Sleep Deprived, Homesick, Happy Airport Resident

Eve and I break the flight news to our babies.My flight has been delayed for 3 or 4 years now and I’m getting to know the many citizens living in this airport community. There’s “Red Cap” reading a book by Vince Flynn, an older man with a mustache and no beard who CAN NOT believe that someone could be stupid enough to leave their laptop in the plastic tray after going through security. Can. Not. Believe. It.

There’s Rag Reader, perusing In Style to unearth the deats surrounding Brangelina’s latest breakup. I eye the cover of her magazine. Gradually my pity for their invaded privacy turns to disdain for people who read that trash, turns to morbid curiosity, turns to a burning NEED TO KNOW what kind of needless argument could have caused the split turns to a great desire to stroke their hair and counsel them through the hard times.

Angry Business Man seems to gain power pellets by yelling into his phone in FRONT of other people, the same way I gain them by using CAPS in randOM places and stockpiling bushels of shwag. Finding an appropriate moment to wear my Butterball Turkey button is beyond the scope of my limited imagination, and yet it’s currently keeping my 10 ugly t-shirts and foot-long pen company in a luggage truck somewhere out on the tarmac. I think it’s on the tarmac. I’m pretty sure my plane isn’t. My airline does not like to give out sensitive information, information like “WHERE ON THIS EARTH IS THE *BEAUTY LUVIN’ PLANE?”

I may post again with more than you ever wanted to know about the conference today since it appears I’ll be making my permanent home on this grey pleather chair with Jenny and Eve.

When it became apparent that I would be making like Tom Hanks and semi-permanently inhabiting the airport, I called home and told Dan to prepare for life as a professional blogger and Laylee and Magoo that they’d better learn how to warm their own spaghetti-o’s. Laylee asked, “What have you been doing in Chicago lately?”

oprah-ex-aparmentDo you wanna know what it’s like to be a worm’s breath away from Oprah’s ex-apartment building? I’ll keep you in suspense for a moment longer. Right now I’ve got to build a spitting fountain in concourse D for Catherine Zeta Jones and eat some pizza.

*Jenny was recently told that she should wash her son’s mouth out with soap if he keeps using foul expressions like “DANG IT!” This weekend we helped her come up with more positive phrases she could teach him in place of his most heinous language. The best we’ve come up with are MARSHMALLOW PEEPS! PRECIOUS MOMENTS! and Luvin’ BEAUTY Joy! Nicer alternatives, no? May save her little miscreant son from a life of crime and offensiveness.

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