Castor Oil...sickeningly good

Thursday, May 05, 2005

I've rocked them all, (all four of them)

Wanted Dead or Alive by Bon Jovi is playing on the classic rock station right now. They played Sweet Child o' Mine earlier today. Where does the time go?

Pretty good trip to Atlanta. I asserted my awesomeness on that town like the aforementioned General "Good Times" Sherman at a poorly attended open mic that happened to be going on where Kevin and I were getting hammered. The bar was called American Pie and had the best buffalo wings I have ever eaten, scantily clad waitresses and an excellent bartender who got me mightily drunk. Swanky times indeed. Open mic patrons in Atlanta are pretty similar to the ones in D.C. only with a bit more of a laid back fashion attitude. Bad music in jeans is preferable to bad music in Savane Action Slacks but still, bad music all the way around. Thank god I was there to entertain me in the manner that I deserve. The night gave way to day and the job was the job and soon I was off to the 8th circle of hell known as Hartsfield Airport Airport to wing my way back home.

For those not in the know Hartsfield Airport is slightly less a pleasurable place to spend time than Abu Ghraib on colonoscopy day. It reeks of just simple badness and it takes fucking forever to get from where you happen to be to where the fuck you need to be. They cancel flights with the enthusiasm of a network administrator Photoshopping flesh tone and nipples over Lindsay Lohan’s bikini top and generally employ the mindless, the soulless and the heartless to administer the daily operations of the place.

I was on a packed to the gills flight home and had high maintenance heading home from a conference pain in the ass carrying way too much shit with her full width of the middle seat occupying ass harridan sitting next to me. These women are great, undaunted by the earbuds in my ears, the desperate wedging of my body into the wall of the airplane to put as much space between us as possible and the open magazine that I was affixed to with a death glare she considered me open for the business of inane yammering.

Her – “Are you from Washington?”
Me – “Yes”
Her – “Where do you live”
Me – “Virginia”
Her – “OH ME TOO!!!! Where in Virginia do you live?”
ME – “Springfield”
Her – “OH DO YOU KNOW PEGGY TWOTONS?”
Me – “No”
…..blissful silence……3….2……1…….
Her – “Were you in Atlanta for work?”

Don’t let the laptop and blue pinstripe suit get in the way of asking a pandering question to someone who clearly has no interest in your existence as a carbon based lifeform you goddam hag you.

Me – “Yes”
Her – “OH THAT’S GREAT WHO DO YOU WORK FOR”
Me – “I can’t say, it’s classified.”
Her- “Oh my that sounds SO exciting!”
Me – “…………………………………………………………………..”

Please note that the plane has not even left the goddamn ground at this point.

Her – “I was in Atlanta for training and we had so much fun but I can’t wait to get back home to see my family….I bet the house is a wreck!!!!”
Me – “…………………………………………………………………….”
Her – “I really like your suit, it’s very nice”
Me – “It was my dad’s. I started wearing it after he died.”
Her – “OH THAT’S NICE!”
Me – “……………………………………………………………………..”
Her – “Are you married?”
Me – “I’m gay, I’m not allowed to get married.”
Her – “Oh.”

And blissfully the conversation came to an end. She did mental gymnastics staring at my wedding ring for the rest of the trip and she was on the verge of opening up her cavernous yap a time or two as even conversation with a scary homosexual might be preferable to the vacuum of silence surrounding her but she held off. When the drink cart came she ordered a diet coke and I got a double bourbon on the rocks. She was horrified, not only was she sitting next to a gay but an alcoholic gay!!!! I loosened my earbuds to let some sound escape and cranked up “The Retard” by the Afghan Whigs. I think Greg Dulli’s demonic howling was the last straw. She twitched her lard ass around and frittered nervously and then turned to the poor sap across the aisle.

“Are you from Washington?”

Haha, take that sucker!!!!!



3 Comments:

  • Isn't Buckhead wonderful?!

    It Hartsfield-Jackson to you, sir, or are you one of the southern redneck racist who won't mention the name of a prominent black man that cost the city of Atlanta millions with the name of a prominent white man that helped the city thrive?

    By Anonymous bully, at 12:08 PM  

  • Buckhead's for fuckheads.

    By Anonymous froggy, at 1:36 PM  

  • Dulli makes music for all occasions. :)

    By Blogger ALVenable, at 3:45 PM  

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