As I type this with the clouds passing beneath me, I realize two important things:
1) the amount of worthless shit I type on this site is inversely proportional to the amount of sleep I get... and
B) Microsoft Word Auto-complete features are complete and utter crap. One Linux to bring them all and in simple functionality bind them. Although I didn't sleep more than an hour or so last night (again), it was wonderful to be in my bed, in my home, and with my pets. As I was flying in last night, I was thinking about when I used to visit my family in the 90's and how no matter where I was living at the time, or how great it was, it was nothing like Texas. Returning to Texas was always a big deal to me... I always knew I would find my way back here again. It has been my experience that Texans in general are complete freaks about their state patriotism. I have no explanation for this... I think we are just born with it. The air temperature in this plane is absolutely freezing... well, not literally freezing, but cold enough to not find comfort even with blankets and a jacket. I have to go to the office when I arrive. That sucks almost as bad as having to work tonight as well... bad timing on my part. I'm so tired that I'm not sure what day of the week it is... I need a coma clinic. (10:30CST)
Okay, so a few minutes pass and I am all minesweeper'd and solitaire'd out, but the vents on the aircraft are now blowing magma into the people space. It is sweltering. What idiot is at the thermostat? It feels like we should be rubbing SPF 50 on our coconut smelling bodies. (11:00CST)
You know... the think about it being hot on the plane that bothers me isn't the heat. It's the smell. Once the air is warm, all of a sudden, you have disgruntled passenger homegrown aromatherapy going on. I heard on the news this morning, as I was ironing my shirt, that some guy was found dead from an apparent suicide performed by jumping out of an airplane. Maybe the flight attendant getting jiggy with the cabin temperature controls would be willing to volunteer? (11:20CST)
In the hotel... finally. I have a much better view than last time. I'm so freakin' tired. Time to go to work. Fuck. (12:15MST)
I'm not sure if I'm awake or dreaming now. Either way, my bags are packed and waiting by the door while I am also waiting... for the undoubtedly ICB Yellow Cab driver to arrive. Ugh!!
3:00 and still busy. I just want to sleep!
I'm home. 1:20-ish and still fucking with laundry and packing (again). I need to be back at IAH by 8:00 or so for my flight back to Colorado Springs. This shit is getting old.
Unsure of traffic conditions and always apprehensive about unexpected delays when traveling on a tight schedule, I asked Jason to have me at the airport early. He made sure my luggage and self arrived without complication and we said our thank you and goodbyes. I missed him before I even stepped out of the car... as I did Sean and Greg yesterday. Those three guys represent seventy-five percent of my closest male friends on the planet. Unlike every other time I've flown anywhere, I did not have any carry-on baggage, so once my suitcase was checked at the terminal, I was unencumbered to meander the airport until boarding began. This turned out to be a good move on my part because, also for the first time in my flight career, I was the only person at the Continental terminal when I arrived and thus unnecessarily early for my flight. I chatted with the gentleman running the check-in since he seemed bored standing there with no customers. They had implemented a new policy at LAX requiring that all baggage must be checked unlocked. Since I was unlocking my case, I decided to grab my laptop and go find a place to wait. Alas, back to the carry-on game. One grande non-fat latte later, I was standing in front of a wall of books trying to decide between a Jack Kerouac collection, Nerve: Literate Smut, or The Catcher in the Rye. Maybe sleep on the plane would be better? Unlike my flight from Houston to Los Angeles, the gate area was empty by comparison. I found a quiet corner and opened my laptop lid with the intention of some mind numbing time killer... solitaire or the like... instead, I found a forgotten little postcard tucked inside and I never seemed to make it to the power switch. It was for her. The her from the phone call last week. I wasn't going to send it. I wanted to, but I just couldn't. I sat there staring at it for a little while and without even consciously realizing what was transpiring, my fingers were navigating entirely too many features on my cell phone to find a number that I do not know and have only dialed once before... her number. What the hell was I doing? What was I thinking? I was at the gate waiting on a plane taking me to a sleepless night of getting to another plane and another week or more away from anything remotely close to a normal and familiar environment. It rings... a lot. My mind suddenly returns from vacation and I realize what is happening... I hang up. I'm an idiot. It's at that moment that I realize that Melissa was right. I am a chicken. Put me in a room full of strangers and I'm at home... guys, girls, no matter... this is different. This uncomfortable avoidance has only happened once in my life before... with Jessica... a name from my past that is not spoken often and with good reason. What makes this "her" different than anyone else? What make me react like Stan from Southpark whenever she's around me? "Hi Clayton." Bluuuuueeeeeeeech! I decide I'm not going to let this happen. I call again. I get that creepy feeling of weirdness like when the guy from Swingers keeps calling that girls answering machine. It rings... a lot. She answers. Everything I say sounds retarded. I am truly an idiot. The sound of her voice during our short conversation painted a smile on my face. I don't even know her really. Why did I call? I hate my spontaneity sometimes. Acting on feeling is what got me to Houston in the first place. One second I'm in Paris, France on vacation from my Virginia Beach home... the next second, my Land Cruiser is hydro'd with all my clothes and belongings that were in the shape of large furniture and I was driving across the country on a romantic impulse. You'd think I would have learned by now, but some things that should be ignored simply cannot. What is life without passion for living it? I shook it off as the voice filling the gate area slowly faded back from Charlie Brown's teacher to find clarity in that of the gate attendant. Time to board. Big planes with little population are pleasant in even the most awkward and uncomfortable economy seat. The air is clear and my mind is still lingering in the past thirty minutes as the taxiway lights periodically fill my tiny porthole with that soft cobalt glow that I deeply enamored with... I find that color soothing and warm. The winds were such that take off was over the water... as I would think the ocean breeze would dictate more often than not. As we made our initial turn toward our destination heading, the sparkling orange glow that was the Los Angeles basin was slowly upstaged by the brilliant white reflection of the full moon over the Pacific coastal waters. Mountain silhouettes in the distance cradles my vignette and I lost myself in the ripples in the moon's glowing reflection that were most certainly roaring surf to the denizens below. Picturesque and glamorous in it's implication, the scene outside my window faded slowly... leaving nothing but the white ambiance of passing atmosphere and low hum of the busy turbines that carried nothing but the black night and navigation lights to my eyes. Los Angeles was gone. With rational thought completely regained and my short vacation behind me, the realization of three and a half hours of the little boy behind me kicking my seat and the bland, dry misery of the prison food forthcoming enveloped me. My fears substantiated, the mystery meal was some type of breaded chicken-ish product between bread sufficiently stale to choke a pigeon in Central Park, an apple of uncertain granularity, Ruffles potato chips (which I hate), and some form of chocolate containing marshmallow goo. Airplane food is however, better than some of the sustenance offered on-board the ship when I was in the Navy. I can remember stealing single serving cereal boxes and prepackaged peanut butter and stashing them in my locker for days when the food was so bad I couldn't eat it. I remember a lot of bad things from that time in my life... but the years tend to bur some things into a more palatable reminiscence. Maybe that's the minds self protection mechanism kicking in? My eyes are burning from tired contact lenses and lack of sleep. Even though I had the opportunity to sleep as late as I wanted this morning, I was restless and didn't sleep well. I found myself the first to wake in the house. So much for waking up to the coffee grinder 3 days in a row, eh? Of anyone I've ever met, Jason makes the best coffee. It's a natural born talent. This would, in my opinion, be a fine opportunity to take a nap, but I again find myself unable to rest. Half way to Houston at flight level 330 with 6 year old feet doing Dance Dance Revolution along my seat back to the rhythm of their Gameboy's game du jour is not the ideal condition to successfully lull me into never-never-land. I've arranged for Maria-Elena to bring Éclair to the airport when she picks me up. She can't stay the night because I am leaving to early in the morning, but I had to see my little puppy before I left Houston again. Being away from Penny, Bianca, and Éclair is the hardest part of being away. I almost forgot, I managed to get a room at the Antler's after all. They were "completely sold out" yesterday, but when I called today (and got a different booking agent), they mysteriously could squeeze me in... and reportedly had no cancellations in the mean time. Personally, I think they built an extra room onto the hotel last night while I slept. No matter... at least I'm staying where I want to stay. I'm definitely making use of the hot tub this time around.
Oh. My. Gawd. I think I am about to die. Jason took me to TomBoy's Chili Burger for lunch... double-meat double-cheese chili burger with fries. I don't usually abuse myself like this, but he claimed it would change my life. I think I am hallucinating. Who would have thought you could have a bad trip from a cheeseburger? "Uh, yes please... one peyote burger to go..." Anyhoo, assuming an alien isn't waiting to pop out of my stomach after that million gram of fat lunch I just ate, I should be on the plane soon. Where is my rock? I'd like to crawl back under it.
There's something to be said for sitting around on the couch inhaling coffee. Jason presented an excellent meal last night... a carefully prepared smoked tomato bisque served in boule, garlic sautéed long beans, and a pan seared orange roughy. He even played the original piano pieces that he used to play for me when we lived in New York... including my favorite, "Blue Friday". Sean didn't leave until late. Jason and I managed to polish off several bottles of wine before the unanimous vote was voluntary pass-out. I wish we had a Trader Joe's in Houston. Those schezuan rice crackers and wasabi peas came in handy this morning. I guess I'm off to pack (again)... if I can just get off the couch.
tired.
goodnight.
big wine.
I just finished watching
La Pianiste.
Kink.
blossom prodigal love...
in your deadly-hearted quintessence.
less than true playfulness and
sullen, strange, but measureless hypocrisy
fire transform me - send the burning.
he drinks her name in cowardly seclusion.
substance once pure seemed sweet
is now tainted and only lost...
wine is a beautiful thing... no?
"It's a beautiful night for feeling lonely."
"I'd like him a lot better if he was mowing my lawn."
Motherfucker. I am an idiot. I called and bought my plane ticket this morning for going back to the Springs on Wednesday. It was roughly double the price of my ticket earlier this month due to the Thanksgiving holiday. I expected that, so no big deal. I called to make my hotel reservations and the hotel was almost sold out. Jason and I were running late to pick up Sean in Venice and go to lunch at Typhoon (at the Santa Monica airport), so I hung up with the intention of calling when we returned to the house and completing my reservation. Big mistake. The hotel was completely booked when I called back. I didn't expect that. There are other hotels in Colorado Springs that aren't the $1200.00 a night the Broadmore is asking yet still nice... they just require driving to work. When I am there, they hook me up with a phat company car, so the ability to drive is not the issue... the issue revolves around the weather outlook being poor and me not wanting to have to drive. Fuck it. I've decided that I'm just going to show up and find a place when I get there... if all else fails, I still have my homeless buddies to hook me up at the shelter ;-). Heh. Umm... so Jason and I spent part of the afternoon at a music store near his house. I found this unbelievable guitar that I couldn't seem to put down... the California Girl
DM-33 metal body Dobro. I
love this guitar. Anyone wanna give me the two grand and change for this baby as an early Christmas present? Maybe all the guy bloggers out there could do a "Dick for Dobro" campaign and that guitar could be mine. Umm... yeah... that's the ticket. Just kidding. You know, I have seen a lot of the LA area and I think that the Santa Monica niche has been my favorite so far. I'd like to come back when I have more time. Jason is somewhat of a gourmet cook and Sean is meeting us at Jason's for a specially prepared meal this evening. We've already started depleting the unopened bottles in the well stocked wine rack taking up a large chunk of kitchen space. I don't want to go just yet... I'd like to stay for a while and take some more in... just a few days. Conversely, I am looking forward to seeing my new friends again in Colorado Springs... especially ErinLynn. I don't get back to Houston until late tomorrow... almost midnight. I have to be back at the airport at 8:30 the following morning. Ugh!! ...just another night with little sleep... at least I'll be able to sleep in the limo on the way to the airport and not have to stay up to guide Houston's invariably incompetent taxi driver's along the way. I hope all of Charlie's Angels are doing great this week. Charlie is discombobulated, but doing fine.
I'm easy like Sunday morning. The bean grinder woke me up again today... much earlier than decent. Greg's flight was at eight, so Jason and I went for guavamosas (guava juice and champagne) at Kettle in Manhattan Beach (just down the street from his old house) after dropping him off. I need a haircut and more sleep.
We had a few drinks in Longbeach before heading back to the house. I had a lot on my mind tonight, but didn't want ruin the evening for the others... I just wanted to go back to the house and relax. Fortunately, after the pretty wild evening and little sleep last night, Greg and Jason didn't mind. Greg flies back to Indy tomorrow morning... at eight. Ugh! I am determined to get a day to sleep in before I go back to work on Wednesday! So far, Los Angeles has agreed with me...
