Dear Internet, I know it’s been a really long time since we talked, but, as usual, I turn to you as my last resort in times of dire need.  I am at the Portland, OR (not ME), airport, and I shall certainly die here.  I have been here for days, or maybe just hours, I don’t know.  It seems like weeks.

You see, Internet, I called my administrative assistant yesterday (yeeeah, bitch! I have such a thing.  Who doesn’t do what I ask.) and asked her to reschedule my flight from PDX to SAT for an earlier time, a time that would get me home before the middle of the night.  My plan was foiled by Good Friday, which allowed all of the people without DEADlines (actual death is more than implied) to leave at 1 p.m.  Leaving early was more important than changing my travel, so I ended up with a 3:30 p.m. flight out of Portland.  So I got to the airport pretty frickin early, considering that checkout time was noon, but I need to be at the airport early in order to avoid anxiety, so all was good.  I had a salad and a $10 glass of wine that I can buy by the bottle for <$10 (really? Over $10 for a glass of Ecco Domani pinot grigio?  Fucking airport.) and continued onward to the overpriced convenience store to purchase some overpriced Dayquil, necessary because the last time I flew, I was seated next to a snot-covered baby and contracted the plague.  Still coughing.  Blood.   Anyhoo, I continued onward to try to board my aircraft.  I was in the waiting area next to some moron who insisted on screaming into her cell phone, so I move to another area.  Only to be joined by another moron who insisted on screaming into her cell phone.  Let me say this:  All of us (ALL!!) are distressed and disturbed by the presence of (1) an asshole who (2) is screaming into a phone (3) in public.  Screaming in Spanish does not improve anything, by the way.  I have just concluded that it makes it even worse, PEDRO!  I have also  just concluded that I may start traveling with a large supply of wet car-wash sponges to launch at the heads of assholes who scream into cell phones.  (Aside:  I just  checked the time and I have FIVE MORE HOURS TO SPEND IN AN AIRPORT BAR.)  What was I saying?

I eventually boarded an aircraft and promptly fell asleep (thank you, vodka!  you are my only friend.).  I awakened an hour later to see people disembarking.  I thought it might be because we were in Phoenix, but alas, no.  It was because various parts of the plane were broken.  [Commercial Break:  U.S. Airways Sucks Ass.  Lots of Ass.  Hairy Ass.]  I was still in Portland, suicide capital of the world.  So all of us disembarked and went to stand in line.  Being an orderly people, we stood where told.  People going to Orange County, LA, or San Diego stood in one line.  People going to Phoenix directly stood in another (very short) line.  Those of us assholes with the misfortune of passing through Phoenix stood in another line.   The direct Phoenix line dissipated almost immediately.  The SoCal line did likewise.  The connecting people, a line 30+ strong, continued to wait while the other two gate agents typed.  What were they typing?  I don’t know.  The airlines and car rental companies continue to use DOS-based systems because they never crash.  Can you FaceBook via DOS?  I don’t know. Can you Twitter via DOS?  Probably not-ish.  What the fuck were they doing?  They did not help one single human soul waiting in the interminable connections line.  That was all up to Rico, a pan-Asian-Hispanic young man with shaking hands who was no doubt waiting for one of us to go postal.  He re-booked me onto a red-eye flight going from Portland to Houston.  Leaving at 11:45 p.m.  Arriving in Houston at 5:36 a.m.  (Brief interlude:  Why does ANYONE give one rat’s ASS about GOLF???  Seriously.  It is not a sport.  Those people are not athletes.)  Who thinks my newly minted administrative assistant should be fired?? I mean, besides me.  Because I really do.  Good Friday?  How good?

Seriously, Jeeeery, sometimes I just don’t know.