I wanna fly away

Sometimes a man just needs to drink alone. One of those times is when he is traveling alone. I've grown fond of having a couple of cocktails in the airport bar during my layovers. In any other scenario throwing two cocktails down my considerable gullet is as useful as a skydiver's helmet, but at 20,000 feet my fort-like constitution wanes significantly. So I throw back my slugs just before I board the craft and take my seat.

I don't know if you've ever seen at 6 and a half foot, 250 pound man try to fit himself into a seat that was clearly designed for an anorexic 6 year old girl who was born without her femurs, but it's a tight squeeze to say the least. It's not unlike trying to put your tent back into the bag it came from; it provably fits according to coleman's on staff theoritical physicists, but in the real world you're gonna have half of that tent hanging out the top of that back, looking like a nylon cornucopia. Once I lock myself into the only position available to me I can't move for the rest of the 5 hour flight because if I move one inch in absoluetly any direction someone is getting an elbow in their kidney or morning-wooded in the small of their back. So I sit straight up with my hands in my lap like a Victorian Lady shitting in a public bathroom. And I suffer discomfort for all 5 hours.

But thats not how it goes. See because I have 2 cocktails in my belly plotting together to bring awkward conversation and uncomfortable touches to all around me. I still think I am sober when that scary flight attendant with her hair pulled to tightly back that gaurds the first class curtain like a bouncer announces that the captain has turned off the seatbelt sign. Now, I already knew he turned off that light because the light turned off you dumb bitch, while I'm at it I don't need to be told how to put a seatbelt on you condescending whore...

Anyway, I am under the impression that I am as sober as Mass when I get up to use the bathroom. I don't actually need to use the bathroom and I know I don't actually fit in that empy pocky box with a hole but I've sat still for the last 20 minutes and I'm getting antsy.

Here's where the fun starts, because upon getting up my body decides it's high time to inform me that it is blasted beyond coherent motor skills. When I get back to my seat suddenly I am not so sure I care about my neighbor's discomfort and maybe I want to hear their life story. So put down your copy of "Love Uncorralled" baby, he can cleave her nethers with his velvet rock shaft some other time, I wanna know what makes you tick.

This process has served me well. I've gotten an interview offer, I've met the CEO of Vignette in Austin, and talked to an old lady who worked at xerox during the golden times. So tommorrow I go forth to see what horizons I will find. =-D