It’s my birthday.
And like always, say something, all of you bastards that read me but never say anything.
Me: Did we check the stove was off?
Her: Go check.
Me: I put on my shoes already.
Her: (shakes head and slips off shoes)
We’re out the door, on the AirTrain, and in the airport in less than an hour. Except for one minor hiccup, we make it to the plane without issue.
Me: Shoot, I can’t find my ticket or passport.
TSA Agent: Sir, you just put them into your back pocket.
Me: I knew that.
Soon we’re in our chairs in the sky and I start taking things from HG’s bag of snacks.
Her: Didn’t you say we didn’t need to bring that? And now you’re going to eat it all in the beginning of our trip.
Me: If you weren’t here, I would strap this on my face like a feed bag.
Six hours and one tiny can of Diet Coke later, we arrive in Ireland for a two-hour layover at around midnight. We have the airport to ourselves.
Announcement: last call for Amsterdam.
Me: We should blow this thing and go to Amsterdam. (thinking) We could smoke pot.
Her: You’ve never smoked pot before.
Me: I’m away. I’d smoke a pot.
Her: (laughing) The fact you just said “a pot” makes me think it’s not for you.
Ended up heading to Malaga anyway.
We finally get to board our connecting flight. As I can never sleep, read the entirety of Digital Wars during the layover and half the flight to Spain.
About 18 hours we walk outta our door in NYC, we walk into our door in Malaga.
We drop off our bags and we notice that we have a balcony so I get a beer from the mini-bar and look over the city.
We both try to crash for a bit but I don’t get much rest. It’s only 1PM there so four hours later, we get up in search of food and a SIM card and we find both on the same block.
The organizer of the event meets us for a chat in the hotel lobby but we’re fading fast so we politely make it short.
Unfortunately, it’s a sleepless night cause Spaniards have dinner at 10PM and we’re essentially in the Times Square of Malaga.
It’s been almost 30 hours and I’ve gotten five hours of sleep.
The conference’s tomorrow.
Location: finally back home
Mood: another year older
Music: Just give me credit, I’m just sitting on the shelf