EWR to DIA 1/11/11

January 11, 2011 · 4 comments

I’m on a plane.  Again.  To Denver this time, for a conference-type thingie.  This big law firm has put together a three-panel presentation for its clients and attorneys tomorrow.  I’m sitting on the first two panels.  Should be interesting.  I suppose I’m a bit nervous – or rather, I think I should be nervous, but I’m not.  Not sure why:  I’ve done absolutely no prep for either of the panels – not even read the presentation slides yet – and I’m not so well-versed in current events in corporate governance that I can do this on the fly (at least, I don’t think so).  This will also be my first time sitting on a panel like this, so by all rights I should be nervous.  We also have an appointment with this huge mutual fund just after the plane lands – it’s a sales thing and I have no idea what I’m supposed to say.  My current plan for both is to sit quietly, make eye contact with everyone and look serious and smart.

I feel pretty good.  Took the day off yesterday because I had too many things to do to get ready for this trip; it would have been a nightmare to try to squeeze everything in between a full day’s work and bedtime.  Plus, I only had about 11 hours of sleep over the weekend (5.5 Friday night and 5.5 Saturday night).  I hiked about 24 miles between the two days, so calling out sick/WFH was a good way to catch up on the sleep I missed.  I’m not sick, but if I’d gone to work (on time) yesterday after 6 hours of sleep, I’d have been well on my way to being sick.  I got all my errands done yesterday, though I ended up squeezing a lot in at the end of the day and went to bed later than I wanted.

No matter:  I was up on time and am on the plane now, so I didn’t miss my flight.  Everything after that is gravy.  Make eye contact, look serious, look smart.  Speak with conviction, don’t let the voice waver, and remember:  if anyone gets in your face, there’s a real good chance you’ll kick their ass and anyway, you’re WAY cooler than a bunch of weenies getting together to talk about corporate governance hot topics.

The plane ride is 3.5/4 hours long.  I have no idea how long we’ve been in the air, but I’m certain that I’m in the window seat and have had to pee since before we boarded the plane.  We just made it.  The idiot sales guy who booked my seat (and who happens to be sitting in first class), booked me under “Ted Wallace” instead of Edward, apparently didn’t use my Continental OnePass number (yes, I know how snooty that sounds), and didn’t send me any of the flight confirmation details, so it took a few minutes to get me checked in while all this shite got sorted.  I’m about five rows up from the back of the plane, stuffed in like cattle, and if I pee in my suit it’ll probably soak the seat too, and I have to sit in both for the next couple of hours – and I’m only guessing at how long we’ve been in the air.  So I think I’ll hold it for now.  Shouldn’t have let them take my cup.  =/

On the upside, the commercials make the new Harry Potter movie (HP & the G of F) look pretty good – and there are only three commercials playing in a loop, so I get to see it again every couple of minutes or so.

I wonder if there’s like a club I can join that will give me a patch or a pin or something for the length of time I’ve gone without having sex.  SOMEone’s got to be impressed by it.  They have churches and Planned Parenthoods in Denver, right?  One of those places will know.

Yes, yes, dear reader, I know:  they probably also have massage parlors in Denver too.  But that’s not what I’m looking for.  The physical act, yes – definitely – but I want more (yes, yes, I know “beggars can’t be choosers”), I want fucking communion:  an emotional and physical experience.  Hookers aren’t really all that emotional.  I mean, so I’ve heard and not in the movies.  A spiritual sexual experience would also be nice, but I don’t want to get too picky.  Don’t get me wrong:  neither would I turn it down.

Why TF do I always end up blogging about my desire for sex on these plane rides?  Weird.

I kind of like travelling.  I ate the little packet of green olives that came with my $7 in-flight snack pack (the “Select Snack Box”), and I hate olives.  Food ceases to be a matter of taste for me and becomes entirely about the caloric intake.  And my awareness is usually heightened when I’m travelling (by which I mean I’m more “on my toes”, not that I’m more psychic or spiritually fit than usual), so I’m pretty sure the physical effect is energy expenditure and thus the need for more fuel.  So yeah, I’ll eat whatever’s put in front of me, and I’ll eat it ALL.  The guy next to me was eyeing the bag of mini pretzels on my lap and I had to lean over and tell him I’d cut his bitch ass to ribbons before he could say stewardess if he didn’t stop eye-fucking my goddamn pretzels.  He’s now gently weeping next to me and pretending to be asleep.  If one more sob escapes his throat, I’m going to have another little chat with him about how my hearing is an extension of my personal space.  I’m also eating his Azar Fruit & Nut Mix, which tastes all the sweeter because it came with his soul.

MotherFUCK there’re a lot of hotties on this plane.  I need to have a word with the dipshit sales guy as to why I’m not sitting next to any of them.  I’d much prefer to be blogging about the woman next to me:  the loveliness of the curve of the side of her breast and how it feels when it touches my arm as she leans over to look out the window, “Excuse me, Ted, I’m sorry to keep bumping you.  It’s been ever so nice to meet you and for the last time: no, I don’t want to trade seats with you, I’m fine with looking past your cheek and smelling your man musk.  Would it be ok if I just caressed your ear and neck with my tongue for another minute?  I promise I won’t bother you again for the rest of the flight.  *giggle*”

Yeah, I’m moving to fucking Denver.

And yeah, fuck the sales guy who booked me this shitty seat next two old men whose mixed scent of cowardice and arrogance make me want to eat them last.  Seriously, buddy?  Corona Light?

The clocks on my computer and my iPhone (in airplane mode) both say it’s about 1:30PM right now, so I figure we’re about halfway there.  We’re supposed to land in Denver at 1PM local time, which would be 3PM normal people time, aka “ET” or “EST” or “East Coast”.

If I get laid in Denver, does that mean I’m in the mile-high club, or is being in an airplane a requirement for that?

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{ 4 comments… read them below or add one }

trish January 11, 2011 at 23:24

Dam Ted!!! why r u wasting your time in law you should be writing romance novels….


melissa January 12, 2011 at 12:48

i take it you want FUCKING communion, as opposed to just fucking COMMUNION, since i’d imagine you’d have achieved the latter after all of this eating of other men’s souls.


Jennifer January 12, 2011 at 15:19

If you do write a romance novel, please have the lead named Jennifer, Jen or Jenny. :)


SoloJoe January 19, 2011 at 14:28

How was Denver? Any mountain activity? ;-) … Very impressive grid work. Right on. Fly high, mi amigo.


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