In which Tina reveals her complete patheticness in the face of travel

Yay time lapse! Except no, not really, because I'd much rather be on top of things and keep the updates coming fast and furious. I miss it when my bloggers don't update so, with the assumption that I have loyal readers, I'd rather be reliable. ^.^ EGO MUCH.

It's been hard to think about updating because I'm still a bit disorientedly reeling from the stress of travel yesterday and adapting to the time difference and new environment today. Jetlag and all that, right? (Translation: I woke up at like, two today and still feel like it's early in the day now.)

Trying to get to the airport on time yesterday was a total nightmare. I don't even want to relive all the trauma in order to relay it... For a while there it looked as though the journey wasn't going to take place at all as Crystal and I wrangled with the stress of not having the car (which we'd expected to have been left) and trying to manage bus routes and airport shuttles and crap...

There are few things more distressing that dragging three suitcases down roads with six inches of snow pack only to watch the bus you're trying to catch drive by when you're thirty feet from the stop. At that point I told Crystal, "If one more m-f-ing thing goes s-, I'm taking it as a f-ing sign from God and not stepping foot on that g-d c-s-ing plane." (Yes, my language is shockingly tame in this blog compared to the sailor-esque quality it really harbors. I've actually put shocked some of my military friends once or twice.)

In the end Crystal was able to nab a bus to where Jody had left her car and we just drove to the airport. Thank God.

Once there the lines were more obscene than I'd ever witnessed. I tried taking pictures on my camera phone but I guess my hands were shaking some, as they turned out to be naught but blurs. Basically, the entire airport lobby thing was a winding Chinese dragon of people, moo-ing along through the partitions like cattle in a slaughterhouse. I hate travelling. SO MUCH.

Security was even worse. At Denver International Airport there are three concourses, two together, one connected by a sort of skybridge thing. The concourse across the bridge was the one I needed to reach. The security line stretched all the way across the bridge and partway into the main airport terminal. Yeah. It was tons of fun.

Actually, I got lucky about two thirds of the way through the beast. I'd been standing in line for close to an hour when one of the security guards waved for me to come over to the priority/first class passenger line. "Hey, sweetheart! You ought to be over here; the lines are a lot shorter and there's no reason for you to have to just stand there waiting all day."

Now, I'm not one to pull the feminine charms and I certainly wasn't doing so while standing in a big ass line waiting to tiptoe through a metal detector with my shoes and purse and all getting a separate inspection. I was just in my frumpy comfy travel clothes, too; nothing particularly attractive. So I honestly have no clue why random security guard randomly singled me out, not for extra inspection (...double entendre, eew) but just to save me time and pain. But I'm really not one to question, either... If for whatever reason the fact that I've got breasts and a butt means a horny, bored, college-age security guard's gonna save me half an hour in line just to walk past him, I'll do it. Please forgive me for buying into cultural standards of sexist behavior!!! :-P

I got to my gate with ten minutes to spare, long enough to sort through my purse for enough change to buy an iced tea and pop a Percocet before boarding. I know it's really not the legally sanctioned use for it, but the pills were legally prescribed for me and I only have ever 'abused' them by taking one each time I have to fly. It's the only way I can be sedated enough not to claw madly at everyone near me and banshee screech through the entire takeoff, flight, and landing. I am NOT mean to be on airplanes. Not. At. All. God.

Even drugged, I still text-messaged Crystal pretty much every five seconds until the plane was on the runway because I was panicking so badly. (As she pointed out to me later, I apparently said my final goodbyes and everything. Heh.) Have I mentioned I hate flying...

I'm finally safe on the ground, still alive, and don't have to set foot in another flying cylindrical death trap for five more days.

Oh!!! One last thing about the flight. Somewhere over Nebraska or Kansas or something, I pulled out my sketchbook and pencils so I'd have something to do. And I realized something which made my already non-existent trust in airline personnel drop another thirty metres. Without even thinking about the fact I had it in there, I'd managed to get my pencil sharpener through security without so much as a hiccup.

Now, something you must realize about my pencil sharpener. It's an artist-grade little tool, not one of those round plastic deallies they give away at fairs and whatnot. This means it's a metal block with a one inch razor blade held onto it by a teeny little adjustable screw.

Think about that for a sec.

I could undo the damn screw with my fingernail. After that it'd be a simple matter of embedding it in some tool, say, one of the pencils, and I'd have a little razor-sharp machete capable of slitting throats and murdering people. And maybe taking over an airplane if another half dozen of my friends had done the same thing..? Yeah.

Shut up, I know I have an overactive, disturbingly morbid imagination. But STILL. For someone like me who already has nearly debilitating flight phobia, this little incident was not good news. And I totally didn't make a scene at thirty-four thousand feet in the air by ranting about it to the flight attendants... Um.

Heh. So that's my travel adventure story! And this is why from here on out I'd rather drive, hitch hike, or even crawl on my hands and knees over a bed of gravel, refuse, and broken bottles all the way across the country than ever have to set foot in another airplane!