Arrive in Wisconsin to find that, again, jostling has unseated the precious connections my laptop’s screen depends on. Thus, I am forced to use my parents’ far superior Gateway, but with IE, and loads of helpful pop-up suggestions from their massive, massive collection of always-running tasks. “Would you like to always do this action?” “Let’s update your printer drivers!”
When I return, you guys are getting pictures of this house (it is hard to believe!) and some of our neat/weird family treasures, and, well, the streets and streets of lonely non-chain stores and leafless trees. Madison is best in winter.
It’s unsettling how thrilled I am just driving through neighborhoods here. “Hahahaha, that tattoo parlor looks so boring!” “Wow, vinyl siding everywhere…” “Who would put that blue on that yellow? Wisconsin, that’s who!” I need to travel more. I get excited about the smallllllest things.
I need to fly less, though. I was once again seated, on both flights, next to someone approximately my own age, which made my steadfast determination to Not Talk To Them Or Look At Them again especially awkward.
I like hospitals. I hate airports. In hospitals, there’s always someone sicker than you. Everyone’s at their worst, no one wants to be there, and the creepy white walls and green uniforms don’t pretend that you’re supposed to be having any fun.
Airports are intolerable, confusing, and harsh for me. I can’t sleep in the chairs, my back aches, I get bad eye contact, I feel like I’m faking everything I’m wearing, I get pressured by window-seaters to get up and shove into the postflight crowd…the terminal lines are confusing, I have to take off my shoes in front of my peers…it’s just miserable. All I want is some kind of affirmation that air flight is horrific, and I’ll be happy. Maybe a special section for people like me, where they just herd you in using cattle fences, the employees are dressed in baggy brown jumpsuits, and we’re just sedated and loaded into rear-plane sleeping tubes.
I feel tired, afraid, and most of all, filthy in airports. It’s like camping! But, with camping, everyone is all of those things. We are all agreed; laid low by our grime and fatigue, equals once more.
Airports are different:
To some people, inexplicably, it’s all totally awesome. They’r perky and perfect and well-dressed. They make smalltalk with the baristas, they have significant others or cats with them, they meet people on flights and promise to hang out one night in the destination city. They look and act like they’re going out for the night, not getting strapped into a square foot of fabricked area that’s been slept, drooled, spilled and sat on several hundred times between cleaning. BASTARDS. I can’t look them in the eye, and I shy out of the way, leper-style, when they approach. I’m unclean! I slept, briefly, in these clothes, not an hour ago, sacrificing my dignity in front of a hundred and fifty people! Don’t let me soil your peacoat with my grubby hands!
DEAR PEOPLE WHO ENJOY AIRPORTS: STOP GLOATING. GOD.
10 hours until Dora gets here. Must do family conversation/questioning until then. Already have exhausted:
- Girl troubles
- Insecurities
- My job
- My need for counseling
- My acne
- My apartment
- Stores in Madison that are a great bargain
- My faith
- My parents’ friend who lives in Arlington and has a truck
This leaves us with:
- The films of Akira Kurosawa.
Text me, bitches!
Ignore all of this. I’ve been awake for 28 hours.
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Oh, dude, my Flickr account is totally in my parents’ History. Must delete swears.
did you mean to misspell vinyl or are you really in that much of a sleep-deprived haze?
Dude, I am still at work.
This sucks.
Also: you are so THAT GUY on the plane. Don’t worry, last time I flew home I was sitting with two other youngish people, and all three of us had our iPods out the whole time. I think the girl in the middle was Kanye-d out by the time we landed.
AL: Yeah, I’m No Eye Contact Boy. I feel like it makes me creepy, but making smalltalk would be creepy, too. I have no options!
And, M, I did not mean to misspell that word. Going on 32 hours awake now! WOOO!
Thanks for declaring open season on spelling and grammar mistakes, though. You’ll regret this.
I hate the flights to visit my parents, the 13 hours of discomfort and proximity and take-things-out-of-your-pockets-and-bags-now-put-them-back-in. But a couple of years ago I decided to try being one of Them.
I dress up, I bring things to amuse and comfort myself, and I allow them to amuse and comfort me. I smile and chat when necessary, politely smile with my eyes and look away the rest of the time. And when I arrive, my mom always has a lei and a hug for me and invariably says “you look so good!”
I am happier this way.
being on a plane longer than 4 hours is too much…i refuse to dress up (jeans and a t-shirt is as dressed up as i get for airports) but am generally nice to the people around me (last time i was on a plane i got to sit next to weird, smelly, sleep for 13 hours guy from seoul-san fran and between puffy coat guy and i’m-a-bad-flyer-so-i-drink-and-pass-out lady from san fran-dulles. it was tragic, but the stewardess felt sorry for me and gave me extra peanuts). thank god for my iPod.
Luke and I watched “Buffalo 66″ the last time we went home. Watching movies on laptops is an excellent airplane activity, and I recommend it.
Three things come to mind:
1. I feel like I’m faking everything I’m wearing so you should go just go naked. Also, if you go naked, I’m definitely coming along. For the entertainment factor.
2. Whine, whine, whine.
3. HOW did you break your laptop?
And also:
They look and act like they’re going out for the night, not getting strapped into a square foot of fabricked area that’s been slept, drooled, spilled and sat on several hundred times between cleaning.
I never even thought about this. I know what I’m getting you for Christmas: antibacterial soap and little Listerine wipes packs.
Just kidding. I’m getting you CARAMELS.
You’re awfully mean today.
And, I bought it broken. I have to periodically refix it because of the problem.
What, because of the caramels? Do you not like them?