If You Meet the Buddha on the Road, Take His Yogurt
Which of course means that I've been travelling yet again, that fabulous adventure where you stand, mouth open, over your sock drawer and count on one hand the number of days you'll be away, multiply by one and one half in case it rains and try and find that quantity of dry footwear.
The same logic, of course, when applied to underwear means that you hope the return flight isn't fully booked as you are wearing Thursday's boxers owing to a miscalculation or running out of fingers on one hand. Providence is of course interceding now that these same boxers are currently clogging the washer with beach sand, something I'll be explaining to Thumper in days to come.
There are truisms you come across on the road, be in flailing like a cockatoo in Spanish public restrooms, wearing baseball caps inappropriately in English clubs or catching every eighth word in eastern Florida bars as the ersatz Reggae gets turned up exponentially when "Free Liquor Hour" arrives. Sorry, is Tim your fiancee or dog? I missed that last part and yes, I'm here with my good wife. For my bad wife, please look back to earlier posts regarding "what the fuck do I do now that the sock drawer is empty?"
As an example, if sloppy joe's are a more attractive draw than New Year's Eve and martinis, you might want to consider an alternative on-line dating source. Now don't get me wrong, in my halcyon days, Desperate.com was a fine place for the recently discarded to meet but, once you latched on to that someone temporarily special, you watched for subtle clues to cancelling your subscription. Sloppy Joe's, TV and a fuzzy blanket might be such an indicator.
There are other truths that should be held as self-evident. If your child rarely descends below 120 decibels at home, he or she will probably not discover that silence is golden in a hotel room. If you'd like a floor all to yourself, go ahead and start a rock band.
Arkansas plates do not suspend observance of traffic signals once outside of state lines.
And just because you like it that way in New Jersey, doesn't mean the rest of us have to subscribe to your adopted hell. Thanks all the same.
Travel, I'm sorry to say, hasn't improved much in the last year. We're still in line, sock-footed and beltless wondering what's going to be tossed today. This time around I've discovered that yogurt is apparently a combustible threat, the subtleties of suspended blueberries notwithstanding, I wasn't supposed to talk to the officer until he had finished pawing my aftershave. That of course reminds me of the time that an acquaintance of mine was allowed to board an aircraft with a nine millimeter pistol (all perfectly legal, legitimate, declared and vetted) but on the same flight was relieved of his nail clippers.
Don't worry, its not supposed to make sense. Just pretend that you feel safe.
Just don't tell them about the sloppy joe's.
Bunny on.
The same logic, of course, when applied to underwear means that you hope the return flight isn't fully booked as you are wearing Thursday's boxers owing to a miscalculation or running out of fingers on one hand. Providence is of course interceding now that these same boxers are currently clogging the washer with beach sand, something I'll be explaining to Thumper in days to come.
There are truisms you come across on the road, be in flailing like a cockatoo in Spanish public restrooms, wearing baseball caps inappropriately in English clubs or catching every eighth word in eastern Florida bars as the ersatz Reggae gets turned up exponentially when "Free Liquor Hour" arrives. Sorry, is Tim your fiancee or dog? I missed that last part and yes, I'm here with my good wife. For my bad wife, please look back to earlier posts regarding "what the fuck do I do now that the sock drawer is empty?"
As an example, if sloppy joe's are a more attractive draw than New Year's Eve and martinis, you might want to consider an alternative on-line dating source. Now don't get me wrong, in my halcyon days, Desperate.com was a fine place for the recently discarded to meet but, once you latched on to that someone temporarily special, you watched for subtle clues to cancelling your subscription. Sloppy Joe's, TV and a fuzzy blanket might be such an indicator.
There are other truths that should be held as self-evident. If your child rarely descends below 120 decibels at home, he or she will probably not discover that silence is golden in a hotel room. If you'd like a floor all to yourself, go ahead and start a rock band.
Arkansas plates do not suspend observance of traffic signals once outside of state lines.
And just because you like it that way in New Jersey, doesn't mean the rest of us have to subscribe to your adopted hell. Thanks all the same.
Travel, I'm sorry to say, hasn't improved much in the last year. We're still in line, sock-footed and beltless wondering what's going to be tossed today. This time around I've discovered that yogurt is apparently a combustible threat, the subtleties of suspended blueberries notwithstanding, I wasn't supposed to talk to the officer until he had finished pawing my aftershave. That of course reminds me of the time that an acquaintance of mine was allowed to board an aircraft with a nine millimeter pistol (all perfectly legal, legitimate, declared and vetted) but on the same flight was relieved of his nail clippers.
Don't worry, its not supposed to make sense. Just pretend that you feel safe.
Just don't tell them about the sloppy joe's.
Bunny on.
posted by The Caustic Bunny at Wednesday, January 07, 2009
1 Comments:
don't tell anyone, but I once flew out of Denver with nearly a whole pack of those liquid gel breath mint things in my pocket.
I'm quite the rebel.
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