60 and cloudy
the spaces between seats are narrow, and it is impossible to navigate them without bumping someone with my carry-on.
a lady next to me is sacked out in her seat. she has herself twisted to the side, her legs tangled under her, her face pressed against one armrest. i can't help but wonder if she will end up with a nasty red, hard-edged strip across one cheek when she awakes.
i do a double take as it appears an old grandmotherly lady a few rows over is openly reading a porn magazine. i am about to applaud her audacity, but upon closer inspection i realize it is just a full-page ad depicting two scantily-clad blondes sitting very close together.
ever since i hurt my thumb and subsequently launched upon this pictorial drafting debaucle, my writing is atrocious and i can only do it for a bit before my hand begins to ache.
the sky is a beautiful shade of robin-egg blue with the sun shining luxuriently. i'm going to trade them for the perpetual gray and drizzle i love so much.
the two ladies across from me are discussing a bad experience with another family member at a family reunion from which they are on their way home. one has a mannish, mr. spock haircut and glasses, and the other's sunglasses are tucked into a feathered 80's style 'do.
the one with gray spock hair grabs her water bottle, causing one of her bags to fall over, bumping the ankle of the sleeping woman, whom i wish, upon waking, would turn towards me so i can check her cheekbone.
another lady joins spock and tina turner hair, obviously related. there is a brief exchange, and the first two leave to get something to eat. as soon as they are gone, the third gets on her cell phone and proceeds to bad-mouth the first two at length to someone on the other end.
i decide they are this flight's terrorists, with plans to hijack delta dl 2758 to minneanapolis, and crash it into one of our national monuments, mt. rushmore. joke's on them, as nobody will even miss it.
i overhear someone behind me say, "i'm dying on the inside." i fight the urge to offer to match up the rest of him.
off to get some water and a snack.
other notes of interest: while i always miss the pacific northwest, i do not miss her traffic.
my back feels like someone used a cheesegrater on it. pics soon.
to the old fucker in the truck who nearly hit me/ran me off the road when changing lanes without signalling/looking; and the metric fuckton of commuters who slammed on their breaks in unison to rubberneck world's smallest and least interesting fenderbender: if i find you motherfuckers, i am beating you soundly till my arms drop off.
that is all.
darth sardonic
a lady next to me is sacked out in her seat. she has herself twisted to the side, her legs tangled under her, her face pressed against one armrest. i can't help but wonder if she will end up with a nasty red, hard-edged strip across one cheek when she awakes.
i do a double take as it appears an old grandmotherly lady a few rows over is openly reading a porn magazine. i am about to applaud her audacity, but upon closer inspection i realize it is just a full-page ad depicting two scantily-clad blondes sitting very close together.
ever since i hurt my thumb and subsequently launched upon this pictorial drafting debaucle, my writing is atrocious and i can only do it for a bit before my hand begins to ache.
the sky is a beautiful shade of robin-egg blue with the sun shining luxuriently. i'm going to trade them for the perpetual gray and drizzle i love so much.
the two ladies across from me are discussing a bad experience with another family member at a family reunion from which they are on their way home. one has a mannish, mr. spock haircut and glasses, and the other's sunglasses are tucked into a feathered 80's style 'do.
the one with gray spock hair grabs her water bottle, causing one of her bags to fall over, bumping the ankle of the sleeping woman, whom i wish, upon waking, would turn towards me so i can check her cheekbone.
another lady joins spock and tina turner hair, obviously related. there is a brief exchange, and the first two leave to get something to eat. as soon as they are gone, the third gets on her cell phone and proceeds to bad-mouth the first two at length to someone on the other end.
i decide they are this flight's terrorists, with plans to hijack delta dl 2758 to minneanapolis, and crash it into one of our national monuments, mt. rushmore. joke's on them, as nobody will even miss it.
i overhear someone behind me say, "i'm dying on the inside." i fight the urge to offer to match up the rest of him.
off to get some water and a snack.
other notes of interest: while i always miss the pacific northwest, i do not miss her traffic.
my back feels like someone used a cheesegrater on it. pics soon.
to the old fucker in the truck who nearly hit me/ran me off the road when changing lanes without signalling/looking; and the metric fuckton of commuters who slammed on their breaks in unison to rubberneck world's smallest and least interesting fenderbender: if i find you motherfuckers, i am beating you soundly till my arms drop off.
that is all.
darth sardonic
Labels: pierce county motherfucker, sanity is for the weak-minded, tattoo, the predictability of stupidity
posted by darth sardonic at 7:12 PM
4 Comments:
i fight the urge to offer to match up the rest of him.
Should've done it.
lol krissie, probably, but then, i just didn't have the energy.
Fantastic post, Darthman. I'm back and blogging on my old blog, by the way.
wuastc-not only am i enthused to hear that you are back to blogging, but i am doubly excited that you are sticking with the already-existing blog. i'll be round again regular.
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