The airport gods must hate me.

Seriously they must.

I am flying out on the red eye to return home after my west coast vacation and what am I told the moment I check in?

"You know your flight is delayed an hour and a half."

"huh?"

"You do know your flight is delayed an hour and a half?"

"How the fuck would I know that? Jetblue doesn't call me up directly with updates."

"I'm sorry ma'am (ma'am? ma'am?! now she is just fucking toying with me right? No way in hell I look like a fucking ma'am) there are thunderstorms, blabity blah blah (I stopped listening after she called me ma'am) just make sure you are at the gate by 11pm in case it comes in earlier. You are looking at an arrival time of 8:30 NYC time now."

You have got to be fucking kidding me. My plan was to land - on fucking time mind you - get home by 8 nap it up for 2 hours then get to the gym at noon for spin.

Now there will be no nap. And don't even fucking tell me to not go to spin. I haven't spun for a week and I'm about ready to kill myself or someone because of it I have totally gained 5 pounds on this vacation and am not happy about it.

So here I am at the bar (of course no cute bartender to flirt with like at JFK), prepared to blow out a million blog posts while I sip my drink. I am sure most of which (ok atleast one) will be involving the people that plop down at the bar since this is the only one at this airport (actually I don't know if this is entirely true but for damn sure its the first one you see when you come out of security.). Though the whole blogging will eventually turn out to be entertainment for you, I really would have preferred to be at the gate and getting on the plane in a half hour.

FML