I. Hate. Airports.

They are the most annoying, asinine places in the world. I now know
why the Jonases tour in a bus as opposed to flying everywhere. I mean
they HAVE to take planes to places like Europe and Hawaii and the
Bahamas I guess, but then they have their own jet and they don't have
to experience the absolute nightmare that is flying with the rest of us.

No friggen screaming babies, or creepy old men, or overly pleasant
flight attendants who screw up your drink order. How the hell do you
manage to screw up coffee anyway?! She gave me friggen decaf. At 7 in
the morning the LAST thing I want is friggen decaf. So the very second
I get off this stupid plane I'm getting Red Bull. It's just energy
done right.

The morning started off just fucking peachy, as does any morning at an
airport. But especially, it seems, Long Island MacArthur. It would
seem that God hates this unfortunate airport the most. Mostly when I'm
in it. I have never had an on time flight in my life.

While I was standing on the 83612572810 hour line to check in my
brother [I can check in online but there is a James Lynch on the No
Fly List so we always have to check in my brother and my dad in
person.] there was a woman of about 104, in a wheelchair, going to the
gates. I'm like, where the hell can you possibly be going? You
probably shouldn't be flying at that age.

Oh, and the reason that the check-in line was so incredibly long? When
we got up to the counter I finally understood. The guy working it was
moving in slow-mo. I named him "turtle". Actually, it was kind of
funny, because my poor mother was trying to make him go as fast as
possible and I was just standing there going "turtle turtle!" under my
breath...with the very same infliction in my voice as Dana Carvey used
in The Master of Disguise...for those of you going "...huh?" that was
a movie in 2002.

Anyway.

But after that hell of a morning, my flight was completely on time for
once, and when we landed in Chicago, I had a voicemail saying that I
am now an aunt. My new nephew's name is Stanley Daniel...I am proud to
say that I came up with the first name, inspired by my boyfriend Stan
Marsh [haha, IF ONLY he were real!] who is my favorite character on my
favorite show, South Park. So I guess that makes him twice my
favorite? I don't know, I'm a little confused now.

So the morning got better. Personally, I think it was the time zone
change...we go back one hour and everything starts to look up. Or
maybe it's the fact that while we were stopped in Chicago, one of the
stewardesses got a whole case of energy drinks for the crew, and since
me and my brother were the only ones continuing the flight to Houston,
I gave her $5 and Jim [brother] got his Monster, and I got my Red
Bull. (:

When we landed in Houston, my dad took my brother and I to see our
newly finished new house...the only good part about it was sliding on
the wood floors with my socks on.

But otherwise it made me like, shut down inside. It was scary, and
horrible. Not the house, because the house is actually quite nice.
Just the fact that we're moving is horrible.

Love,
Britt

Sent from my iPod