Holidannys

HOW TO: ROCK THE PLANE

Alternately titled “Snakes (And Ladders) On A Plane: A Guide To Entertaining Yourself”.

Originally I thought that the flight from London to New York is six hours. Six hours? Totally doable. I’ll bring a book, a sleeping mask, and an adult diaper—and I’ll be good to go. Then I checked my ticket again. Flight departure: 14:35. Flight arrival: 17:45. For you plebeians, that means 2:35 pm and 5:45 pm.

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Confusion.

It’s like a math problem:

Question: If the flight leaves at 2:35 and is six hours long, and the passenger is reading Tiger Beat and wearing an adult diaper, what time will he arrive in New York if the time difference is five hours?

Answer: 3:35 pm.

Realization. The flight is longer than six hours. It’s actually over eight hours—allegedly. I have yet to see the receipts, as Tumblr says, so it could still be shorter. Apparently we’re flying against the winds and that takes longer. I’m not a scientist. I don’t know the specifics. But regardless. Eight hours is much more of a commitment than six hours.

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So with this new information presented to me, I made like a good Moleskine journal and planned. So here, without further ado, is the faultless, foolproof, you-need-to-do-this-otherwise-your-life-will-be-terrible How-To:

1). Wear something casual, but not horrifying:

I always make the mistake of taking “comfortable” to the extreme. I think, “Oh, I’m going to be sitting on a plane for multiple hours, let me pull out the dolphin onesie and a pair of clogs!” No. Please resist this urge. Because eventually, unless you are severely confused, you’ll be getting off that plane and into the real world.

I have whittled my outfit down to the necessities: A) Adidas track pants, to get that subtle promo and also an elastic waistband; B) Nikes, because I can do it, and also you’ll have to take your shoes off; C) Comfy tee, which usually is my Pugs Not Drugs tee, but I’m being ~crazy~ and switching to the t-shirt I made for Halloween (All My Dreams Are Dead); and D) a blanket scarf—this one is new, and my sisters will hate it, but I love blankets and scarves so why not?

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2). Socks:

If you don’t bring a pair of goddamn socks onto the goddamn plane, you’re a f*cking idiot. They better be fuzzy and comfortable, because Lorde knows you’re gonna be taking off your shoes as soon as the tray tables go down, and we don’t want to have to wear our threadbare regular old socks. Treat yourself to luuuuuuuxury. Do yourself that one favor.

3). Entertainment (ha, more like “entertaintment” amiright?)

Plan for the trip like you’re going to have to entertain a rowdy, ADHD-riddled five-year-old, except that you’re actually just planning for yourself. I love having a wide array of things to do: read books, look on my phone, watch movies, listen to podcasts. Sometimes, and this is kinda so “millennial” of me, but I like to edit photos for later Instagram postage. It’s very relaxing, and something that doesn’t require data or WiFi.

I am super into podcasts, so I’ve downloaded a bunch to burn through: Chris Hardwick’s The Nerdist, and some of Joan Rivers’ In Bed With Joan even though RIP to the queen. I also want to buy Bianca Del Rio’s comedy special, but it’s on Vimeo, so I don’t know if that means I’ll need to have WiFi to watch it, which is no bueno. Something that doesn’t require WiFi is iTunes, so I think I might buy Tyler Oakley’s new documentary Snervous, because I feel like it’ll be more in the vein of his podcasts—which I love—than his videos—which I’m, like, ehh on.

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4). Snacks:

Idk, maybe some nuts? Some berries. You do you. I’m not going to tell you how to do your life.

5). Sleeping Possibilities:

This could technically go in apparel, but fuckit. I always wear a beanie on flights because of two reasons: 1) I can put it on and lean my head against anything and it’s soft enough to act as a pillow, and 2) I can pull it down over my eyes like a knit condom and block out the entire world. However, if you don’t have a beanie, I would suggest getting a sleeping mask. It’s one of those “OMG so LA” things to have, but I love mine. It was a cheapie from CVS, but it works great and looks like a bra when you put it on your face. Plus it makes everything black blackout black, which is a total plus.

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I’m super excited to go home but I kinda hate flying—I still don’t actually know how planes fly, and no one’s explanations have really made me believe them—and I hate being cramped in tiny spaces for long amounts of time. If you didn’t know, I’m 6’2”, which is horrible. Basically, for planes, anything over 5’5” and you might as well be a 1000+ lb elephant because it was not built for you.

I’ll sign off—just kidding, I’m typing off. Oh my god, I had to write an essay in my final today, and I don’t know if this happens to anyone else, but I always get ink blotches all over the side of my hand because I rest it on the paper. I’m so unfit even my hand gets tired from writing. Writing.

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HAPPY HOLIDANNYS!

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Life

LAST AMERICAN POST FOR A WHILE

I’m sitting in my bed. Soon I’ll be in the car. Then I’ll be at the airport. Then I’ll be on an airplane, over the vast Atlantic Ocean. Then I’ll be in London. It breaks down quite nicely.

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As I’m typing this, I have this balloon in my chest and it’s half terror/half exhilaration, because I’m about to leave the comfort of my American bubble. And I can’t even fully wrap my head around it.

I’m so anxious, for so many reasons. I’m anxious that I’ll be anxious, that I’ll mess up such a great opportunity. I’m anxious that I’ll fail at cooking. I’m anxious that I won’t make any new friends and I’ll have to resort to being fake and non-authentic.

But I also know that the hardest times in my life have pushed me into being stronger. So that’s where the exhilaration comes in. because even though I’m shitting myself, I can’t imagine myself not coming out of the other side as a stronger, more independent person. And that’s really fucking cool.

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I’m always so bad at taking leaps. I was the kid who had his toes curled over the edge of the diving board, and spent so much time looking down into the air. But my body sometimes overcomes my mind and forces me to jump.

So I’m jumping. I’m fucking LEAPING. And it’s scary but I have to remember that it’s okay to be scared shitless. And that these three months are a gift, and I have the power to take that gift in any way I want. I can do this, I can do this.

So send me all of your happy thoughts and good vibes, and I’ll send them back. And they’ll meet in the middle of the Atlantic and mingle and brush against each other and then go on their separate ways. Stronger, vibe-y, happier.

Oh my god, I’m about to do this, aren’t I?

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Also, my posts for the next month (the Mondays and Thursdays) are all pre-written, but I’ll be uploading sporadically within those scheduled days with current content. So don’t worry, because you’ll have enough Danny for your pleasure.

I don’t want to end on a clerical note because that’s so lame. I have a bunch of songs that I’m gonna be playing on repeat, to make me strong and fierce and cool and wild. A lot of them are from drag queens. I’m not even sure anyone is surprised at this point. Okay. I think I’m done.

Thank you, I love you, stay perfect, you American flops. This American flop is about to fly across the ocean and see if he can show the British that Americans really are as trashy and perfect as our Real Housewives franchises portray us to be. You’re welcome, Obama.

WHAT A WAY TO END MY LAST AMERICAN POST FOR FOUR MONTHS. YOU’RE WELCOME OBAMA. YOU’RE WELCOME, CHER.

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