There was a point in time when my boss told me that nothing good could come of refreshing Livejournal all day long.

He was officially wrong yesterday afternoon, when autonomic_pilot posted that he was taking a plane up to watch the lunar eclipse from 8,000 feet, and since he had three empty seats, the first three people to speak up got them.

Three thoughts shot through my brain in rapid succession:

1. If I want to do this, I have to respond NOW. Ok! 2. I will have to leave work early. Fine by me! 3. Wait, I have dance class tonight! WHAT IS WRONG WITH MY BRAIN? FUCK DANCE CLASS.

I was one of the lucky three, the trio rounded out by la_roja and aelius27, whom you’ll recall graciously hosted Adventures in Science! Part One: Owl Vomit.

After practically floating out of work, I made a pit stop at David’s Bridal to maybe find something to wear to Kayleigh’s last-minute Prom Party this weekend, and after getting frustrated at incorrect sizing and hot layers of tulle, I have decided that my goddamn animal friends had better kick it up a notch and make something for me.

After all of THAT, I met everyone at Wings Aloft, where we prepared to sacrifice babies to convince an angered God to give back the moon.

Frankly, I was a little concerned about all of us being able to fit inside. But I’m not the pilot here, so…oh, wait!

Our fearless pilot.

As the one with the fancy-pants camera that I didn’t quite know how to use, I got to be the co-pilot. Er, ride shotgun. Er, sit in the front and pray I wouldn’t break anything.

STOP BLINDING ME, WOMAN.

This was the emergency handle, which, when pulled, launches out a rocket/parachute 1-2 punch combo that destroys the plane but saves the passengers. autonomic_pilot said that since its inception, it’s been used 13 times and is credited with saving 31 lives, which is pretty goddamn awesome.

Hey, look, it’s the world’s blurriest sunset over mountaintops! Gosh, wouldn’t that be nice if it were in focus? …I’m ShakyHands McGee.

This is the point where, in accordance with the wishes of our TRULY fearless pilot, who perhaps didn’t know that the first week I had my driver’s license I totaled my car in an act of sheer Stupidity that is yet unrivaled, I took control of the plane. The expression on my face is equal parts ecstatic and terrified that I would kill us all. Doing something stupid that kills myself? Eh, we all have to go sometime. Taking others with me? Not so much!

Note: Although I didn’t make any seatbelt announcements, I was indeed in full control as autonomic_pilot had to use both hands to operate my camera. Or at least, I was granted the illusion of complete control, as it has become clear to me that John can actually control the plane via The Force.

The sky reflecting off of my glasses means I’m deadly serious like THE ICEMAN, bitches!

This is what terror looks like when Mellzah’s got control.

The eclipse and night sky itself was, in a word, breathtaking. There are moments in my life when I’m overwhelmed by beauty, when my heart swells from the joy of it, and I almost feel it will engulf me. This was one of those moments. It was so incredible, and I wish that I could’ve captured even a fraction of that feeling with my camera.

When I dated Alex, who was a pilot, he said that people often ask how planes know where they’re going without roads, and the joke-y pilot answer is to point out at the wings and say all they do is fly between the lights. This picture has nothing to do with the wings of the plane, but it makes me think of that nonetheless.

la_roja taking a spin in the mini-plane.

No, you’re breaking it! I AM NOT!

Putting the plane back into the garage. There was a gap of MAYBE a foot on either side of the plane, which I would imagine is terrifying every time you put it in the garage–there’s not exactly room for error. Then again, there isn’t a crapton of room for error when your safety blanket is a rocket parachute, so maybe terror is something he’s used to by now.

This was an amazing, amazing experience. I really can’t give enough thanks–words seem insufficient and hollow. Still: thank you, thank you, thank you. The trip might have ended last night, but I’m still walking on air.

Since I was denied entry to the caucus on Saturday by a snotty old man who told me I’d get another chance ‘in four years’, out of spite I have decided to run for benevolent dictator. Vote for me, and I will rule you gently with my iron fist!

Platform:

*Insurance companies will be summarily firebombed. The jillions they have in the bank will be seized and used to rebuild the areas ravaged by Hurricane Katrina and some swanky new levees. If there’s any money left over, use it to get socialized health care rolling.

*You heard me. Socialized health care. If Canada can do it, goddamnit, so can we.

*Abortions for some! No abortions for others! Miniature American flags for all!

*Reinstate corporal punishment in schools. If bullies got the shit kicked out of them regularly, and knew their teachers were packing stun guns, they’d think twice about driving angry loner children to the point of hit lists.

*Minor drug offenders will be set free. Violent offenders, however, will all be shipped to Utah for a ‘last man standing’ gladiatorial match. Weapons will be dropped inside at random–a sock full of pennies, a sharpened broom handle, and giant sporks. This will be televised on pay-per-view.

*Opposing politicians? Sorry guys. You’re all going to be shot. Goes for the House and the Senate, too. You’re useless, and the money we were paying you is better spent elsewhere. Except Russ Feingold. You’re cool, you can stay.

*The war? Done. Fuck that shizz in the EYE. The Sunnis and the Shiites want to blow each other to kingdom come? Have a blast, guys. Here, have a giant spork.

*Paris Ho-lton, Lindsay Ho-han, and Slutney Spears (and potentially more) will be shot on a rocket to Mars. For science. Riiiight.

*True freedom of religion (and non-religion!) and absolute separation of church and state. You can worship any invisible man/blue man/ blue man group you want, but don’t you dare tell anyone else what they should and should not be doing.

*Scientologists will be free (read: forced) into another rocket ship to go battle Xenu. Let me know how that shit goes.

*Illegal immigrants will be granted amnesty. Have YOU ever picked blueberries? Awful, awful work. But I’d still like blueberries on my cereal, so, y’know, amnesty.

*Cuba? Sanctions lifted, y’all. Quality cigars should be plentiful and cheap.

*Drunk drivers will have to walk home naked from the point where they are pulled over. Second time, with a matchstick squeezed in between their butt cheeks. Third time? You’re GOIN’ TO UTAH, BABY!

Doesn’t my mustache make me look like a natural born leader/dictator? I sure think so!

LADIES and GENTLEMEN, do we ever have a spectacle for you today! It’s a royal rumble in downtown Kent, a battle so ferocious that pregnant women and people with heart conditions aren’t allowed within twenty miles, a spectacle so spectacular that we’ve sold you the whole seat, but all you need is the edge.

In the first corner in the white trunks, our defending CHAMP-EEN and UNDEFEATED CONTENDER in his weight class and a class above, the Tyke with Bite, floating like a butterfly and peeing on a tree…..NAPOLEON RAYGUN!

In the second corner in the pink trunks, folks, is our challenger. Raised on the mean streets of Hong Kong, this scrappy newcomer stowed away on a freighter bound for Tacoma and the good life, a MYTHICAL CREATURE with NOTHING TO LOSE, found homeless and hungry in a nearby WinCo with a CHIP ON HIS SHOULDER, a HATRED for our bourgeoise society, and a WILLINGNESS TO FIGHT FOR A CHANCE FOR SHELTER….THE UNICORN!

Now, touch gloves and come out fighting–LET’S GET READY TO RUUUUMMMMBLLLLLLEEEEE!

Some fights don’t last longer than two rounds, folks. No refunds. Guess you could say he tore ‘im a new asshole, eh? EH?