Flying in over the lake this afternoon was cool. I was trying to spy our little lake in Michigan at the top of the picture from the sky with no luck. Anyhow, I have a strange thought that I will turn into a post. I witnessed a lady come unglued at the airport after catching a guy glancing at her cleavage. I should report that I did not directly witness the ogle, only the aftermath, but it seemed like an overblown reaction. She sincerely roasted the dude by asking if he had ever seen a female breast before and some other words that I really paid no attention to. He was older and kind of looked like a black and white movie henchman but didn’t seem like an overly creepy lech.
As an amateur boobologist myself I wanted to see what all the fuss was about and it brought this thought to mind. She had an over-sized set of bolt-on upgrades that were held together by an industrial restraining device producing deep tanned cleavage. The neck of her shirt exposed a full quarter of each respective breast and dangling in the middle was a bright silver or white gold necklace thing that measured a shiny one inch wide by three inches long. It was so bright and reflective that your eves couldn’t help but go there. So my thought was “what did she expect”?
If I put on a diamond studded cod piece and wore it on the outside of my clothes rather than the normal way (I’ll let that one steep for a second) I would fully expect folks to glance at my package. She was basically dangling a shiny spinner lour between a part of her body that she had every right to be proud of but then got upset when someone looked. It was like a cruel test that no normal man could pass. Having never been a woman I have no idea what its like to have someone up and down glance me or talk directly to my chest but if I hated that feeling I doubt I would wear a neon bra.
All I can figure is that attention was desired but only from the right type of person. I laughed after the whole thing ended as the ninety plus year old woman next to me said she couldn’t stop staring at the necklace. She told me how old she was and I completely stole the neon bra line from her. Anyway, I’m not looking for answers here, just a puzzle I encountered along the way.
This was the view out my window at the tramp stamp of dawn this morning. When you chose the low price hotel sometimes you lose. Luckily it’s my last night in these palatial accommodations and I was just notified that I got bumped to the front of the airbus tomorrow so things are looking up.
On the way to the airport this morning the best thing I can say about my cab ride was that I survived. I don’t know if the driving rules are quite as structured in South Sudan. I know that is where he was from because I was trying to distract him from whatever voices were telling him that today was a good day to die. I even had him turn on whatever he was listening to before he picked me up but that turned out to be a mistake. It sounded like an angry mob banging garbage cans together and complaining in chant form about the poor quality refuse containers.
While we ignored shoulder driving rules and treated lane lines as whimsical suggestions I realized that he couldn’t see through the rising sun. The haze on his windshield had texture so he flipped down the visor and used it like an extension to his baseball cap. He actually leaned forward and touched the bill to the visor. I was in the back on a van bench seat that allowed me to hold on to both handles. I am not a big prayer guy especially about me but I found myself in a mobile Iron Cross with my head bowed. When I looked up we locked em up to avoid rear ending a stopped truck.
He must have a pit crew to swap tires and brakes at least once a week. And one side note he crushed the best ever airport time by more than five minutes. Aside from choosing to continue the ride after he almost wrecked turning on to the frontage road by my house I made another error. I wore my suit coat as a jacket and as I type to you now it is hanging up to dry after my laundering efforts. It is harder than you would think to sweat completely through a dress jacket especially with your arms stretched out to each side in cargo tether mode.
I book my own travel and usually choose the cheapest hotel in my preferred points whore chain. This time it bit me in the ass. I wil take some pictures tomorrow to do it justice.
As I sit here staring at a literal blank slate I am trying to plan out the future. I am in the home stretch of a financial obstical course from hell so it might be time to turn positive thoughts back on. In the mean time I am waiting for the thing to dry because DIY FYI you need to put down a layer of chalk then wipe it off to season it or so I am told by the interwebs. I am heading out on the road again so the entire beautiful mind board will not be complete until next weekend at the earliest but right now the blankness is calming.
Friday night I boarded my plane and immediately fell asleep. An hour later I woke up when I sensed a bunch of movement around me and we were deplaning. For a brief second I thought I had Van Winkle time traveled and we were already in Chicago but a glance at my watch told me the bad news. It turned out that our flight crew couldn’t get the cockpit window closed. I had no idea there were operable windows up there so, painful lesson learned. As we were waiting to get off my bulk head seat mate was bent out of shape. there was no one in-between us so I took that as a win but this delay had her on tilt. She made some comment that I didn’t hear so I couldn’t react the way she wanted and I made the naughty list.
Even as I held the door for her at the top of the jet way she just glared. I passed her on the march across the Houston airport due partially to my stride length and also her tiny feet supporting a massive superstructure. Seriously, like they were bound or transplanted, When she arrived at the gate she excused herself in front of me online making some angry statement about boarding first on the original plane. I casually mentioned that with me sitting at the window it would make more sense for me to go first she sucked her teeth and said it wasn’t going to happen. I let it go because I was tired but a minute later she was testing the design parameters of her carry-on bag by sitting on it.
She then proceeded to remove a shoe and massage her foot which kind of grossed me out. it must have shown on my face because when she looked up at me she immediately barked GOT A PROBLEM right in my general direction. I was tired and uncharacteristically not looking for a fight but I must have stared too long so she hit me with WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT? That was too loud and now people around us were looking so I immediately shifted into shit blowing battle mode. “I’m just trying to figure out if that’s a hoof you’re rubbing.” Alas I knew this was yet another friend I would never have. In other, better news it made for a blissfully talk free return flight.
Today is brought to you by the good people at Watching a Speaker Bomb On Stage. I am locked up in a full body constant douche chill of discomfort. The upside is my goose flesh has turned into a superhero exoskeleton and I’m pretty sure I am bulletproof right now. I’m not sure if this is an off day or a square speaker to a round audience but either way he has lost most of the room. Wait, he is bringing out props and calling someone on stage.
False alarm. That stunk. I wish I could include some of the text strings I’m in right now but my coworkers didn’t sign up to have their smartassery published on the line. I will say I work with some funny ass folks and they are making this torture fun. The current discussion involves dislodging the giant chandelier above him.
The speaker has told a couple of personal stories and we are now working on backstories for everyone named. I’ve got to go because I need a synonym for sexworker.
One last thought; if I ever bomb this bad I hope that Gene Gene the Dancing Machine will boogie me off the stage after someone rings a giant gong.
I got a gift this trip that is pure magic. I pulled those socks on and immediately smiled. So happy was I that I propped them up on my bag’s bed and took this picture. Middle finger socks are now an integral part of my dress wardrobe. So good.
And yes my bag gets its own bed. This is my preferred on the road room configuration. The extra pillows alone are worth the choice but more importantly once your luggage wheels touch linens they are forever soiled.
If you roll a bag through an airport then your wheels are nasty. I’ve tried to stop noticing the wet wheel trails leaving men’s rooms all over the country. Trust me that precipitation does not come from overzealous hand washing. Be afraid of airport floors.
You usually give up a king size bed and a couch but that is no great loss. The couch is a landing pad for everyone’s bags AND they have no way to clean them. At least they swap the bedding once in a while. Even the bedspreads get cleaned on a schedule but not the couches.
Everything that has befouled that upholstery has left something behind and now that you read it try not to think about it the next time you stay somewhere. And while we’re talking travel cooties the TV remote is the dirtiest thing in any room. I have a friend that uses a tissue to slide it into a ziplock bag every stay.
The pool at this place is awesome. If you look to the far left of the Texas shaped lazy river you will note a section of the wall that is clear aquarium style glass where yours truly has been dared to put on a Beluga show. I might have explored the exact amount of money being offered and explained in great deal how I would swim by and bang into the partition. There was talk of setting up a camera with proper zoom in the park directly across the street and that was when things got a little too real. Were this not a work event I would still be swimming there now.