Airport Fly

         Where your mind floats when you’re stuck in an airport is a wonder; the flight attendants' matching red bows; the little round asian lady running madly to get to gate G4 only to miss her flight anyway; the gay man staring at me; the straight man staring at me. What a disastrous explosive mine field lays just beneath the surface of every potentially stranded traveler. There are so many possibilities for delays and missed connections, lost luggage, and screaming, out of control kids! Anything could go wrong at any moment.There’s a father desperately trying to make alternate plans for his two kids and needy wife after their flight was canceled to Vegas. That’s a lot of pressure for a man to improvise an escape on the spot in what seems an impossible situation. I admire his patience. I would’ve already lost it.......or my kid. I almost get run down by one of those caravans of old people wheeling around in those special beeping carts and coughing up death to a tune of “Yesterday.” Such a disturbing train of old makes me nervous and happy to be young enough to walk to my gate easliy with two strong legs. I think there should be children-only flights that families with kids under a certain age should be required to take. My dog has never ever been as much of a nuisance as any of the four screaming fucking babies on my 14 hr. flight from Tokyo to New York! I'm terrified to fly.   And you know it’s bad when you want your plane to crash as soon as possible! I hate kids and I hated being one. I would be mortified to raise a child. I don’t know how people put aside their own needs for the better part of twenty years. I just don’t get it.
       There’s a California blond bombshell tanned to a dangerous crisp, living the braless dream, and feeling the need to be free from such modern constraints. Even grosser are the three business men that are staring directly at her ass like it’s a rare piece of filet mignon. These guys are salivating like perverted refugees licking their chops at a buffet of boobs. Yuck! I can see all this chaos and commotion from my little spot on the floor.  The constant shuffle of bodies and nervousness makes me have a mild anxiety attack. No one wants to be here anymore than I do. No one has arrived yet. When people are in transition they are unsettled and crazy. I feel invisible and wonder if these folks see me either? These fluorescent lights are unforgiving and I need to bust out my brunch glasses to increase the denial of me getting on a plane without a Xanax! I don’t care for these metal sky-busses that pierce the clouds with all our lives in the hands of some electric switch board that could just stop working at any moment. God save us all if we encounter a flock of geese!!!  There will be no water "landing" for this fainty queen!  "Excuse me, could I get thirty bloody marys in 26B please?"  I've always wondered why our one carry-on wasn't a parachute?  Wouldn't that be a most sensible thing to consider?  I love the convenience but hate the reality of a flight. What good are floating seat cushions when you slam into a snow-capped mountain?!  Where would I be without Tylenol PM I say?! I hate more than anything that on the way to either New York airport you're forced to pass a huge billboard of that fucking American Airlines plane that "landed" in the Hudson! I'm so happy that all those people survived but it's nothing more than reverse psychology spun into some kind of comforting success story by a team of asshole publicity people!  I'm not fooled. It's a greusome shot of a crowd of people standing in black silouettes on the wings of a sinking metal airplane.  That image is enough for me to have an anxiety attack of the most epic proportion and completely loose my lunch!
        Ear plugs are blissful when you’re sitting next to a talkative teenager that’s never been to New York before.  These are classic little suburban girls that can't wait to get something stuck in their braces at TGIFridays in Times Square and then go see Mary Poppins. This crew has nothing original planned for their big weekend other than buying an extra large M and M sweatshirt, hitting the All American Girl store, a quick stop at Applebees, and to walk as slowly as possible through midtown acting as a Chinese divider to wherever I'm rushing to get to.  I swear if that fat guy is sitting next to me I'll just die.  There is no excuse for being so huge that you can't even get the arm rest down!  We've all been there.  These folks should be sitting here with a two ticket minimum requirement.  But don't mind me.  I’m just a fucked up airport fly with a terrible headache and a handfull of Excedrine. Allllllll aboard freaks. (insert carnaval musice here)

Romancing a Garbage Can

       Watching Harley try and catch a tiny tennis ball with her paws would be like me trying to catch one with my elbows.   She's like an overly excited miniature Kristin Wiig in a Saturday Night Live skit clapping little retarded hands together all by herself.  It's a circus of hilarious attempts at dominating a squeaky Kong toy world cup style.  We tossed it around and got rowdy in the rain today.  She may or may not be covered with the black drippy rain water that gets stuck and stagnant in little pools in our front courtyard.  But ill be damned if she isn't smiling from ear to sloppy-soaked ear.  She looks slightly "touched" and a little cross eyed on this particular afternoon.  When Harls is wet she looks like a drowned rat that just crawled out of a garbage disposal.  She could easily be mistaken for a cast member in Les Miserable' dying in the dirty streets of Paris singing "On My Bone."  She may look like a homeless piece of garbage but boy she couldn't be happier than a pig in shit or me on Broadway!  If I'm going to be busy that day I try and shake things up for her for about 15 or 20 minutes before I head out to conquer New York.  This dreamy little bitch is a juicy reminder of how simple things are supposed to be.  Every day is fresh with the possibility of something new and exciting happening.  Dogs are never jaded companions unless they are really old, abused, or neglected. But then 
again.....aren't we all?  

          It's so strange how loud the silence can be when my dog is away.  Not that she ever makes any noise or barks, but the stillness is epic and leaves me one of those people that misses the warmth that a sweet pooch brings.  She's like a little hot water bottle ever 
present as she presses into my side on the couch or while I'm sleeping. She burrows her way forcefully under my comforter like a little groundhog where she'll stay for the rest of the night.  She never wakes me to go out and, in fact, sleeps longer than I do.  How did I get so lucky?
        

         When Harley is on a lesbian play date with her friend Mable for the day I'm reminded how unknowingly empty my life was before I stumbled into that cunty Pocket Puppy store in Chicago where our love affair first began.  It's so second nature for me to have her under 
foot that I forget that she's always right there....accessible and instant love.  But when she's not I miss the sound of little Peggy Sawyer's nails on the hard wood floor, not even letting me leave the room to walk to the bathroom or go downstairs for a minute unescorted.  Her absence, upon 
returning from her yellow stained cone-sniffing play date, makes me notice for the first time that I'm never alone.  When you have a faithful companion tag along side you everywhere you go (every day) it becomes the norm to not even realize how much you need that furry 
friendship.  It reminds me of what life was like before cell phones or the world wide web!  I don't know how I ever got along without Google search engines or spell check.  In the late nineties I was breaking dollars bills in the corner bodega to use dirty homeless pay phones in new York and unsuccessfully flipping through  outdated encyclopedias to get answers. I see why folks immediately replace an animal when they pass on bc the silence is deafening and in your face and leaves a gaping hole in the grey areas of your day. Now, having had one, I know that I'll probably always have a dog in my life.  My heart is too full to ever go back to quiet.