair where she noticed “a substantial amount of an extremely sticky substance in her hair,” the suit states.

The woman began to cry and tried to get the attention of a flight attendant, but was unsuccessful, the suit states. Finally a passenger in the row in front of the woman comforted her and verified the semen in her hair, the suit states.

When the plane landed, employee called airport police and the man was arrested.

The suit alleges that the during the investigation, American Airlines employees told police they witnessed the man move from his assigned seat into the row where the woman was sleeping.

The woman is seeking punitive damages and a jury trial.”

Now, I readily admit this is a foul, disgusting, violating and unfortunate incident for this woman. It will undoubtedly change her sense of safety and security in public. However, is it reasonable to sue the airline?

My opinion is no. My opinion is that people in this country need to quit being so god damned spoiled. Our society needs to wash it’s money grubbing hands and realize that sometimes shit just happens! Whether it’s spilling hot coffee or slipping in an icy parking lot, or being the victim of some disgusting jerk wad (bad pun, sorry), it’s life! But products of our lose-all-the-weight-you-want-and-never-go-hungry and get-rich-quick culture immediately look for the nearest Fortune 500 company every time something crappy happens. Frankly, I’m getting really sick and tired of the victim mentality which claims to need hundreds of thousands or even millions of dollars to compensate them for their troubles.

Press charges on the creep and move on, already.

I surmise you may be questioning the obvious nature of the title. It may seem straightforward to you and me; nevertheless, this simple fact is not absolute in the mind of an innocent child who has no definitive proof of said claim. Demonstrating that human nature is often more powerful than knowledge, it was amusing that my son, who seems to be oblivious to the anatomy of the sexes, still possesses the innate desire to see the feminine form in all it’s glory.

As we were sitting in the doctor’s office today, the waiting room of which was severely lacking in juvenile reading material, I gave my five-year-old a Coastal Living magazine to look at hoping it would keep him entertained for at least a few minutes. The first thing that caught his eye was an ad for Vanilla Wafers which boasted an over-sized, picture-perfect presentation of two banana pudding parfaits, alongside the recipe. Wanting us to recreate this spectacular gastronomic delight at home (but unconvinced I could remember the three ingredients), he took it upon himself to phonetically write down the vital components for me: “venele wefers, petene, wapcram.”  (Vanilla wafers, pudding, whipped cream…He opted against the banana, thereby technically making it a plain ol’ pudding parfait).

Satisfied with his grocery list, he flipped the page and continued browsing. Within moments he let out a gasp followed by a giggle. You would have thought he had just stumbled across a Playboy centerfold. Turning my attention to see what all the excitement was about, he pointed to the page and said, “Look, Mom! She’s naked!” He was, in fact, correct.  There–right in the middle of this Coastal Living issue–was a woman completely in the buff.  An effective advertising gimmick, it was. Titillating, however, it was not. The strategically posed model was advertising milk, after all. Only her back, an arm, a shoulder, and part of a leg were visible. The photo lacked anything remotely resembling cleavage and was cropped to omit the mid-section all together. I casually acknowledged his finding before returning my attention to his sister, thinking that would dispel anything further on the subject.

Not ready to turn the page just yet, he then approached my daughter to share a glimpse of this must-see image. After showcasing his newly discovered treasure, he eagerly inquired, “Why is she naked?” I explained that (contrary to his instincts) the picture was acceptable because her private parts weren’t showing.  Then, whether in an attempt to prove me wrong or simply as an act of mischief, he claimed to see one of her boobs.  And her pee-pee. Her pee-pee, naturally, meaning penis. I highly doubted he could see any part of a breast, and I was quite certain he did not see her penis, because in the unlikely event she did have one, it wouldn’t have shown in that particular photo. I felt this would be a good time to reiterate to the little guy that women and girls generally do not sport such anatomical trophies; a penis is something far too special for God to have wasted on women. Well, that’s not exactly what I said; my actual words were significantly less sexist. In any case, considering I had previously explained this bit of biology to him at one time or another, I am not sure if he had truly just forgotten this information, or rather that he simply couldn’t fathom someone not having a penis.

He eventually turned the pages and perused a little more, before returning, a number of times, to the milk advertisement. The child was literally giddy. Before flashing the infamous pose one last time, he presented us with the enticing offer, “wanna see something gross?” Laughing at the humor of the situation I answered, “if you think it’s gross, why do you keep staring at it?” With a devilish little lopsided grin, he just rolled his eyes and proceeded to admire his first-ever dirty magazine.

From my archives (written Jan. 3) comes my very first anecdotal article:

I had intended to write about other matters today–matters that bare slightly more significance to report. Yet, due to some unforeseen circumstances that have befallen me, I have instead decided to squeeze the hell out of life’s lemons and make a tart, yet satisfying beverage, aka, this account. Ah, isn’t it refreshing?

Without electricity….

I am so dedicated to you, my only reader, that I went through hell and high water to make this post possible. I apologize that it is longer than it needs to be, but I am in no hurry to return to my home that is currently in a 19^th century state-of-being. Devoid of central heating the interior of my residence is currently more frigid than an embrace from Hilary Clinton. Before you doubt the plausibility of this claim, let me inform you that this is quite possibly the chilliest day to hit North America since the invention of the thermometer, registering a mere 17 degrees. Yes. Fahrenheit.

I had been looking forward to this day for the last week of my children’s 13-day winter break. At last, I would be able to resume my pre-holiday schedule including working out, tidying the house, reading, shopping, or frankly, whatever I wanted once I had accomplished my obligatory tasks. Today was the much-anticipated commencement of the second semester.

The morning began routinely enough, and with the youngest two already on the bus and en route to school, I had two down and only one to go! Nevertheless, just as seven o’clock struck, so did the first sign of trouble. My oldest daughter was almost finished with her morning ritual when the lights unexpectedly went out, leaving her in the dark as she was applying mascara. Within moments, my problems intensified when our security system realized it was functioning on energy generated from a battery and, therefore, implemented it’s ingenious design of sounding every-two-minutes as a “courteous” reminder. First of all, even if there was something you could do about it, it’s not as though you would need reminding every two minutes.

Without electricity…

I have taken this opportunity to patronize the local Panera, who’s gastronomic fare is about as good as fast-food gets, and who’s free internet service I never gave a second thought…until today. While I sit here typing away, recounting the ridiculous saga I’ve endured over the last few hours since awaking, I derive inspiration for which to entitle my blog. Meanwhile, I am secretly hoping not to bump into anyone I know, for I am experiencing a “bad hair day” so hideous, it was the likes of which that coined the term. Without any appliances such as, um, a blow dryer, to aid in my daily beautification routine I am left with flat, uncooperative locks. For the record, hairspray and other such products do not aid the process if you can’t get your style in a position you would like held in place!

Without electricity even getting here was no picnic. In fact, just trying to get out of the garage, I began to know the sense of urgency inmates must feel when they encounter a kink while putting their escape plan into motion. To disengage the garage door from the opener, I’ve been instructed to just “pull the cord”. Just pull the cord. My ass. For whatever reason, the garage door gave a great amount of resistance forcing me to endure a strenuous assault on my back. Alternatively, I could have given up and faced my failure to bust out of this joint. But without electricity I have been imprisoned in my own home which, if you recall, proves to be quite cold and lacking in modern conveniences. With that being said, I wasn’t giving up.

In spite of my determination, it was a great deal of frustration, a crippling back, and a rather long string of profanities later before I was on the outside. At last, there was only one thing left between me and my fantasies of warm food, electrical power, and the internet: the guilt of knowing that my children are sitting in a school doomed by the same fate as our home, possibly freezing, as this is the first day back from winter break. Unable to contact the school via phone to check the status of conditions, I felt obliged to stop in and make sure my children weren’t profusely suffering. The plan was to simply seek information about their classroom’s temperatures, and if even relatively close to the comfort zone, allow them to stay put. However, upon entering the long entrance hall and proceeding towards the office to make my inquiry, I was unexpectedly halted. The corridor was armed with staff members strategically placed so that no one could penetrate the building without being directed to the sign out sheet. Therefore, when asked, “are you here to pick up your child?” I knew it was rhetorical.

Off we (eventually) went, the three of us, to the place that was originally going to provide me not only food, power and internet, but solitude. The last of these mentioned was now out of the question. So much for packing my iPod. It would hardly be fair for me to enjoy what refuge the earplugs would provide while the very sources I was taking refuge from were irritating every other patron. The sources, of course, being the members of my entourage. We entered, ordered, and I selected a spot with a nearby outlet. It wasn’t long before I was regretting my decision to rescue them from school, and during the moment they relentlessly hollered across the restaurant to me from the drink station, I told them as such. When the incessant calls to my attention began, I attempted to ignore them, having taught them not to yell for me when they need something, but to come get me. Apparently, this lesson can be added to the litany of others they fail to heed. As one can imagine, I was less than thrilled about leaving my purse and laptop unattended to assess the crisis, and as a result, the excrement temporarily hit the fan. But after the beverage situation was under control, we returned to our haven near the fireplace and once lapping up our nourishing soup de jour, the calm of contentedness returned. That, to your misfortune, is when I began logging this insignificant day in my life.

Via cellular communication, I have just been informed that the outage is affecting a wide-spread region and the electricity is not likely to be reinstated before midnight. Apparently, Duke Power has the equipment necessary to fix the problem located in a neighboring state. No pun intended, but that is brilliant planning.

Before the day was over and the convenience of power we so often take for granted reinstated, my entourage and I had the privilege of patronizing yet another Panera. That’s right. One day. Two Paneras. Six hours. On the bright side, we did get out of a dentist appointment! Sadly, they had no power either.

The moral of the story? Let’s see…I guess it takes a whole lot of lemons for a satisfying outcome—and while no good will come until you squeeze the juice out of them, you mustn’t forget to add some sugar.