Holy Moses

Sorry. Just pulled the subject line from the song I'm listening to by Elton John.

But it probably describes my past 5 or so days.

As I write I'm pretty incoherent . . . PTSD if you will. So forgive me if passages don't make sense sometimes.

I'm in a half-world at the moment. Quarter world?

But I did Japan and it was the worst, worst ever. When I go to pick up Taishi I kind of get a candy at the end of of the 40-hour trip when I see him and he says "I love you, Daddy," but when I drop him back off it's just such a desolate feeling that you just can't imagine.

I try to medicate and sometimes it doesn't work so well. "You're not boarding this flight, sir." But all I want to go is to my seat and go to sleep, not fondle flight attendants' ample asses and insult the fellow passengers.

No-can do. 7-hour prolongation. I made the flight in first class but they denied me "alcohol services.' Yep, as you can imagine, I was a raving, crazed idiot bashing flight attendants right and left.

I just went to sleep and refused their "Top sirloin entrée." Fuck them. First class these days is like Greyhound 50 years ago.

But what made it so positive was all the sweet and interesting people I encountered. The bartender that made me the most bizarre Bloody Mary I've ever had . . . includes a block of cheddar on a toothpick! I am simply going to have to remember that one! Made my fucking day.

Such a sweetie. And in Japan,, I went to a sushi shop in the airport and I was the only customer. I had a namazake (cold saké) and a helping of maguro and unagi and it was the FUCKING BEST MEAL I HAVE EVER HAD!

Then I get to Detroit and make my 6 a.m. white wine stop at a place I've never been and she makes a nice pour, the dear, and I see a jar in the cabinet. Are those dill pickles? No, they're olives.

Umm, could you make me a dill pickle? What, like . . .  like a spear? YES!

That white wine and that dill pickle were the BEST FUCKING MEAL I HAVE EVER HAD. Yeah, okay, so I have pretty competing BEST FUCKING MEALS. They're all equal.

So last leg, Detroit-Metro>; Montreal. I could barely stand, I was so tired. This young attendant gently roused me and said, "Can I get you something?" I said, yes, darling, a can of Bloody Mary mix would be good.

At the risk of offending my dearest and most beautiful wife, at the end, as I managed to somehow stagger off the plan (NOT DRUNK!!!!!! TIRED) I said to her in front of the cockpit door, ,"You know, I hate to be cheesy and steal from Elton John, but you have the sweetest eyes I've ever seen."

The fucking pilots laughed me off the plane. "Nice one, dude! A Player! Diidja hear that, Don? Gotta perfect my schtick from now on! Hey, nice tie, dude!"

It was all fun and I'm so glad to be home with my darlimg Brigitte.