DC Visit Day 1 and the trip over
What can I say? Plane flights suck no matter if you're in the air for 30 minutes or for 10 hours. I've done both before and it's just a royal pain in the ass no matter how you cut it.
My flight from San Diego had me wedged between some real estate Yenta going to a conference in Houston, and Gunter the picky eater, both in their late 40's/early 50's. Gunter was this balding German man that ate his cheeseburger with a fork, discarding the bun, the salad and the fun-size Twix candy bar that came along with it. Real Estate Yenta was busy making calls throughout the flight, taking with clientel and cohorts alike, all the while I'm trying to read my book and stay in my own space. Finally the plane touched down in Houston and I made a bee-line for the door as soon as I could get the chance.
I had a 2 hour lay-over before my trip to Baltimore and called CrazyGirl to let her know I was on my way. Turns out her car was acting weird and it was recommended I get a rental or find some other way to get to their place. Not a prob since I had planned on getting a rental car while in DC anyways. I figured they would be at work all day and fuck if I'm gonna stay stranded around the house with nothing to do. So, I took the pro-active approach and made reservations while I was there, and when I touched down at BWI, the car was waiting for me, ready to go.
The flight to BWI was harrowing in itself. I find myself wedged between Sheriff FatMan, some 350 pound dude that can barely stay contained in his seat, and some hot looking crack-whore wearing a halter top with no bra on. The crack-whore was dishy although she took absolutely no interest in me, so my chances of joining the Mile-High Club were out of the question. Sheriff FatMan on the other hand was a total mouth breather and could be heard inhaling everything from the oxygen in the airplane cabin to the food the stewardess and her gay compatriot were serving people. They showed that shitty film Madagascar for the in-flight entertainment and heard this guy laugh in a bellowy, obnoxious tone. Ugh. Thankfully I kept my nose buried in the Motley Crue book I brought along with and as a result have finished the majority of the book. It's an easy read and it has convinced me that Motley Crue is the true-to-life version of the band Spinal Tap. The shit these guys have done is of comical proportions. You can't make this shit up, I'm telling yah.
Anycase, the plan for my trip goes as follows:
Today - chill out in the Northern Virginia area. Hang out with Calin.
Tomorrow - chill out in Baltimore
Saturday - Get drunk. Act an ass. Sober up in enough time to make Sunday flight.
Sunday - Fly back home to San Diego.
My flight from San Diego had me wedged between some real estate Yenta going to a conference in Houston, and Gunter the picky eater, both in their late 40's/early 50's. Gunter was this balding German man that ate his cheeseburger with a fork, discarding the bun, the salad and the fun-size Twix candy bar that came along with it. Real Estate Yenta was busy making calls throughout the flight, taking with clientel and cohorts alike, all the while I'm trying to read my book and stay in my own space. Finally the plane touched down in Houston and I made a bee-line for the door as soon as I could get the chance.
I had a 2 hour lay-over before my trip to Baltimore and called CrazyGirl to let her know I was on my way. Turns out her car was acting weird and it was recommended I get a rental or find some other way to get to their place. Not a prob since I had planned on getting a rental car while in DC anyways. I figured they would be at work all day and fuck if I'm gonna stay stranded around the house with nothing to do. So, I took the pro-active approach and made reservations while I was there, and when I touched down at BWI, the car was waiting for me, ready to go.
The flight to BWI was harrowing in itself. I find myself wedged between Sheriff FatMan, some 350 pound dude that can barely stay contained in his seat, and some hot looking crack-whore wearing a halter top with no bra on. The crack-whore was dishy although she took absolutely no interest in me, so my chances of joining the Mile-High Club were out of the question. Sheriff FatMan on the other hand was a total mouth breather and could be heard inhaling everything from the oxygen in the airplane cabin to the food the stewardess and her gay compatriot were serving people. They showed that shitty film Madagascar for the in-flight entertainment and heard this guy laugh in a bellowy, obnoxious tone. Ugh. Thankfully I kept my nose buried in the Motley Crue book I brought along with and as a result have finished the majority of the book. It's an easy read and it has convinced me that Motley Crue is the true-to-life version of the band Spinal Tap. The shit these guys have done is of comical proportions. You can't make this shit up, I'm telling yah.
Anycase, the plan for my trip goes as follows:
Today - chill out in the Northern Virginia area. Hang out with Calin.
Tomorrow - chill out in Baltimore
Saturday - Get drunk. Act an ass. Sober up in enough time to make Sunday flight.
Sunday - Fly back home to San Diego.
posted by Machine at 6:02 PM
6 Comments:
What does that mean?
Am I getting drunk dialed on Saturday?
it means exactly what he said (no offense of course) but redheads are dangerous material, whether girl or guy.
machine, that gal you speak of on the second flight sounds like a typical gal for the short bus...you should have invited her along anyway. she can "learn to love!" hahahahaha.
ok ok ok. I'll stop. have fun this weekend! :)
Eh. I dunno what happened to Calin. I guess she got smart and realized at the last second what a detriment to society I really am and avoided me like the plague.
Good girl.
And Megan got her Drunk Dial last night. But I can always call again tonight!
Are you ready for some naked pics with my Short Bus Mafia tee? I'll send them today.
Of course it would be NICE if you drunk dialed me on a night when I don't have to work the next day. But I understand, it's your job to be a prick.
Megan you should happy that you FINALLY heard my voice!
Small villages in certain Asian countries have erected shrines to commemorate my visitation, and this is the thanks I get by gracing you with a 30 second drunk dial.
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