Gate 8 Steam of Consciousness
It is my belief that airports who don’t provide free wifi access are, in fact, evil communist dictators who feel the need to profit share from the evil t-mobile companies of the world, which in turn screws over fliers who have no desire to pay 39.99 a month for airport wifi. In theory it works, but in reality, it’s a bloody pain in the ass.
On a lighter note, there is a really vain woman sitting across from me, and she has been doing her make up for about 15 minutes now. She’s about 45 years old, obvious smoker, obvious self-conscious issues. Oops. I was talking about her and she got up. Maybe she can read my mind. Also, I hate the people with the big ass carryon luggage who feel the need to roll their pathetic asses across my feet. I have long legs; pick another fucking space to roll in. Then again, common decency died years ago.
I have little love for the airport. There always seems to be the same people. There is always one male and one female sitting at the gate, talking on their cell phone to a person that sound like they have not seen in 10 years, and thusly feel the need to relate every single life experience they have had in ten years to said person on the phone. At the current moment, you have about five people on their cell phone, and one of them is using their Bluetooth headset, and keeps looking at me with this begrudging look. Maybe it’s because I’ve noticed her idiocy. Oops. My mistake.
Eventually I just break down and shove the headphones in my ear, and sit with a clear view of the gate so I can see when the cattle call that is Southwest airlines is about to begin. I would kill for assigned seats, really I would. A nice assigned window seat, where I don’t have to make sure I get in the A boarding group just to have a shit chance in hell of sitting by myself. I do tend to scare people off, so maybe I will get a row to myself. Also, it is the airplane rule that you look despondent so that no one feels the need to share your life story with you. Call me crazy, but if I’m never going to see you again, I don’t want you pretending to be Forest fucking Gump. I just want a nice, quick hour flight in silence with my 4 ounce plastic cup of diet coke and my painfully poorly dry roasted peanuts.
Vain woman is back…and she is on her cell phone. I thought evolution was supposed to take care of people like that. “Hey! Oh, I’m at the airport!” Unfortunately if I were to scream ’shut the fuck up, you stupid hag whore’, I might get kicked off the flight. That would be bad.
Oh shit. The requisite cowboy has showed up. You know what I’m talking about, the man, about 40 years old, wearing his tight ass wrangler nut huggers with the white Stetson. While he might impress people in other states, people in Texas know that he’s never set foot on a ranch, ridden a horse, or done other cowboy like activities. In fact, I’m pretty sure most people in Texas are embarrassed by him, because he is the reason that people from around the world think we ride our horses to work and eat out at the chuckwagon, ya reckon?
I hate the people who start lining up before the plane even gets here. What the hell are they going to board? Is the jet way going to fly them to Amarillo? Are they going to get there any sooner?
It occurs to me that I don’t need to be at airports that often. I tend to get a bit angry.
You saw all my pieces broken, this darkness that I could never show
I figured I should do the obligatory New Years blog post while I’m still semi drunk. I figure that way, I will at least be more honest. I figure I’d be blowing around a .010 to a .015, so this should be interesting. It is certainly not the first blog post I have done while drinking, but probably the most honest as to the circumstances. If anything, I can come back tomorrow and take out anything bad, and correct the spelling errors, should I make one.
Okay, I’m definitely above a .11, what with the emotional swings and all.
I’m honestly not this used to being this coherent after drinking. I’m used to drinking so much that I wake up and wonder when I passed out, and wondering what all these bruises are from. There is also the vague remembrance of falling over. I guess here’s to knowing one’s limits. Sort of.
Fuck it, I’m supposed to be talking about the new year, for this is why my brothers and sisters came. First of all, never underestimate the hell that is cheap champagne. Mine tasted so bad that I needed a chaser. What is a chaser? A chaser is drink consumed immediately after a shot of liquor or other other alcoholic beverage to remove the bad taste from one’s mouth (i.e. “chasing a shot”).
Thank you Wikipedia.
It was even Brut, it was supposed to be sweet, and the bottle promised it would show a nose of apples and such. FALSE. It had little nose, and a taste of dried fermented moose mucous. It tasted way more alcoholic than it actually was (about 12%). This is coming from a person who drinks hard liquor and would have killed for a Jack and Coke. It was skunky sparkling wine. I should have listened to fucking Gary Vaynerchuk and gotten some growers champagne, but nooo, I’m the poor college student looking for a buzz.
Bah.
Focus.
Right, let’s talk about 2007. 2007 was a shitty year. The second half was okay, but ended shitty, and the first half was just plain shitty. I failed out of one college, made it in another, but at the same time discovered that I was all alone at the same time I thought I was someone. It was a rebound year, which was semi successful, yet that didn’t work out either.
Compared to 2005 and 2006, it was a good year. It was no 2004 though. 2004 was the last good year I remember. I’d go into why, but I’m trying not to depress myself.
What do I want to happen in 2008? I don’t want anything to happen. I expect it to be a very busy year. I may even graduate college this year, which would be absolutely amazing. I do have a better basis on what I believe will happen, but this is limited to my own drunken perception. Will I end up in another stable relationship? Probably. Will it work out? Probably not. I don’t expect to ever maintain a relationship for long anymore. I’m a person who doesn’t want kids, or to get married.
Will I graduate college? Probably not. I’ll come damn close though. Will this mean anything? Probably not. I expect to find myself engulfed in another crisis, as it is how I thrive. I crave stability, yet I thrive on crisis. Let’s called it learn’ed behavior.
Will I die in 2008? Always a chance, probably a pretty decent one. Everyone has always told me how I am going to die young, and all signs point to that being the case. I only hope I go out in a blaze of glory. I don’t want to die silently. I want people to remember my death as an esoteric exercise in the sublime. If I should die, my one regret would be not appreciating those moments when I truly had everything, because I took for granted how quickly they could slip away. It’s fair to say I took life for granted, and I took a lot of people for granted, and I would be forever sorry for that, and it still brings a tear to my eye to think of the life I have squandered.
I suppose that is the key to a resolution. Identify what would be your dying words, and manipulate them into ways you can change yourself. I can resolve to get into shape, I can resolve to change the world. Only when I realize what I would regret in life can I begin to untangle the massive web I have woven for myself. Will I ever find rest? I know not. Will I ever stop wondering? Probably not.
I think the ultimate lesson is that no matter what you plan for, things will always exude themselves from your plan, leaving you feeling helpless and alone. I, for one, am tired of feeling helpless and alone. I am tired…shit, the phone rang and I lost my train of thought. Let the drunk dialing begin, and not on my end.
I guess in 2008, I want to truly live. Again. Or for the first time. I don’t really know, but I want to find out.
End drunken transmission.
Happy 2008. only five more years until the end of the world. Or maybe that is just the drunken Mayan in me speaking.
