I was trying to be good.


Pinky swear.

I was walking around Terminal C. I looked at all my options. I decided I would get a tuna sandwich from Porkbellies. I know. I’m vegetarian. Actually I’m pescatarian. If it was good enough for SJ, it’s good enough for me. Truthfully, I blame bbum. He made me love sushi. Now that is the only thing I crave.

I walked Terminal C. There wasn’t much to it. I passed the bar. I had thirty-five minutes. No Munchkins. So I kept walking. Nothing. Thirty minutes. Blueberry beer. I’m in!

Seriously. I’m pathetic.

The Blueberry beer was awesome. The guys next to me decided it was like a lava lamp the way moved in the bubbles. It was really just a reason to talk to strangers. Turns out, I have a penchant for executives with Boston accents. It happens. I flirted. I was trying to help it, but I couldn’t.

He was married. Summers on Martha’s Vineyard type. Reminded me of someone else I can’t resist. The sparkle in my eye came back. I tried to stop it, but I can’t. So, once on the plane, I diverted it to my probably gay a stewards.

I’ve never had such great conversations on the plane. I hung out in the back galley. I explained that I was going to have to drink more because of the PowerPoint presentation that I had to endure. Seriously, I wanted to rewrite it myself. The first time, I had four hours to do it. The second, I had two.

They let me keep a tab open. I didn’t know that was possible. They said they knew where I sat. (I love you, JetBlue) we talked about San Jose versus San Francisco. LA versus NY.

Then the PowerPoint presentation came back. I wanted to jump. I am so glad I don’t have to present shit like that. I’m glad I’m not married to the guy with the Boston accent. He’d bore me quickly. But. But. Awww. Whatever.

I’m almost back to normal. Flirting. Drinking. Flying. I’m starting to remember who I am.



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