International Relations Strained Once Again

Whenever I travel, I usually like to write a blog post. This is mostly because I prefer to labor under the false impression that anyone gives a crap when I travel. Also, layovers, ADD and narcissism are a potent combination.

When I leave the country, I usually worry about forgetting to buy or pack something but this year those things no longer bothered me at all and I strangely have peace of mind about them.

That is because this year I am only worried about when I pulled out my passport this morning just hours before I leave America to see the beard I've nurtured for 3 months makes me look a lot like "not the guy in the picture" and a "bad guy".

I do not want to generalize or stereotype, but I fully expect in my very near future to run into several unpleasant experiences:

1) A quite vigorous "enhanced pat down" in a private room. Whether there are candles and Barry White playing remains an x-factor.

2) A large, burly TSA agent named "Hugo" present for the pat down. I may even be on the receiving end of it.

(Reminder: the last line sounded way worse than intended so don't forget to delete it.)

The last time I went to Jolly Old England™, I planned way ahead by doing the following:

 - I think I wore clothes

 - got onto (probably) the correct plane

But I did not plan ahead enough to somehow sleep on the plane and since I flew out at midnight, when I landed I was awake for well over 24 hours, possibly 100. 

(I am not a "plane scientist" be we have GOT to be 
wasting a lot of time by not just flying in a straight line!)

On my last visit to England, the girl behind the counter in London quickly determined I was sleep deprived AND a filthy foreigner, so she immediately jumped into action and handed me the keys to a stick shift.

Being the first time I had ever driven on the wrong freaking side of the road with the steering wheel on the wrong freaking side of the car and gear shift on the wrong (freaking) side and my occasionally being awake, I unintentionally terrorized everyone on the island roads from east to west, but only for two hours.

Two hours were spent employing the tried and true practices of fervent prayer, opening windows, blasting music and slapping cheeks. I am sure there are still several places, clearly unmarked, where I did not scrape my left tires on their curbs.

But this time I have planned even more ahead and expect to sleep on the somewhere between 6 or 73 hour flight with the modern day help of a little something we like to call "chemicals".

They come in handy pill (sometimes liquid) form and can be bought anywhere from over the counter to even from a guy named Philippe in the airport bathroom.

I am completely confident that I may possibly wake up refreshed/alive when I hit London in 12 to 49 hours with my horseshoe shaped pillow covered in drool.

Uh oh... I gotta go. 

A scary, hairy guy in a uniform is walking this way that looks exactly like "Hurley" from LOST.