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Love letter to Houston: Airports and ass-sweat

Last weekend, I spent some time in sunny Houston, in the great country of Texas (Texas is its own country, right?). Here is part one of my chronicle.

I fly out of Pittsburgh on Thursday afternoon. There’s something about airports that I find both wonderful and awful. I love the constant chaos, all the people in a panic to get where they need to be. But do we really have to take our shoes off? The answer is FUCK YOU WE’RE AMERICA.

As much of a hassle airport security is (let me tell you, I cried when I had to pack all my lube away in my checked luggage), I get it, okay, it’s for the good of the nation, or something. Did you know they have those weird scanning machines at the Pittsburgh airport? The ones that scan your whole body and peep at your naughty bits? You know someone somewhere is jerking off to those images right now OH GOD IT’S A PORN CONSPIRACY I HOPE I DON’T GET BLACKLISTED FOR THIS. Should I be sad I wasn’t asked to get scanned, or relived? (Just wait for my return flight story...)

My flight takes me to Atlanta first, where I have a two hour layover. I don’t know what to think about Atlanta; it’s definitely not on my top ten places to visit. The Atlanta airport is kinda bad, there is a general sadness all over it, from the passengers to the workers—actually no, some of the janitorial staff are fabulous sassy black women. But that aside: sadness. Although there was this cute chubby Jewish hipster boy (he wore a star of David necklace, so yeah, Jewish, right?) waiting for the same flight, so I just ogled him for two hours, imagining him talking filthy Hebrew to me as he whips out his no doubt massive circumcised dong...

Where was I? Oh yes, flying.

Southern stewardesses are wonderful. They have this way of sounding sweet and mean at the same time. I feel if I were a stewardess—sorry, steward—I’d have to be a flamboyant Southern gay one. I can do a pretty terrible Southern accent. I would be so Southern and lispy, passengers would alternately fear and want me in the family way. I think I’d wear an ascot, too. Or at least a festive scarf. Are they the same thing?

This trip was also my first foray into traveling Business Class. The only thing I can say about it is I could have snacks and booze anytime I wanted. Snacks. And. Booze. Any. Time. I. Want. Like Milano cookies and this snack mix that must have been laced with the finest crack. Also, leg room. I traveled on AirTran, have you heard of them? They’re kind of like the Megabus of the sky, and I mean that in the best possible way.

The trip from the ATL—I feel like I’m urban enough to say that—to Houston was alright, except for the man sitting next to me. I’m listening to my favorite podcast, “How Was Your Week?” by my new personal idol, Julie Klausner (love you!), when this guy won’t shut the fuck up. Isn’t having headphones on the universal don’t talk to me signal? He obviously didn’t get the memo. It wasn’t that he wasn’t nice, but for fuck’s sake, let me listen to Julie talk about the Tony Awards.

So, we touched down in Houston at around 7pm. The instant I step outside, I’m walloped in the face with a rush of stinging, wet, cloying heat. I break into an instant sweat all over. Every part of me, covered in sticky warmth.

Now, here’s the part where I get all cliché and say “OMG Texas is sooo hot, it’s crazy, it's big sky country blah blah blah...” The truth of the matter is it’s absolutely true. But it’s a heat I’ve since acclimated to.

My friend Geoff picks me up from the airport, and we travel to the artsy part of Houston: Montrose. Houston is an odd city, it’s modern and old all at once. Lots of nice neighborhoods next to urban sprawl. So, kind of like Erie in that respect, except Houston actually has culture (take that, Erie!). The skyline of the city itself is beautiful. But really, do you want to read about me masturbating all over Houston’s architecture? Well, too fucking bad.

We have dinner at this Tex Mex restaurant,El Real Geoff tells me it used to be a movie theater converted into a trendy restaurant by a famous chef. The food is good; I don’t think I’ve ever had traditional Tex-Mex before. And I’m not sure what these sauces are, but I like them.

Geoff lives and works at the Caroline Collective, an artistic community organization thingy. I walk with Geoff as he makes his nightly rounds of the main building, a comfortable space with a central work area and conference rooms.

I also meet Geoff’s kitten, Snacktimehighfive, an orange, wiry bundle of cuteness who has since taken a violent interest in my high-top shoes. We have some beer and I crash out pretty early like a total pussy.

Discussion Topic: Have you ever seen a straight steward? I think I did, and it Blew. My. Mind. Have you had any sightings of the elusive North American Heterosexual Male Flight Attendant?


  1. I think I had had a transexual steward once.
    Britt maybe did too coming back from the Netherlands. I might have accidentally said sir instead of ma'am.

    PS: Kurt I love this post.


  3. oh was that the super bitchy one? the one that was like really ugly and shit? I was so uncomfortable on that flight.

  4. "Every part of me, covered in sticky warmth." WELCOME TO MY FRIDAY NIGHTS


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