Nothing like coming home in style to:
Your neighbor banging pots in a drunken rhythm at 12:06 am to something that could have been upbeat show tunes, which of course have been the epitome of my vision of gay male-dom, but was likely a much more shrill Sarah Brightman, fulfilling absolutely none of my fantasies. Or anyone else’s, for that matter.
My lungs collapsing despite a relatively smoke-free, week-long existence, given the 240 percent humidity that crept up in the DC area during my brief absence. I actually had to drop my multi-pound handbag to the floor while waiting for my luggage at ATA Baggage Carousel #1.4; my brick of a bag and my compromised airways just could not compete. A bonus for the locals: are those old-school Terminal A carousels not powered by Precious Moments gnomes riding bikes? Because I’m pretty sure they are. And I’m pretty sure today I might be looking that part-time biking gig up on Craigslist. You know, at lunch.
More Google searches about hard core retainer fetishes. Because what with teen molar development creeping up earlier and earlier, who doesn’t have one these days?
And finally: literally tripping in what I thought was slow motion onto the poor man sitting in 7C – due entirely to an untied Chuck that I saw but neglected in the 737 restroom, not the 3 or was it 4 Rum and Cokes I consumed in various airports all over these United States.
Photos and a completely entertaining vacay breakdown to follow. Or maybe just a complete one. Or at least yet another list employing bullets to gross excess.
Your neighbor banging pots in a drunken rhythm at 12:06 am to something that could have been upbeat show tunes, which of course have been the epitome of my vision of gay male-dom, but was likely a much more shrill Sarah Brightman, fulfilling absolutely none of my fantasies. Or anyone else’s, for that matter.
My lungs collapsing despite a relatively smoke-free, week-long existence, given the 240 percent humidity that crept up in the DC area during my brief absence. I actually had to drop my multi-pound handbag to the floor while waiting for my luggage at ATA Baggage Carousel #1.4; my brick of a bag and my compromised airways just could not compete. A bonus for the locals: are those old-school Terminal A carousels not powered by Precious Moments gnomes riding bikes? Because I’m pretty sure they are. And I’m pretty sure today I might be looking that part-time biking gig up on Craigslist. You know, at lunch.
More Google searches about hard core retainer fetishes. Because what with teen molar development creeping up earlier and earlier, who doesn’t have one these days?
And finally: literally tripping in what I thought was slow motion onto the poor man sitting in 7C – due entirely to an untied Chuck that I saw but neglected in the 737 restroom, not the 3 or was it 4 Rum and Cokes I consumed in various airports all over these United States.
Photos and a completely entertaining vacay breakdown to follow. Or maybe just a complete one. Or at least yet another list employing bullets to gross excess.
5 Comments:
It's cool that Matthew McConaughey has switched from bongos to pots and pans.
Now he can rock out in every kitchen in the world.
welcome home! And, I say this with all the love in the world, I think you need a nap. :)
Who doesn't trip on the guy in 7C on the airplane?
I'm pretty sure all baggage carousels are powered by gnomes or mice in wheels.
Welcome home! And let's be honest. If your neighbor wasn't banging the pots and pans together, you'd be a little disappointed, wouldn't you?
I don't think she'd be disappointed. I think she would be banging pots and pans.
A week smoke free?
W00T
Don't let the siren song of your stove element lead you ashtray my sweet!
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