Flying High

...or drunk, as it were.

To put the most wretched of endings on a perfectly lovely vacation, United Airlines cancelled our flight home Saturday evening. We were stuck in Raleigh for the night. Let me wrap that sentence in a cozy context blanket for you. I was stuck with my parents, 2 brothers and 1 brother's girlfriend in Raleigh after being with them all week.... and more importantly... being with them ALL DAY at the airport.

In a twist that I don't even know how even I pulled off - I ended up stranded in the same city one of my best "going out" friends moved to recently. She was my knight (Teeny Tiny Lesbian) riding in to save me on a white horse (Toyota Matrix, rather), wearing shining armour (cute Bermuda shorts and a t-shirt). She got my going-to-go-insane-if-my-mom-asks-one-more-time-what-"True Lies"-was-about ass out of the hotel and to a bar.

So, Dani, picks me up at 10:30... we go to this fabulous little Italian restaurant called Bocci and then hit a dance club that used to be an old warehouse. I had a few beers and then yadda yadda yadda I was back in my hotel room at 3:30. After spending 20 minutes breathing my spins away, I was able to pass out for an hour. David dragged me out of bed at 5:08 and I put on pants and sunglasses.

I wasn't going to be a burden to the family, though, I was determined to carry my own luggage and walk briskly to the gate on my own. However, I had forgotten that the family hadn't had our obligatory "random" security check yet for the trip, and seeing how our last names rhymes with "Derka-derka-derka-jihad-allah" we were pulled over, randomly..... in a row.... all 6 of us. I tried to act as normal as I possible could, but, shit man, I was still drunk! The security officer was telling me that I needed to get a pat down and in any other situation, if I am drunk and you're telling me that I was going to get a pat down, you can bet your fondling-promising ass that I am expecting some quality action. Considering the delicate situation we were all in, I had to keep all comments about getting a girl-on-girl grope to myself.

And that, my friends, means that the terrorists have won.