Friday, June 29, 2007

Twenty minutes with Dave

Written at 1am this morning


There are things I want to write about but once again I do not have the energy or focus. So I will babble instead. It usually doesn’t take much energy, because I am not thinking, just turning on the faucet and letting stuff pour out.

Not that anyone will get to read this because my internet is giving me a hard time.
Actually my neighbor’s internet is giving me a hardtime. I have been riding on someone
else’s wireless internet since I moved in here just over 1 year ago. Approximately 1
month ago, I think just after the first of the month the neighbor who had been faithfully for a year, except for the occasional weekend where he apparently left town and shut off his computer, has moved and left me with sketchy at best internet from our other neighbors.

I made the decision just before going to Hawai’i to breakdown and pay for cable internet, but didn’t have enough time to have it set up before I left but was going to call as soon as I got home. Somehow I managed to come home yesterday and sleep for 18 hours straight. I woke up, got my haircut, ate lunch and then fucked around the apartment for a few hours. I did manage to straighten up the apartment and sort my laundry. I would have actually done my laundry but I got hungry and sent a text to Brother to see if he wanted to do dinner. At Shine, just sat down. Damn, another distraction to follow.

And follow it I did. I jumped in the shower and headed over. It took 45 minutes, and he was done eating but he had half a Sapporo left and was willing to sit. He actually ordered a few more pieces of sushi and another Sapporo. That is of course when we were finally able to order. If it wasn’t for the fact that I just returned from the land of No Worries I probably would have been good and pissed off that it took the waiter at least 10 minutes to bring me a menu and another 15 to take my order. Brother and I caught up while we waited. And he felt the need to point out every attractive woman that passed by the window. Interjecting the occasional “I love Lincoln Park” I have to admit I have lost interest in the under 23 set, and it should be the under 25 set but baby steps, baby steps, but brother apparently is quite enamored with every attractive woman over the age of 18.

The sushi was good but not exceptional. Part of that perception may be that I wasn’t necessarily in the mood for sushi. Especially because I had just had it on Monday before leaving Honolulu and that sushi was better.

Leaving Honolulu. Now there’s a story. Actually, leaving Honolulu was easy. Dropped off the rental car at about 9:30p. Quickest drop off ever. Usually it is a huge pain in the arse, but Monday zip, zip. Done. Quick shuttle to the airport and short lines to check in. Monkey and I had seats far apart so I asked for seats together. Not possible but they put us 4 rows apart. Unfortunately she was row 6 which was in front of a dividing wall and I was in row 10 on the same side making it impossible to see her. I was however seated between 2 beautiful women. Who only wanted to sleep. This was better because it kept me from making a complete ass of myself. Only slept for about 2 hours. I have a harder time sleeping on airplanes than I used to. They are so damn uncomfortable. I definitely think American Airlines has some of the most comfortable seats. I need to stick with them instead of bouncing around airlines so I can rack up some frequent flier miles. I played a lot of solitaire on my phone, then read my book when the sun came up. Monkey apparently got to watch the sun rise from the plane. Said it was cool. Most of the windows close to me were closed. We made it to Phoenix and hunted down breakfast. A big Cinnabon for monkey, and a sammich purchased before leaving Honolulu for me. Monkey was nice enough to bring back a Diet Coke for me. We ate and talked then boarded the flight for Chicago. This is where it gets interesting but it has been almost 50 minutes now and I have to be awake in 4 hours to make it to work in the morning.

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