Life Out Here

Just a small way to keep my friends and family, who are strewn about the country, in The Know about my life in Seattle.

Friday, June 01, 2007

Thoughts from the Road.....

The following is a transcription of random notes, jotted down between 10:00pm and 7:00am on May 31, 2007 at Sea-Tac airport and aboard two different flights, en route to Houston, Texas.

Man, I love cowboys. I followed a tall Texan with tight Wranglers, ropers and a handlebar mustache through the terminal. That is not a bad view at all. No sir.

I like travelling alone. Except when I go to the bathroom. Steve and I take turns-he watches my stuff, I watch his. It's really hard to wheel a carry-on into a stall.

What are those hats that Scottish golfers wear, with the pom pom on top? Mostly plaid? There's an older guy wearing one across the way. Working on a laptop. Wearing slippers. Man, I wish Steve were with me. This would keep us occupied for hours.

1 Hour Update:
No one has checked me out yet. Maybe I don't still got it.

I need a laptop. Note to self - add that to my Amazon wish list.

Creepy Dude Alert. He hovers. He wants to talk. I stick my iPod earbuds in. No music. Just earbuds. I scowl. I write feverishly. I'm very busy. Still, he hovers. Watches a little TV, watches a little me. It looks like he's been in a fight. There are cuts on his face and his eyes are both black underneath. Icky. The cowboy will protect me. I'm sure of it. Wait.........
SUCCESS! Creepy Dude moves on. He senses no interest from me. I win.
So, I do still got it. But do I want it? Hmmm

The cowboy reads a magazine called....Cowboys. Perfect.

Men: Are white socks really ever appropriate? Really? Even if you're playing tennis, they're still a risk. And if you're wearing a brown, button down shirt, blue jeans and brown shoes, they're just wrong. Wrong-O. What color socks should you wear? How about tan? Actually, any color that can't be described as stark. Stark brown? Um. No. You get my point.

I feel stylin'. That's rare. But I'm holding my own against the hip chicks. I'm pretty sure it's my new Perfect Black Shoes. And the glasses. I'm very Seattle.

Please, please give that baby a nip of whiskey so he'll sleep on the plane. Please

The 80 year old guy with the beard, but no mustache, is looking at my shoes. Or my legs, I can't tell. Whatever. He's no threat.

Creepy Dude is back and the cowboy has left. Creepy Dude is sitting waaaaay to close for my comfort. If he sits by me on the plane, I will change seats.

SAVED! Creepy Dude is sitting a mere three seats up. Whew. And our middle seat is open, so I can sprawl a little.

Just as I suspected, most people chose not to bring a carry on onboard at tall. The overhead bins are mostly empty.

Why am I thinking about Lost right now? Dammit!

There are few things that are more beautiful than being at 35,000 fit, with a perfect view of a full moon. Wow.


5:02am (Central Time)
I slept most of the flight, until the captain woke us up to tell us we're landing. I thought it was a good time to pop into the loo. HOLY CRAP! Major, major, major turbulance. MAJOR. My feet came off the floor numerous times. Needless to say, my visit was quite unproductive. I was too busy hanging onto the grab handle with my right hand and the sink with my left. I kept thinking, just hang on! Hang on! It's got to end sometime! But it just kept going and going.....

I finally got up the courage to gather myself and beg the flight attendants for help (interestingly enough - all gay men. I love Alaska Airlines). When I came out, they were all strapped into their seats and one looked at me in horror as I almost screamed "IS THERE SOME PLACE FOR ME TO SIT DOWN?!!" He said "Oh, honey!! Right there, right there in that first seat! Strap in, sweetie, STRAP IN!"

That fun adventure lasted a good 10 minutes. Then I ran back to my seat, all the way at the front of a very long plane, as we were starting to decend. I don't think I've ever been that scared in my whole life. Ever.

No one bothered to help me get my bag down. The nearest guy actually pushed his way past me to deplane. Nice.

No helped me get my bag up into the overhead bin. Of the two nearest men, one stayed wrapped up in his blanket like a sissy as he watched me struggle, and the other one continued to stand in my way while talking on his cell phone, even though I elbowed him a good two times and said "Excuse me!"

And finally, after struggling to get my carry-on down, a guy said, a bit under his breath, "Here, let me get that for you..." I don't think he really wanted to help. I just think he was tired of hearing me grunt. Jerk.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

They sure don't make guys like they used to. I raised my boy right - he would've helped you with your bag!

2:24 PM  

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