HO'S IN THE AIR

I wish my john’s would fly me out a day early. Not to see them an extra day, but to get there and have a night’s rest and get ready proper to see them. The main reason is: I do not travel well in the looks department. I start out looking good, but it deteriorates rapidly. My eyes are now bloodshot from the faux air. My hair is flat and thin. My teeth need to be brushed (but that’s an easy fix). My bathing suit region needs a do over. I’m a hot mess! I wasn’t three hours ago. But between the frantic drive time, waiting, walking to and in between gates, drinking and sitting in buildings with zero fresh air: I can’t win. I hate being picked up by a trick at the airport. This is not the first impression a ho likes to make. Sometimes I’ll say I’m still on the tarmac, giving myself a small window to freshen up in the airport bathroom (super fun to do), but it’s not the same as seeing a client a half an hour after getting dolled up at my own home. How do other women travel and still manage to look good?

Ugh. I’ve had 5.5 cocktails and I feel sober. And I haven’t eaten much. I should be more buzzed. I bought a tuna sandwich, but the flight attendant took so fucking long getting my drink and water—I should have bought water when I got the sandwich, but I loathe the water cooler sizes they sell you for twenty bucks. Who can drink that much water? I was dying to eat my sandwich, but I cannot eat without liquid. So by the time my fluids made their way to my tray, my sandwich was completely soggy and my nice buzz has evaporated like the moister in my eyeballs. Now I’m starting from scratch with this weak ass Jack and ginger. And I don't think I'll have time for another one.

 

On top of this heap of issues, my hands smell like that horrible industrial plastic wrap most places use on food items or to cover drinks while delivering room service. The smell of which makes me want to vomit while simultaneously ripping my olfactories out. The smell is so pungent it often transfers to the food it was keeping from harm. Come on, no way that's good for you to ingest.

I love how it takes a bloody year to get your first drink, and now they’ve asked me twenty times if I need anything else as I gulp my first sip. Yes, "Why were you handing out drinks one at a time, and it’s Africa hot in here!" I just washed my hands thoroughly and they still smell like that noxious shit. And they are killing me with this air right now. It's void of oxygen and filled with static, my hair has no chance in this. I went from big porn waves to "you can feed this little girl for the cost of one cup of coffee a month". Not sure if you can tell, but I’m in a mood. I better start mainlining everything to turn this around. 

 

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