Catch Up

So, it's been a while. December is a tough month. On one hand, here in the Midwest we have officially entered the White Sky Syndrome time of the year, where every day is cloudy and the sky is a solid shade of whitish-grey, all the time. It can be rather depressing, if you're prone to that, and at the very least, it can just drain all of the excess energy out of a person. At the same time, there's all the holiday shopping to do, parties, events going on at work . . . so, for the past several weeks, when I haven't been running around, I've been unable to resist curling up on the couch and hibernating a bit. So, that's my excuse--I'm pleading the ever-popular Couch Potato Defense.

And then again, the RWBF has been hanging out here a lot, and I find it difficult to write when he's around. This is a rather new development, him being around all the time. If it keeps up, we'll eventually get to a place where I can carry on with writing even if he's here, but for now, we're still at that hanging-out-with-each-other-constantly stage (which, admittedly, nicely incorporates the whole couch-potato thing).

A lot of you have been wondering how things are going with the old RWBF, and for the record, things are going really, really well. Believe me, I'm as shocked as anyone. For a while, I was kind of waiting for some kind of blow-up, some political argument that our relationship wouldn't recover from, but that hasn't happened, although we do discuss politics sometimes. And no, it's not some kind of ideal situation where we calmly meet in the middle, find some common ground, compromise and acknowledge valid points about each other's opinions, etc. Rather, we continue to disagree, strongly and consistently, about a LOT of stuff--more than not, actually. The amazing part is that I'm discovering that it really doesn't matter all that much--at least, not nearly as much as I always assumed it would. And I'm continuing to try to keep an open mind about it. The fact of the matter is, I've always dated liberal, like-minded guys . . . and for those of you keeping score, it hasn't worked out so well. My ex-husband, for example, was politically left of me, even, and in the end, that didn't matter one bit. The reality is, how you feel about politics has very little to do with how you interact on a day-to-day basis, how you treat each other, how you feel about each other.

UPDATE: I started this post a couple of days ago. Right now, it's Wednesday night, and the RWBF is here, sitting in the living room recliner and reading. Meanwhile, I'm sitting on the couch, blogging. Apparently, we've reached "that point" already. Weird. But good. More soon.

Your Tax Dollars at Work

So, it's Saturday morning, and I'm trying to appreciate just being in my apartment with some down time. This is the first time I've been home on a weekend in three weeks. Two weeks ago was my trip to New York for Thanksgiving, where I was gone from Thursday to Sunday, and last week was my trip to San Diego for work, where I was again gone from Thursday to Sunday. For me lately, that's a lot of traveling, and it was so good to sleep in this morning, get up, make coffee, putz around, and not have to deal with airports or suitcases or schedules.

Funny thing about traveling and getting older. I still love to travel, and I don't generally mind the hassle of planning a trip, flying, getting taxis in strange cities, etc.--it's all still a rush for me, just to get out of town and see someplace new. But the older I get, the more I appreciate the comfort of coming home as much as the excitement of leaving, and I've come to realize that back-to-back trips like that don't really suit me much anymore. It's just too tiring, and I don't like being away from my animals that much, especially my dog. (Anyone who knows her and has seen firsthand her guilt-inducing facial expression capability can understand why I don't like to leave her for long periods.)

My San Diego trip had another element to it that makes me less thrilled about traveling than I used to be. I know almost everyone has their own airline-travel horror stories, dealing with delayed or canceled flights, lost luggage, etc.--I've had my share as well over the years. But so far, I had been able to avoid the potential-terrorist treatment in the airport security lines . . . until this trip.

So, on my trip back, I was supposed to be flying Continental, but when I got to the airport, I found that they--THEY, meaning Continental--had switched me to a different airline, because otherwise I'd miss my connecting flight due to their fucked-up scheduling practices. (Note that the same thing happened on my trip out there, albeit without the subsequent consequences.) So, I head off to the United counter (which, incidentally, was about a quarter-mile walk away, with me dragging a large suitcase, two carry-ons, and a jacket, but anyway). I get to the counter and discover that my alternate flight isn't leaving for an additional two hours. O.K., no big deal. Like I said, I don't really stress about these things. It was a beautiful day in San Diego, and I parked myself on a bench outside and read for a couple of hours.

The fun really started when I went through the security line and discovered at the initial checkpoint that I had been "flagged for additional security." Flagged--by whom? Why? Just step over to this separate line, please, miss. So, I go through the usual routine of taking off my shoes and jacket, putting everything in bins, etc., and go through the metal detector. On the other side, they look at my boarding pass, and I am put in this isolation-booth thingy. So here I am, standing there looking like an idiot, everyone looking in at me wondering what I had done. (I was wondering the same thing.) Finally, this big Nurse Ratchett-type woman comes and gets me out of the booth and takes me over to one of those side areas, where she proceeds to pat me down. In the interest of making friendly conversation with a woman who is running her hands up and down my legs in front of the world, I ask why I was flagged. As it turns out, it was because I had switched airlines at the last minute. Never mind that it was the AIRLINE, not me, who had made this decision. Apparently, this is a Department of Homeland Security thing--you switch airlines for any reason, you're flagged. (Although this is not a consistent ruling--it hadn't happened to me on the flight out.) Seriously, is it any wonder that people, as they get older, lose faith in government, once they start to realize how utterly stupid, random, inefficient, and wasteful a lot of the practices and procedures are?

So, after the humiliating pat-down, Nurse Ratchett proceeds to inspect my bags. The inspection involved taking this wand thing with a piece of cloth on the end and running it over each piece of electronic equipment, as well as my shoes, and then putting the little piece of cloth through a machine to check for trace amounts of whatever. Note that a separate piece of cloth was required for each item--my laptop, my Treo, my cell phone, my iPod, and each shoe. Each time, she would VERY SLOWLY walk with the wand and the piece of cloth over to the analyzing machine, which was several yards away, and then VERY SLOWLY walk back, taking her time, chatting with coworkers along the way, etc. The whole thing took about half an hour, and all I could do was sit there. Luckily, because of the flight delay, I had plenty of time, but I did wonder how many people wind up missing their flights because of this shit.

The kicker? After all of that, I still managed to get a lighter through this ultra high-tech security process. How "safe" do you feel now, American travelers? I hope I don't make you lose too much sleep over knowing that, although people may not be able to take control of airplanes with iPods and shoes, they can still whip out lighters with which to wreak havoc. Be careful, people.

Message Board

O.K., I'm using the blog as a message board here.

To NN--I see that you are no longer at your former job. Melody says hi. I sent an e-mail to your other account. Please disregard my last e-mail (well, two e-mails ago) and call me.