I had most of my things packed away last night, so today I had very little to do except look pretty and put a few last household things in order, like write my will.

I do not expect to die on this trip, but I am a forward thinking person and I have a few out of the ordinary requests for what I would like to happen to my remains should something so devastating happen. Who knows–there could be terrorists or violent mobs or something worse than that like…well, not much is worse than being crushed by a violent anti-Royalist mob warring for anarchy. I suppose a run-in with Kanye would be worse, but, I’d live through that.

I left detailed instructions back home, but I thought I would share them with you, too. If my body is unavailable or unidentifiable, I would like several articles of my clothing burnt and then strewn with hairs that are collected from my pillowcase. My “remains” would then be either installed in Père Lachaise cemetery in Paris or in the Forest Gate cemetery in California where many of my Hollywood idols are lounging about, rotting away. If the French cemetery were for some reason unavailable, California is my second dream destination!

In the bittersweet event of my body’s survival, I would like whatever can be donated to science donated and then the following done. I want the flesh scraped away from my bones and then cremated. Cremated remains are mostly bone, so, being as thin as I am, there will hardly be any ashes at all, but that is unimportant. One gram or one hundred is hardly relevant. These ashes are to be buried as I described above. My bones are to be wired back together and put on display. I have always been enamored of scientific specimens of skeletons and I would enjoy being one. Scaring children and helping future people learn the names of bones. If my remaining family members found it too macabre too keep my leering skull and bones standing in a corner all the time, they can certainly put me away in a lovely cupboard with ornate engravings, but I insist on coming out for Halloween. I will haunt them if they do not.

But, as I said, I do not anticipate dying. I anticipate becoming best friends with Camilla and then heading home. I don’t actually plan on dying ever. If I must, I’d like to be fantastically old 125 or something like that. I have too much to do to only live to be 80.

So, once my last will and testament was written down and I put a few finishing touches on my bags it was time to leave for the airport.

For some reason, I really don’t know why, but I have my theories, Jessica lost her mind. Hardly the first time something like this has happened and you will surely think I make these things up, but they are real! I swear. This time she started fist-pumping like she was in an Iowan version of Jersey Shore, throwing down ghetto language at passing by cars, shouting at me to sing along to songs I had never heard, and then screaming–louder than any human being should have the ability to do so, “YEAH, BOY!” She needed slapped.

It was easy to get our tickets with self check-in at the airport and within moments we were at the security check.

I handed the more kindly-looking of the TSA agents my passport and watched as she flipped to the picture of me, looked tat me, then the picture of me, then to me, then to the picture of me. Without thinking before I spoke I said, “Do I look like a terrorist?” Shit, I thought. I’m going to jail…

I thought I killed her. She kind of gasped, turned red, then hid her face behind the passport. Nervously, I watched as she kind of gasped and shook. She did this for at least two minutes. The longest two minutes of my life.

Finally, she looked up and said, “I’ll keep that just between us.” I smiled my most charming smile and finished going through security. I’m still upset that I haven’t had the chance to go through the body scanner. I doubt Des Moines has one, but I still want to do that. It would make such a fantastic Facebook profile picture.

We had about an hour before boarding, so we stopped by the airport lounge to have a nibble of something–mozzarella sticks. The waitress was bizarre, she sounded like she was having her lines read to her through an earpiece. She would smile and then jump slightly and begin speaking. Odd.

I enjoyed looking around the lounge at the ancient pieces of technology. I didn’t realize people still bothered using PCs. I thought we were a Mac society now! iPads were fairly prevalent, though, and I was a tad annoyed that I wasn’t special with mine anymore. Some people even had newer models! The bitches.

We walked back to the concourse to wait for the plane and I did a study of the fashion that was on display. I wonder why airports are like vacuums of fashion–do people not know they look that bad? Shorts and tracksuits are just vile on an airplane. Air travel is chic and elitist–at least I wish it still were like in the 50s and 60s. Then again, in the 50s and 60s people would dress up for no reason at all it seems. I am far too young to have ever experienced those past decades, but from movies and contemporary sources, this seems to be the case. I was not in my fanciest, but I put an effort to look nice.

I was intrigued by one very old woman who looked exactly like Katharine Hepburn wearing a crushed velvet tracksuit. It was uncanny. I wanted to get a picture, but in that small waiting area it would have been too obvious. I swear, Suddenly Last Summer could have started at any second.

Soon we were in the air and I was marveling at how thick clouds can be When we descended through them, we went down and down and down and still were not through them, they must be a mile deep at least. It was fascinating.

Soon we were descending to Minneapolis. It is only a 44-minute flight from Des Moines and I caught a glimpse of flames. It was the oddest sight, there was some kind of factory that had massive flames shooting from it. It was eery, like a vision of a post-apocalyptic 2012. Or, maybe it was just a tire factory.

I also saw IKEA from the air and I had to breathe deep to contain my excitement. I wanted to dart over and buy everything. Everything.

After taxiing around the airport for 20 long minutes we were allowed to exit the plane and make our way to the next area. Gate G6–an eternity away. We had to take the magical moving sidewalks and I had to bite my tongue so that I wouldn’t shout out, “Walk, bitch, walk!” and give a little shove to the morons that stood and chatted on these convenient miracle people movers.

We passed by a bakery, but they were closed for staff training, the woman behind the counter explained to us, holding up a glass of red wine in a kind of greeting. Drunkard.

Then I saw a vending machine, but it was no everyday candy bar and soda pop vending machine, it was a Best Buy machine. You could buy cameras and iPods and more–it was so intriguing and expensive!

Wolfgang Puck Express was closed as well, of course, so we had to subsist on nasty little nibbles from some Asian place and a slice of decent lemon poppyseed cake from Caribou Coffee–an establishment that has my stamp of approval. Best espresso you can buy in Des Moines, in my opinion.

While waiting to board the plane that would take us to London, I observed the people, as I am wont to do. Elderly British people dress almost exclusively in shades of tan, wear sensible chunky shoes, and have horrible teeth. The younger Brits didn’t fare better dental wise, but their attire was much more trendy. Nothing extravagant, but this little microcosm of fashion is hardly a large enough pool for me to make grandiose generalizations on the state of British style, so that will have to wait.

There was a Dyson AirBlade in the bathroom. I love them. I want one in my house.

In the reflection of the window as I sat in lounge, I swear I thought I was Raja from RuPaul’s Drag Race. It was uncanny how similar we look in that moment. I think we even sound the same. Since we are obviously long lost brothers, I wonder if he will introduce me to Tyra. As my sibling, I think it is his duty.

As we boarded the plane, the woman taking the tickets looked at my passport and looked up at me and said with a giggle, “Is that you?”

I must have had an “I can’t believe this is happening” look on my face because she burst out laughing. And, I have to tell you, there is nothing more adorable than an elderly Asian woman giggling.

The instructional film seemed like it was right from the Star Wars ride at Disney World sans the Ewoks and Droids. I was amused at the way they told us to find the life-vests in the occasion of a water landing. They said it as if that were a desirable occurrence.

When I figured out how to turn the lights on, I felt like Cher in the middle of Burlesque and I had a great and deep desire to start singing “You Haven’t Seen the Last of Me.” I’m not sure my fellow passengers would have appreciated my flawed warbling voice, though.

My meal came soon after. Since I had a special meal–vegetarian–I was served first. I couldn’t stop thinking about how pissed Jessica would have been that I got to eat before her. I can’t wait to go to Paris next week and see if it happens again. It will be too good. She. Will. Explode!

I had penne pasta with spinach, cream sauce, and sun dried tomatoes. It was pretty good. I was pleased. It wasn’t haute cuisine, but it was satisfying. The bread was peppery and odd. The fruit was amazing! It was all perfectly ripe and juicy and I have to wonder if they weren’t sprinkled with citric acid to make them more juicy and ripe. Either way, the grapefruit and pineapple were divine. Best part of the meal. I also was given a salad, but it was so unappealing that I only poked at it.

I meant to finish reading a magazine and do my writing for the day, but my internal clock must have already switched to London time because my eyelids are rather heavy. I had better get a few hours sleep so that I can prowl the streets in a little while.

Wish me luck getting through border control with my passport. And honestly. It looks nothing like me. I looked like a fat criminal and now I look like a sexy model. Woe.