I dont like planes any more.

It all started off ridiculously early. Jenny and I woke up at 2am to get ready for the 2 hour drive to Detroit so I could fly off to LAX for my final flight straight to Brisbane.

Naturally the difficulty of getting up at 2am after having only 2 hours sleep was fucked, but we did it, got ourselves ready, made sure I had everything packed, and then made tracks to Detroit.

Jenny and I got there 2 hours before my flight was due to leave, and we were disappointed to find that she was unable to join me up to the gate. We can do it in Australia, I figured it would be fine in America. Apparently not.

So we hung out in the Baggage Collection area, holding each other and having large biscuits with massive chunks of chocolate in them, and Jenny had a tea that she didn't finish due to an upset stomach. So upset that she got upset all over the ladies bathroom.

Eventually it was time to party ways and return to what was our normal lives. We don't want to return to such bleak settings, but our responsibilities remain and we must go back to the grind. We kissed, and we hugged, and we slowly parted.

Later did I learn that she waited in the carpark to blow kisses to my plane as I left.

Four hours later, I landed in LA to endure the 12 hours before my flight began boarding. That's right, I turned up at LAX at 1100 and my flight wasn't due to leave until 2355. Bullshit I say. Especially since I had to wait until 1430 before I could check in!

Time passed, I typed some shit, and made a few calls to jenny before I checked in and went inside to continue awaiting my plane to brisneyland. And while I was in there, I had dinner at Gladstones Fish Restaurant. It sounded pleasant compared to Starbucks and Burger King. It wasn't. I ordered a cheeseburger and it was probably one of the worst put together burgers I've ever had.

*Shrug* Right now, sitting at the pick up road outside Virgin blue and awaiting the arrival of Kel, I'm craving the comfort food of Macca's: A Double Quarter Pounder with Big Mac Sauce, a Large Chips, a Frozen Fanta, and a Chocolate Sundae. Simple comfort food. I'll even shout Alex an Ice Cream Cone.

Returning back to the LAX Scenario, I now turn to the shenanigans which always occur at the arse end of the best times. At 1930, the members of my flight were informed that we should go to the right hand side of gate 38, opposite of the gates I was seated. The lad there informed me that my original flight at 2355 was cancelled due to Mechanical Malfunction. Which probably means that the new pilot had gotten too far on the piss because his girlfriend is off gallivanting across the countryside on some steward/ess.

So they shunted us off to Air New Zealand. It's not a bad mob. they're slightly cheaper than Qantas, who were the next option in line. After getting the majority of the flights done, it was down to seven of us. Air New Zealand was apparently full. Righto, we'll go onto Qantas.

"Oh no, we're waiting for 2 people to not show up. So two of you can stay."

Ugh. this whole debacle started at 1930, and it's fucking 2200 now. Get me home already. I was getting more and more tired, especially since my body clock was 3 hours out, and I hadn't eaten since I had that disgusting dinner at 1500. So what do I do?

I sit on the floor and continue reading Hat Full of Sky until they finally get their finger out. A little while later, I was on my new flight down to Auckland. I'd slept the better part of the 10-12 hour trip* which was surprising because those chairs couldn't get more uncomfortable if you inserted therapeutic needles into the upholstery, then gave it a vibrate function.

* - from a later date: I mentioned the flight to a friend who regularly goes to New Zealand to see his Dad, and I said that to Brisbane/Sydney it's a 14 hour flight to/from LAX. "Yeah, that means it's an 18 hour flight between Auckland and LA then."
"What? No, it's about 10-12 hours."
"No no, it's 18."
"Dude, I just had the flight. It's 10 hours."
"nah man, it's 18 hours cos it's 4 hours to sydney to auckland, and 14 hours to LA from Sydney."
True story.

Arriving at Auckland, the overhead informed us about our connecting flight into Sydney was at Gate 2. "Righto," I said, paying attention and deviating slightly from Mr Pratchett and his tale of Tiffany Aching. Soon as we rolled off I realised something though.

"Fuck, i forgot my wallet." It's uncomfortable having it in your pocket after such a long flight, so I decided it would do well to be in the net pocket in front of me. I'd grab it on the way out, along with my passport, and then all will be good. But nooo, of all things I had to forget, it was my wallet that has $904 in green notes stuffed into the appropriate slot, and slowly ruining said wallet, of which requires renewing. There is only so much fake croc leather that can fall off before it becomes a danger to my finances.

So I sat at the door as people filtered by. And I waited. And I waited. And I fucking waited. And then i began thinking that someone may have seen my wallet and nabbed it. Or that I may have put it somewhere in the fucking heavy backpack that I have. Or that I could possibly leave it here and it would get sent to me at a later date. No no, that's a stupid idea, i need my GO Card to get to work the next day. Fucking monday, I don't want to go to work. I'm tired and still very much so in work mode. Oh look, a steward coming from upstairs. Is that a good- No, more people coming. God damn, are they mass producing these people? Do they have women in battery cages with turkey basters pumping out hormone pumped 5 minute adults so that I have to wait longer? Oh look, Pilots. There we go. End of the line, mother fuckers. Give me my money.

With that successfully accomplished, I made my way to the line through the International Connecting flights. at the end of the line were the security guards. okay, I can deal with this. At least the group I'm with are in the right direction. There's the family of 3 that I can follow. I can rely on them. The old boy seems to have his head on straight.

The security guards then put my bad aside. Seems I have something I shouldn't have. As it turns out, it was my LAB body wash that I'd all but used up with Jenny because she liked the way I smelt, and my Hair Gel and Face Wash which I'd never used as I didn't have any reason to spike my hair, and I'm simply too lazy to bother. So they've all gone to the Incinerator.

Moving on, I weedled my way to Gate 2. It was due to board about this time, and when I checked the Time Boards, it had a big red sign saying "Final Boarding". Right, I had to run and get to my plane. I ran up and then down and then back and then left and eventually I got to where I was looking for. Auckland Airport is a bit of a maze, but I got through to find that my plane had just buggered off. FUCK. FUCK A DUCK. Even the Janitor assured me that it was definitely gone.

So I wandered back up to one of the reception desks to say that i'd missed my flight, what can I do about getting a new flight? After about 5 minutes of waiting, I looked around and found a new Time Board. Okay. NZ103 Final boarding... Gate 7. Well shit biscuits. Lets go check out Gate 7.

Whaddayaknow. There's that family that I was following. Oh and another few people that were from the same pilgrimage. Game on. So we waddled onto that plane and I settled down for the 4 hour flight to Sydney, continuing my book of dry English humour.

Lastly was Sydney. The Shenanigannery was getting a bit much now. My body had a dull ache, and my book was almost finished. I just wanted to get it done now, I was on the home stretch, but I had to pay attention to this shit! C'mon, it isn't hard to get luggage out and onto a conveyor belt, is it now? Any old Ninny (Yes, Mr Pratchett being English sometimes makes my insults a little pommy) can chuck a bag onto them. It's not like you don't manhandle them as you would an Irish Wife. C'mon, I said it enough: True love comes out in Bruises. But you know what? I have a fuck tonne of models that didn't feel very loved. In fact, they were lovely before you fuckers decided to whack it with a fucking cricket bat in your spare time. now where the fuck is my luggage now? there's nothing particularly special about it now, except there's a dozen too many shirts in there. You can't deal damage to them! I put a fucking LOCK on it! But there's only 2 bags on the belt.

Mother fuckers. Righto, time to make note. So I went to the other side of the room and made mention that my bag was AWOL. "okay, we'll deliver it to your door soon. It just seems to be on a later flight from the same place. Here's our number in case you don't hear from us."

Righto. would've been nice to have my bag now, but hey. I go through the gates with my yellow card, another security lady takes my yellow card and lets me through with my carry on, and we I leave to get to Domestic transfers. A short line up there and then I go out to the T Bus... and fuck it's cold. I'm glad I have my Sonic Hoodie with me.

About a half hour goes past, about 10 minutes late for what they advertise for T-Busses, We get to the Domestic Terminal, I jump through the security hoops again, only I get to keep my shoes on this time. I get to the gate, the correct gate as well which I made sure every 5 minutes that I was at the right gate because I have been wrong before and it nearly cost me.

I also make an attempt at finding a power point. Where the fuck are the power points? I have a phone that I need to contact Kel/Tash about picking me up and letting them know that If they were busy, then it would be fine and I would catch a taxi. I'm sure a Taxi driver won't mind extra fare if he takes me through Maccas.

But no such luck. I typed up a little bit where I was about my Warmachine blog, continued the Terry Pratchett book, and eventually made my way onto the worst flight of the lot. It wasn't because it was a short flight. I loved that. It was much shorter than I expected and I was very VERY pleased to find that out. But it was the inertia. Going up was rough as guts. Going through turbulence was like being in the prank Bart Simpson did to Homer (remember when he shook up the Duff can and exploded the house as an April Fools?). landing and taxiing were about as pleasant as could be, because I got hit with so much relief that we fucking survived.

But that was it. That was my long day and a half. Kel came and picked me up, drove me to Maccas, made a quick detour to Aldi, and dropped me home to have my comfort food and pass out by 5:30 so that i could be well rested for work tomorrow.

Guh.