As I just booked my first and official moving-to-LA flight, the first of many, I caught myself laughing at the thought of the last flight I encountered, while traveling home from LA…

It was the Monday right after my 25th birthday weekend, I had three that month and this was the final round of welcoming myself  to the age of 25. Half way to 50, ughhh.  Though I had an unbelievable weekend of rocking out at Teddy’s, dinners at Katsuya, hills parties and boppin around at my friends’ studios; I had to get home to tend to Cash’s hurt leg.   Which meant I had to wake up at 6 a.m. Tuesday  morning to haul ass to the vet in Ohio – total 180 from being in Hollywood. 

Getting to my story, I had a flight home on the infamous, unreliable, most absurd airline in the history of aviation, USAir. I approached LAX significantly on time which is very unusual for me. I am one of those last-minute, only-have-time to grab a NYTimes, 2 gossip, 1 fashion and some mentos and a cut in line to get on the plane kinda girl.  …Well, USAir decided not to inform me of the 8-hour delay they pulled together last-minute and I was stuck at the airport for hours. …Up until my homegirl (literally, from the 6th grade) picked me up and went to Venice for the day.   Hours went by and I got dropped back off at the airport, went through ‘sakuurty’ and journeyed off onto my plane with no hassle – only to find out they put me on the very, very, VERY last row, right smack in the middle of two, not  too skinny people.  SERIOUSLY USAIR?? On a 5 1/2 hour flight? How kind of you.  Right as misery masked all over my face a lady had offered me her row 14 - aisle seat, in act of true wifemenship in order to sit with her husband.  This lady was my angel, Jesus Crist himself sent her to me, I know it. 

I gather my traveling staples and excitedly moved to row 14, behind me I hear a ‘yo, babygirl you wanna sit in the middle.’  I turned around with the intent to have mad attitude, until I recognize Master P looking down at me.   For those who are not familiar with the old-skool rapper and owner of No Limit Records – he was a true artist of the 90′s.  I then died inside and sat down in the middle seat and proceeded small talk with him.

After a good 10-minutes I couldn’t hold it in anymore, I confessed that I grew up to his 1997 album Ghetto D and his song: was currently the song that would play if I turned my car on.  He looked at me like I was a total joke and asked where I was from?  I replied with the most typical whitegirl response, ‘ummmm like the suburbs of like Pittsburgh called ummm Wexford!”.  Master P, impressed, looked down at me and smiled and said, “damn, boo you must know your shit.”  We chit-chatted off and on throughout the red-eye flight;  until the layover in Charlotte.  Of course I got his contact information, but at this point in my life and career (if that’s what you call it ) I have no reason to get ahold of Master P, or anyone from No Limit Records for that matter.

Why he was sitting in coach I have no idea? No Limit must not be makin the hits anymore, but nonetheless it was a memorable and humourous flight home from LA.