Hello children. The cat is officially out of the bag now and goddamn, it feels good. Call me dramatic, but it feels like a huge weight has been lifted off of my chest. The one thing in the world I enjoy more than anything is going on vacation and if you know me well enough , I facebook the HELL out of it. “Brazil in 3 days!” “OMG, one week until Sweden”. This time, due to the super secret nature of my trip, I could only tell a few friends back in the States that I was going and only one person in Argentina. Kudos to Erin for being the BSKE (Best Secret Keeper Ever). Anyways, do you understand how difficult it was not to be able to check in at DFW Airport while waiting for my flight? Even when I got to DTW and I was at the gate waiting to board my flight to GRU, I felt my hands independently reach for my phone to check myself in. I would normally be a tad bit embarrassed to say that, but I know I’m not the only one who suffers from this disorder. Why do we have the need to check ourselves in at every given moment? Does anyone really care that I’m drunk off my ass at Mansion in Miami? The only person who probably cares about my whereabouts on a 24/7 basis is my mother and I’m sure it delights her every time she reads her son is bitch passed out or dancing on top of a car on Bourbon Street. My ultimate goal for 2012 next to learning Hebrew and visiting all seven ancient wonders of the world is to do less check ins. Complete lie. #Cantdoitwontdoit.
Anyways, I had a HELL of an adventure to Sao Paulo. The flight from DFW-DTW was pretty routine. I shed a small tear when I noticed that the plane was obviously an old Northwest aircraft that had been raped and branded with the disgusting, horrendous Delta logo. I loved Northwest more than the world and I seriously considered suicide when they merged with Delta. The AOL-Time Warner merger was also another serious milestone in my life. Anyways, I landed in Detroit and luckily I was right in front of my gate. I always hate when I’m flying domestic but I end up in the international terminal because I get so jealous looking at the destinations of other passengers. Gate 32C London Gatwick, Gate 33C Doha, Qatar, Gate 34C Tel Aviv, Gate 35C Minneapolis. Why would someone be so cruel to put Minneapolis next to Tel Aviv? Even before I traveled internationally, on my domestic layovers if I had enough time, I’d walk to the international terminal just to take a look at the international passengers. I’d get really jealous if I saw a young black guy around my age heading somewhere wonderful. “What the FUCK are you going to do in Sydney?” Luckily, this time, there was absolutely zero gate envy on my side because I plopped my black ass down right at Sao Paulo. On a side note, the Detroit Wayne Airport has really turned itself around. It’s cleaner, there are MUCH more food options and I noticed a 35% increase in hot Arabs walking around. I don’t know if the increase in Arab presence was a part of the reconstruction efforts (given that it’s an airport, I’m guessing no), but it sure worked for me. If that many Arabs actually live in Detroit, you better believe I’ve found my next home.
At the check-in counter I wooed t he Korean agent with my smile and charm, and ended up getting a row of three seats to myself. Wiiii! I feel like I have this special connection to Koreans all of a sudden since I’m moving there. Even though we have nothing in common, I feel like we connect at a different level, as in like a future connection (aka I know I can’t speak to you in your native tongue now, but give me 10 months and you’ll LOVE me).
Anyways I took my seat, got my shit together, took of my shoes and relaxed. Shit ass Delta Airlines of course doesn’t have personal TV screens, so my choices were severely limited to whatever random movies and TV series my friend Ricky the TV guru put on my compu at the moment (which ended up being Cougar Town, HILARIOUS series, I’m really shocked, hilarious). Delta did win itself some serious points with me when the flight attendant announced that beer and wine would be complimentary throughout the flight. I don’t know if they knew they were dealing with Rob, because surely they would have charged me a wine tax in addition to the other taxes and fees. When there is free RED WINE, I’m completely open to and capable of drinking myself slap silly. To make things even better, one of the flight attendants came by and asked me if I would give him my crossword puzzle out of my USA Today. I gladly handed it over for the unspoken agreement for no judgment or discussing with the other cabin crew that the passenger in 33E was on his 6th glass of box Merlot. Yes it happened and no I am not ashamed.
The wine must have been non-alcoholic because after 5 glasses, I was still feeling no effect. Horseshit! To make matters worse, I popped a vicodin to fall asleep but I don’t think that had any effect either. I have this theory that out of all medicine bottles, lets say qty 20, at least 2 are sugar pills. I don’t know why I have come to this conclusion, but I’ve thought this way since I was a child and no one could (or will) tell me otherwise. Well kids, I got the non-alcoholic wine and the fucking sugar pill. Awful. Awful. Bitch pissed and completely wide awake, I resorted to making lists when my computers ran out of batt. I even titled them. “Foreign Countries I have been to more than once” “Buenos Aires metro stations” “Buenos Aires streets from A-Z””World’s best metro stations in order””Hottest Nationalities”. At this time I hadcompletely given up on the wine and damned Phizer to hell for my sugar pill (not even sure if Phizer makes Vicodin, but I hate Phizer anyways for unrelated reasons), so I decided to sleep the natural way by just laying down and bitch stretching out over all three seats. It semi-worked I guess because I woke up to Delta’s version of breakfast (read SHIT ASS egg sandwich and small cup of orange juice) and prepared myself for arrival. The landing was smooth as baby’s ass.
I couldn’t help but smile upon arrival in Sao Paulo. It’s one of my favorite cities on the planet, so cool, so big, so bold and so unapologetic for it ‘s terrible weather, moody Paulistas, expensive prices and horrendous traffic Take it or leave it, Sao Paulo really doesn’t give a fuck.. and that’s why I love it. More to come tomorrow on my 8 hour adventure in Sao Paulo! Obrigado and Gig’Em!