You can have these damn kiltie shoes. Recent circumstances ‘round them have pert near kilt me. If anyone out there is an 8-D …that is an EIGHT-DELTA…come and get these bad juju kicks from around me. I slept last night; for the first time since flying at least three times per month over the last fifteen years, on the hard-ass indoor/outdoor carpeting of the baggage claim area at Charlotte Douglas Airport. That’s right. I slept on the ground with no covers and no pillow and…and… and let me just stop right here because I’m already lying. I didn’t sleep. I dozed and napped. Intermittent flirtations with REM while worrying that someone was gonna come along and try to steal my shoes or abscond with my idamnPhone and my Earth Wind and Fire Tapes.
I’m tired today and I’m also still reeling from being throwed out into the wilds of Charlotte North Carolina by U.S. Airways. A hotel you say? Oh no. By the time my connection rolled in from San Antonio, enough flights to DC and beyond had already been cancelled to assure that there was no room…none…Z-E-R-O room at the inn for little ADG. My best childhood buddy lives in Charlotte but it was too late in the night to roust him and disturb his family. Folks, I don’t “camp” well.
Couldn’t get no hooch. All the whiskey holes were shut so I just found a corner and tried to get situated. Ever tried turning on your side to snooze when your carcass is one eighth of an inch away from concrete? That floor was harder than ninety dollars worth of jaw breakers. And for a fleeting moment I thought I’d found a sanctuary. You see that area beyond my feet? Where that gray paint bucket sits? That’s a dark and safe and warm area under the escalator. So why I am not curled up back in there you axk? Because I got chased back out of it by a grizzly bear when I scooched back in there to take a look. (I know I've overused the word "back" in the previous sentences. Don't mess with me. I'm tired today and you don't want none of what's festering over here) Somebody beat me to it. And people I kid you not, it was a woman who was about as big and about as courteous as Rosanne Barr. Butcept this grizzly had gray hair…to match her paint bucket. And don't EVEN post a comment asking me why I didn't take off my camel hair coat and make a nice, soft pillow for my head. That concrete was chilly.
So I gave up on the sideways curled up option and just stretched out supinely for my butt bone fellowship with concrete. I've got very little body fat butt last evening I'd a not minded a bit more. I mean, what good are washboard abs when you are flanked by Roseanne Barr and cold-ass concrete. Give me four layers of belly fat and a Stoli. Up-Dry-Olives.
I dozed for a while and when I opened my eyes I hollered a little bit. An albino Shrek looking kid…head shaved naked mole rat noggin looking fella was at my feet. I learned later that there were other United States Marine kids around my perimeter. They too had been displaced. The onliest difference though, is that Marines can sleep standing on their heads. Are you kidding me? Indoors on industrial grade carpeted concrete? That’s the WaldamndorfAstoria to those fellas.
So I jumped the seven a.m. flight to DCA and have been back in snowy Alexandria all day…feeling kinda like I rode a concrete red-eye home last night. I blame the shoes. I blame the shoes.
Ok, time to stretch my soleus’ (solei?) and then loofah. I’ve got a non-LFG weekend coming up. I sure wish it was warm enough to pop the collar on a white shirt and enjoy some sun. LFG started popping collars at six months old. Dig her little collar and her high and tight Marine haircut. One comment about her high waisted soccer mom jeans and I'll hunt you down and kill you.
And finally...check out my favorite new weather gal Megan McGlover as she expounds on the recent snow in Atlanta and how her fellow citizens dealt.
Onward. In flannel. Don’t be stupid.