Friday,
September 7, 2001

Enter the Bodacious Brit

Lyndon is currently sitting in the living room, relaxing after a long, hot shower and bemusedly considering the homogenous state of American cable television.

And why am I in my office writing this, you ask? Why am I not attacking him and slathering him with kisses, prior to ripping off his jammies and taking horrible advantage of his unprotected body? Honey, have you ever tried to get it on while jetlagged? I love the poor boy -- I don't want him keeling over from exhaustion within a couple of hours of arrival.

Besides, there's always the weekend. Heh, heh, heh. . .

Picking him up from the airport turned out to be a mixed blessing -- getting there from my office was just a matter of hopping on 114 and cruising ten minutes until I hit the airport turnoff. Finding parking at Terminal B for British Airways, however, was another story entirely. If you can park down near Gates B1-10, you can just sling your car in this nice multi-story parking lot, not a problem. If you're picking someone up from an airline not serviced by Gates 1-10 (aka everyone other than American Airlines and ATA), you have to go park in this Byzantine collection of multi-leveled parking lots which have thoroughly confusing entries and exits and -- more importantly -- no pedestrian ramps or elevators. I finally found a slot out near Kuala Lumpur and dashed into the airport fifteen minutes after his plane landed, figuring that since it was an international flight he'd have to get his luggage and go through Customs, which would eat up a chunk of time, right?

Aha. Ahahahahahaha. They landed a half hour early, it seems, and he'd been wandering around the Arrivals Lounge. Luckily, he already knew what it was like to park at DFW Airport, so greeted me with a huge hug and a kiss (which is the best way to greet your spouse after not seeing them for almost four months).

Getting his luggage back to the car, however, proved to be a test of bravery as we dashed down the narrow ramps that were supposed to be used by cars only in order to get back to Kuala Lumpur (and believe me, there was no grabbing the luggage and hauling it down there ourselves -- he's still moving crap back from Stockholm). Technically, I was supposed to take him home, drop him off and go back into the office for the rest of the afternoon, but after dealing with the Parking Debacle, the Hike to the Car, and the Long Trip Home, I said fuck it.

And now we're going to kick back, relax, and watch stupid American TV. Night. y'all!