You never get a second chance to blow a first impression

What's worse than waking up at 5:00 am to catch a 7:00 am flight?

Right. Waking up at 6:30 am and realizing you just royally fucked up an important business meeting with a new client.

Fortunately, my presence at this meeting wasn't of the be-there-or-we-lose-the-business variety. And a lifetime legacy of punctuality and reliability made the fact that I sent my colleagues off without me this morning more amusing than irritating. At least that's what they told me.

And I was able to fly standby at 9:00 (saving the company a whopping $900 in change fees) and get to NYC in time for the post-meeting lunch at the fabulous (and very gay-waitered Abboccato Ristorante (which should be called A Visit From The Carb Fairy)) with the client. And I was all charming and shit, so there was no real harm done. And we all got back to Chicago in one piece. Together.

Which means, of course, that I flew to New York today just to have lunch. Which means that Sondheim is probably going to write a satiric paean to me and my people. And I hope Patti LuPone doesn't sing it because she chews on her vowels.

Unknown benefit to flying standby: Even though I had to sit in a middle seat, I at least got a middle seat in an exit row. Probably because I flirted* with the gay guy behind the ticket counter.

*And by "flirted" I mean "whored myself so I could get on a flight" and not "made sexual advances that I had any actual interest in following through on."**

**Does that make me a bad guy? An evil queen? A dedicated corporate drone? A shameless Dubya-type who will stop at nothing to cover my own culpable and not very shapely ass? Story at eleven.

Confidential note to the cunt princess next to me on the flight home: Just because you have a cell phone doesn't mean the whole plane wants to hear you tell Bambi or Candi or Amber or whatever the fuck your stupid friend's name is how you threw a fit because they made you check your oversize carry-on and now you're going to be late for the wedding AND all stressed out about it when you get there. Shut the fuck up. And sit the fuck still when you're in your seat. You had NO idea how your constant fidgeting and your digging through your THREE bags and your endless bumping into me made you THIS CLOSE to having your poorly streaked head and your bejeweled sweater stuffed up your stinky little cooter.***

***HA! I said cooter!