Woke up at frelling 4:10 a.m.
Got to the airport, and discovered that Margie had left her cell phone on the passenger seat. Oops.
Discovered that you can’t get an exit aisle seat via one of the cool electronic check-in kiosks. Damn.
Got to the security checkpoint, and discovered I’d left my Palm somewhere (home? car?). Super oops. I mean, my Palm is my auxiliary brain. Not that there is any info on it that’s not on my PC — but it’s difficult to use an auxiliary brain that requires booting and can’t be carried around in a pocket.
Flight to Chicago was uneventful. Actually slept fitfully through it, “fitfully” due to my sore tail bone, dagnabbit.
Trudged to terminal F. Ate a Cinnebon for breakfast, where I discovered that you can get a plastic knife there — but only if you order something. Spoons and forks, no prob, they’re out with the napkins and straws. But a knife? Very dangerous — only if you order a tasty treat.
Flight goes out from the “Gate of Many United Express Flights to Little Burgs Like White Plains, Indianapolis, and, Oh, Yeah, Knoxville,” And, of course, there’s about 1/4 of the seats needed for anyone to sit there.
Except, just before we’re supposed to board (from the Gate of the Very, Very, Very Long Delay), it’s announced we’re actually going out another gate. Run, run, run, wait, wait, wait, board, and go.
Flight was fine. Knoxville is fine (though possessed of rather interesting shops that advertise on TV). Drive into town was fine. Visit to the office was fine. The Double Tree in Oak Ridge (nee the Garden Inn) now has wireless broadband (huzzah!), so I can do things like blog.
And this evening, off to a coworker’s house for dinner, for which I brought a bottle of wine..
More as it happens, woo-woo.
Miss You!
Kiss!
Mmmmm. Miss you, too, much.
Tailbone?
What did you do?
My tailbone has been particularly touchy for a number of years. Don’t recall, offhand, the initial “cause.” Let’s just say it was already feeling tender this past weekend (the movie-going not helping), and three hours of flight time was *not* what it needed.
Have you been X-rayed? Could be osteoarthritis (I speak from personal experience here).
Ahhhh…
I thought it was from your time as the Kitten Trampoline on Sunday.
The short answer is – He slipped and fell on his bum.
Yeah, something like that.
I prefer to refer to it as my Old Football Injury.
Are you saying “old football” is a euphemism for butt?
Heh.
“‘Ey! ‘Ands orf the ol’ football, mate!”