Internet Bullshit

It would be very stupid to write a blog entry about how frustrated I am that I can’t connect to the wifi in the San Francisco airport, but here I am. It is probably my dinosaur computer’s fault and not what I’m sure is a very competent SFO internet configuration. I am sitting with an exorbitantly priced glass of (at least fairly decent) pinot noir at some salmonella-laden pizzeria. The manager just had a screaming match with a cleaning lady who, despite not appearing to speak English, certainly irritated him very much. He won the argument, which ended with a “My manager will be speaking to your manager!!”-type triumphant parting line, but only because she could not utilize enough English to sufficiently shut the loud bastard down. Poor cleaning lady. Day in and day out, pizza boxes all up in her business. My only solace would be the internet, my connection to the outside world, my opportunity to tell Mom and Dad and Dave (who all ferried me to the airport with not a few jokes at the expense of the Russians) “I’m fine! I will be drunk by the time my plane arrives and will sleep like a gigantic baby!” Alas, it cannot be so. My computer denies me these simple pleasures, as it has done so many times before.

If I had access to the internet, I would make a status on Facebook. It would say, “Sayonara, America. Any bets as to how much wine I will have drunk by the time my plane arrives?” My bet is, kind of a lot but not that much because it’s disgustingly expensive. The quality, as I earlier mentioned in parentheses, is at least satisfactory, and I did get a bit of entertainment included with my purchase. I tell ya, the pizza industry knows how to keep you coming back for more, and it has much more to do with employee infighting than delicious cheese, which, as everyone in the world knows because I’m annoying, I’m allergic to. Right now could be a time to talk about the difference between food allergies, intolerances and sensitivities, except that there will never be a time for that because no one gives a fuck. When I say allergic, I really mean sensitive, but that always sounds weird and doesn’t get the point across. Whatever. Stupid Microsoft Word. You are no match for the siren call of internet connection.

In summation, I am nervous and excited to be traveling to a new and terrifying destination, so I deserve some expensive wine. (Ok. I get to travel around the world and lots of people don’t, so I really don’t deserve anything. But you know.) There is a very special person waiting for me on the other end, who I would marry and everything except that we are both squeamish heterosexuals and enjoy the television series “Sex and the City” to a highly embarrassing degree. Over and out, I say to the rare creatures who actually read this post.