Peeve: That I use such phrases as "on holiday" and "at university."
Peeve: It's hotter 'n snot right now. After a relatively hard day atwork, driving two hours each way is not the type of therapy one would prescribefor themselves.
!Peeve: The couple loaned us the Mercedes, air conditioning and stereoincluded. We loads up on tapes, and it's off to the circus.
And a circus it was.
For those of you who have never been to SFO, it's a bit hard to describe,but I'll give it a whirl. If you locked the doors and just allowed theresidents in, you'd have enough nuts, fruits and flakes to make breakfastcereal for the continent of Africa. Add to that the fact that SFO is aninternational airport on a West Coast city, and the fun really begins.Now, if you're travelling out, you don't really get the time to check outthe people. But, if you're waiting for an arrival, and the subsequent customswait for a late flight, you gotta lotta time to check out the mass insanitythat is airline life.
And it's interesting. Such a tapestry of human diversity is mind wobbling.
There must have been a pageant of some sort that I wasn't invited to,as I saw 12-15 drop-dead beautiful Chinese ladies that were in the 6 footvicinity. I lost count, 'cause I have trouble counting with my mouth open.It's rare to see a 6 foot Asian woman. The odds of seeing a dozen on thesame day are long, and the fact that they were all boner-inducing increasesthe odds astronomically. Stereotypically spindly-legged and flat chested,they were stunning just the same.
Alongside these Oriental beauties, there were stevedore types, completewith crescents of sweat staining their armpits that looked like they wouldnever wash out. Plus, servicemen, proudly displaying their uniforms ontheir way home, or to some exotic place overseas. Families, obviously renewinglong lost relationships, hugging and crying and shaking one another, asif to affirm that the person they were seeing was really there. A bikerfamily, on their way to Oregon, they said, to "raise a bunch of hell,"and I'd hate to be the stew that had to cut them off, as they were wellon their way to a rosy-cheeked buzz.
Arabs, equipped with diapers firmly planted on heads in the heat ofthe summer, apparently looking for a foot in the door of the conveniencestore business. (Would you like a lid on that Slurpee?) Groups of youngblack bloods, intimidating the populace with their aggressive looks andbehavior. Other groups of harried passengers, trying to figure out justwhere the fuck they are, before their plane takes off. Guys and gals kissingfor what could be the last time in awhile, the amount of time measuredby the intensity of the tears-being shed. Little kids, kissing Granny andGramps goodbye, as one or the other take off to a destination that willkeep them apart until the next holiday or family reunion. Men in suitsand ties, rushing either to or from some place that makes their livelihood,and looking as if they were always in some sort of transition between businessand real life.
Of course, there's the leather sluts. Guaranteed to make this fuckin'punk take notice.
(Ginny: What're you looking at? Vinnie: Nuttin, honey.)
They're all there, my friends. Hangin' at the airport is more fun thangoing to the mall on Xmas Eve.
Anyways, we go to pick up the daughter and her friend. I've met thedaughter. Tall, maybe 5'10", rawther gawkish and afflicted with what Ilike to call TwelveYearOldTits, but slender and pretty just the same. Graciously,she packs her sense of humor when she travels, and she and I tend to fallinto a comfortable camaraderie when we hang together.
The young friend is also tall and willowy, but she's got more of a lived-inlook than our friends' daughter. Pouty lips that look like they'd be justsplendid if they were wrapped around your unit, and a bit of a feisty attitude.She's younger than the aforementioned daughter. Underage. And a perfectcandidate to please all the boys at the bar when she comes of age.
'Course, I'm an old fuck now, and I don't really think these thoughtsanymore, but somebody else hipped me to that evaluation.
Sorry. No stories about how I was molested while the concubine wentto the store or nuthin' like that. They fell asleep 10 minutes into thetrip, after what must have been a horrendous flight from the unusuallytropical UK to the hell that is the Bay Area right now, weatherwise.
So, we go home, sip a drink or two, and crash out until the next day,only to repeat the process. Still got the Mercedes, and it's a good thing,as the temps are forecasted to be much the same as yesterday. One of ourpeevin' brethren was ridiculing the intrinsic value of air conditioning,but I'd hate like hell to take our crippled olí truck up the coast in thisweather without it.
ObliquePeeve: Let's stop this North/South flamewar. Please?
Next morning, we shoot up the coast (Hard to get all of that in a syringe)for Trip#2. Characteristically, my baby was late. She don't ever wannabe on time for anything, anytime. Again, characteristically, every swingin'dick and their girlfriend decided to get the same travel itinerary as wedid, and we got stuck in some bigtime traffic. Idiots hoggin' the righthand lane, hanging onto that lame excuse of., "I'm driving the speed limit,and I don't *need* to make room for the people behind me." That subjecthas been done to death here, so I won't bother you by starting it again.I still hope all their kids are born with birth defects, besides the onethey get by being borne to these fuckin' heathens.
So, we get to the airport, which brings me to a !Peeve:
The bars in airports. These folks understand that there are pussieslike me, who would much rather install a catheter from my carotid arterydown to my asshole than get on one of their rickety deathtraps. So, whilethey overcharge for drinks, they'll make it a double for an extra dollar.These ain't yer standard bar drinks. Nope. They're doubles like you'd pourat home, where you fill a glass filled of ice with vodka, then rub thetonic dispenser against the side of the glass, in order to legitimize itstitle of "Vodka/Tonic." Two of these, and I'm ready to go back down toCustoms and dance with the Lost. I'm rewarded by the couples swift arrival,the only downfall being that I only got to slurp down two of these friendlyconcoctions, but with the buzz riding, I'm now ready to head back to thefriendly confines of my "City by the Bay" (tm. Journey) with a buzz inmy ears and a bit of an appetite.
Well, the girls we had delivered the evening before took the initiativeto cook a helluva spread by the time we'd reached home base: chicken w/rice,a green salad and garlic bread. Followed by a strawberry shortbread, notto be confused with that spongecake swill that passes for "shortcake."No, honeys, this was real shortbread. Made with way too much butter, andtasting like all the things that British cooking is purported not to be.Which is tasty, easy to make, an' downright beautiful.
Well, I'm all stuffed and fat and sassy. Time for bed, and the BBQ thatthe ol' lady scheduled without my knowledge.
Ribs and drumsticks. Life's real bad, eh?