Morning travels

Every time I have occasion to travel, I always think to myself.. one of these days, these characters I encounter will make a great collection of essays and stories that really get to the depth and breadth that is the American culture at its best.. and more often than not, its worse. Today's adventure began at Philadelphia International Airport, or more affectionately PHL. I had one of the first flights out this morning and thusly planned my arrival into the terminal at 4:30 a.m. Many heeded the security guidelines put forth by the airlines and TSA and arrived 2 hours prior to their departure time to find no airline personnel available to check their bags or scoot them through security. The line to get through security therefore, was several hundred people long when it opened. This, however, is really nothing for airport security as they truly are efficient and speedy in the process--so long as you, too, are. (I'm still awed by those lacking knowledge of the plastic baggie and removal of shoes, but whatever.) Yes, I said it, airport security, is, for the most part, highly efficient--it's the dumbass in front of me with cowboy boots, big ass buckle on his belt that he doesn't know he has to remove, putting his liquids in a plastic bag as he pushing his 6 containers for 3 items through the xray that is the problem.

So, as I stood online waiting for the security gate to open late, happily listening the to the Christmas carols wafting through the airport, I was ambushed from behind by panic-stricken girl on her cell complaining to her boyfriend that it would take ages to get through security and her flight left in an hour... there simply wasn't time. I reassessed what I thought would be a 20 minute (tops) line ahead of us as she contemplated aloud if she should run to the front of the line. It was all the constraint I could muster not to explain to her that running to the front of a line that wasn't even yet open would be fruitless. Rather for the next (very long) two minutes until the gates opened, I listened to her mutter to herself about missed flights. Somehow, and I still can't quite piece together the logic here, this security line was going to be why she missed her connection flight and next time she'd make note to get to the airport at 3.

As it happened, I personally made it through the security gates in 10 minutes--cowboy boots and belt buckles included. Thankfully, this was due to people with children actually all using the family line. A rarity, but a gem on the morning nonetheless.

Happily at my gate, a nice chai from the coffee place steeping, I plopped down in the chair at my gate... exhaustion washed over me and for the next 20 minutes until boarding, I ignored all my fellow travellers and began my most current adventure into Augusten Burrough's Christmas stories... a set of tales like only Augusten can tell, and which found me laughing aloud on more than one occasion... and so I leave you with this:

"...they aren't leprechauns, son. They're elves. Leprechauns are those little drunk motherfuckers from Ireland." - A. Burroughs, from "You Better Not Cry"

Cupid and the Doctors Office

Among the birthday wishes I received last week, there was an email from the mortgage company I am working with, a few local stores and restaurants offering me free calories and one email that made me shutter all the way to my toes from an online personals company called OkCupid. I'm not sure how they got my information--I can only imagine they are now affiliated with an online dating service I used years ago. This aside, their marketing department could use a little help

Subject: Happy 35th Birthday

Still single?Come check out your matches and find the men who want to meet you for your birthday! Click here to find your birthday matches!

Birthday Cake!

Happy day!

-OkCupid

After the shuttering was done, the nausea set in on so many levels I can't begin to count them here. And fortunately, I didn't have much time to think anymore about it... because upon turning 35, my body went into some kind of shock and immediately began displaying signs and symptoms of middle age.

At first, I blamed the muscle spasms in my leg on a lack of sleep, by Saturday I as cursing some unknown force of the universe and by Sunday, I was willing to try any pharmaceutical cocktail the medical profession was willing to serve up. With the pain worse this morning, I called my doctor's office, and they told me to come in right away. As it turned out, they had wanted me to come in this week anyway on an slightly unrelated issue... the spasms were a result of a B12 deficiency, of which I'm prone to on occasion. But the remaining issue, as it turned out, was a case of phlebitis.

Phlebitis? Isn't that for someone much older? Are I not still too young to have something so geriatric sounding? Good goddess, am I middle aged? And, as I got the run down and thorough review of symptoms of progression into something much worse and scarier (since I am getting on an airplane this week), all I could think (and eventually say aloud) was -- but I'm making good choices and healthy changes.

And as my doctor nodded in agreement, she reminded me to call her on Wednesday for a pre-flight check in as she handed me a script for a medication neither one of us would have preferred I be taking, She also reminded me that early detection and prevention are key to healthy choices and changes.

Birthday Eve

After 364 days of celebrating un-birthdays, it seems it is coming upon that time again to celebrate a birthday... oh, to turn 29 again seems oh, so... old. This last visit to the salon was not only to rid my hair of the purple Halloween adventure (and subsequent greening), but to ensure I never have to know just how much of a natural gray I have these days. Considering my little brother is turning 30 this month, and sent me a text informing me of his gray hair discovery and visible bald spot; it was probably money well spent. Who needs therapy when you have a quality colorist?