"Fly the Friendly Skies" - Friendly, My ASS!

Finally, the family was NYC bound for our much-anticipated annual vacation. We’d been waiting a whole year for this day, and we were so ready to be on that big birdie in the sky.

I’m the type of person who is late for everything. I will probably be late to my own funeral. The ONLY thing I am not late for are flights. I arrive 2 hours ahead of take off, as I fret that they may actually not allow me through security. I don’t know why I worry; it's not like I was ever “convicted” and have a record, but I like to believe that I could be a badass if I had to be (maybe).

I get all nervous and jerky a few days prior, making lists of things to do (which inevitably I forget to pack, or I forget where I’ve actually packed the item.) Who is going to take care of the dog, the cat, lizard, guinea pigs, fish and now the POOL? What happens if my cat/dog dies while I am away? (I have a DNR in place – do not REPLACE, just throw the animal in the garage freezer and I will deal with that particular crisis when I get home).

I actually hate to fly. I don’t need medication (for flying) yet but have visions that my “story” will one day be incorporated into the script of the TV show, Lost (note to self; lose weight before I am fatter than Hurley). I wear real shoes, in case the plane crashes and I have to make a mad dash/swim. I bring about a month's worth of food on the plane so that I will be the most popular (needed) person on the Island and they won’t eat me. I can offer my crackers, cookies and peanuts in exchange for the sparing of my flesh or the flesh of my family.

This year started out better than last year's trip for the fact that our luggage wheels did not break BEFORE we had even checked in for the start of our excursion. Actually check-in was smooth flying (no pun intended). Our layover was in Houston, at the George Bush Airport, and that is where the trouble began. Maybe it's got something to do with the name “George Bush” – irony?

Arriving on-time in Houston was a plus right? No –
Upon arrival through gate 34 we were told to proceed to gate C23. No problemo; we will take our time and grab some lunch enroute to our gate. Once we get to our gate and spread out, preparing for the 1.5 hour layover, we are told that we need to go to Gate 25, as they changed our plane. Ok, not a big deal in the whole scheme of things. All 5 of us grab our garb and travel to gate 25. A ½ hour later – opps, the lovely voice comes on the loudspeaker; there is another change - we need to go to gate 35. Now the gates are not that far apart, but it is a good 15 minute walk for my fat ass, with my purse and bag with all the Island food. Finally, we can board, after an additional 2-hour delay. Yea!

We all get on board, stow our luggage, and dang it's hot in the plane! I hear a stewardess over the intercom who proceeds to tell us that NYC won’t clear us for our arrival, due to a "baggage issue." How could there possibly be a baggage issue in NYC? There is no flipping baggage, as we are not even off the Houston ground yet! Then she tells us there is an additional hour delay, and we can either sit on the hot plane (hell no) or get off and hang out near the gates. I’ve decided to laugh, as otherwise, the old NY’er in me might have to come out swinging.

Its all good now, as I am typing this post a million miles above Houston. At least Continental Airline feeds me. I should have a couple drinks, but I don’t, as I could not possibly swim well or make that mad dash if I’m drunk. Guess I will just fall asleep and store up any energy I may need just in case I actually do have to swim to the Island.