The first 24....

Thursday night ended as it usually does... too much fun, not enough sleep before the next morning. Actually I wasn't too impressed with Thursday. Perhaps a combination of the people and my lack of sleep from the previous nights had something to do with it. Then again, it was also the redundancy that was getting me down. To much exercise in the mundane will make a person as such. That and the fact that I had not packed for my trip and had very little time before I had to catch that jet to rebirth.

With a little help of some fat tunage from one of the best dj's around, a.k.a. my roommate, a.k.a. supa, a.k.a. briantheman, and some joopage, I managed to get most of my packing done in about an hour or two in the middle of the night. Crash time. Z land welcomed me for about 4 hours until I awoke realizing that I was already late for work and did not know where my ride was....

Parker Worsham. Blood brother from another mother indeed. Despite my attempts to digitally connect to his synapse through the airwaves and communicate my desperation due to my time famine, no such luck. Tick tock, Tick tock. It’s amazing how much faster time gets when you're waiting on someone. We had scheduled a takeoff @ 9:30. Tick tock, Tick tock, Knock knock! Sweet! The man of the hour who needed some shower power to wash off his glower. Actually he was probably fresher than me at that point in the morning. We take off to my work. Upon arrival I manage to find out that my check is not ready and my visa status in jeopardy. Too close for comfort. GREAT! I think to myself. Fuck it! I reassure myself. Tick tock, Tick tock. Time's a waistin’! Crap. With a dash back to the car, and my stomach slowly eating itself my transporter and I go for some tacos across the street. "Hey I gotta get some gas!" Parker
exclaims. "Go for it!" I reply whilst jumping out the door to grab some sweet Mexican sustenance. The tacos arrive in 5. Parker is not around. I start wondering which gas station he got off too. Maybe he got in a wreck. Shit! Maybe he just got pulled over. hmm. Maybe aliens.....oh wait, there he is!

Back on the road. Heading south to the airport. Man, I sure could use that maple syrup, I think to myself, pondering an overseas fast. "Hey Parker, wanna drop by wheatsville to grab some sizzurp?" I question him while completely disregarding my tardiness to the airport. (It's about 11:00 and my international flight leaves at 1:00) "Man it's nice to know there are people out there as crazy as I am..." Paker retorts... After some reassurance that getting my happy ass on the plane took priority over my sweet organic tree juice, I gave in. Done and done.

I arrive at the airport, check in, and head towards the security gate. "Here we go..." My first mistake was that I didn't have my laptops out of the bag. Strike one. Then I had my first bag checked: Bottle of water. "You can't bring this onboard." "My bad!" Strike two. My second bag comes through. "Bag check!" "You can't have this either…" the guard explains as he pulls a lighter out of my other bag. Strike three. I'm out. But they were nice enough to let me by. I take my bags and find a seat at the gate, try to log on to the wireless, magical interweb to do some work before I take off. Six freakin’ dollars for access for something that used to be FREE. Sonofabitch. Ah well, the company's paying for this one....

I get on board. Third to last in coach. Fun times in the aisle seat. After the thirty-seven minute flight to Dallas, I get to the D section of the airport via tram and disembark. Immediately I hear the droning cackle of a flight attendant over the P.A. "Calling Mr. Kenuchi. Mr. Kenji Kivichii to Gate 52...." Fuck, it must be me - so much for a decent lunch. And I'm off. Hooray! The very last seat in coach; aisle of course. Man, I have to remind myself to bitch at the company travel agent when I get back.

Here's the kicker though: I'm trying to watch one of these kid's pixar movies..."over the hedge" with the a+ quality airplane headphones, and my right contact goes up into my eye, which is completely dry by this point with the recycled air and all... "Crapboobscrap!" I think to myself. I try to wedge it around under my eyelid with my finger, but no luck. Then I realize that the contact isn't even reachable anymore. Now, I know that this has happened before to anyone else that has lost a contact, but couldn't help but think I somehow managed to push it to the back of my eyeball or something. Shit! So after attempting to look around my seat to see if it had fallen out (even if it had I couldn't find it) I go to the bathroom to see if I can fish it out from my brain.
No such luck. At this point, I'm sarcastically thinking to myself "Wow. This is just fantastic. I wonder how much better it can get..."

So after 10 hours of being cramped and maybe 5 minutes of sleep (shoulda brought some sleeping aids) I arrive in the land of chocolate and cheese. Like the Ween song, but with knives that have corkscrews on them. After a lot of squinting (I think the customs agent thought I was coming on to him, because he gave me this real peculiar look… But then again maybe just being myself brought it upon me...) and a 35 dollar cab ride later I arrive at the hotel, I'm finally here. It's around 8 in the morning, and I take my much needed shower, thinking that I'm about to pass out. Again, no such luck. Ah well.

The free hotel breakfast wasn't so bad for not really being able to see what I was eating though. I decide to do something about being half blind so I ask the receptionist about an eye-doctor. It turns out that, like most doctors, they don't really work on the weekends. Scheiße! But, the kind desk-frau tells me, if I go to the main station that is only five minutes away, they have a pharmacy that would know more about such things, if they were open....

Being my goofy, yet clever self, I somehow manage to walk all the way to the station without a) getting hit by a car, b) being hit by the tram, c) hit by a bicyclist, d) without bumping into someone awkwardly, e) without being shat on by local fowl. Simply amazing! Of course, now to try to find this pharmacy.

It did not take long before someone kindly ignored me. Ok, well I'll try this route. Hmm.. no, how about here...? Nope...maybe under this rock....nope. Maybe under this chick's boob. Nope, no pharmacy there either... Luckily, I came across the green cross. No, not the kind that Bob Jesus Marley (jah bless!) was crucified on, but the kind that's green as opposed to red. That doesn't steal from hurricane victims. Yes! The Apotheke! It sounds like apothecary...which relates to medicine in my head, which triggers an electrical charge in my synapse that makes me move toward it.

Once inside, I ask the person behind the counter in German if they speak English. He did. Probably better than most English speakers, which didn't necessarily throw me off, but his rant did a little. After I ask him if they sell contacts, or know where an available eye doctor was, he dives in to a fruitful discourse of how, basically, he would love to sell me some kontakts, and how wonderful their products are, but unfortunately he could not or it would mean putting "their partners out of business" as he points across the railway entrance to a glasses shop. "Thanks!" I say with a smile, thinking of how silly the entire situation was, and that had I been able to see it, I wouldn't have asked him in the first place...hehe oh well.

I awkwardly stumble across the station to the eye doctor, and although the gentleman didn't speak English there, I managed to walk out of the store with a fresh pair of disposable lenses - not only for less money, but for less hassle than you'd get at any eye place in America! I didn't need a prescription, didn't need to take an eye exam that costs you a foot and a leg....in less than 10 minutes, the world of the seeing was mine to take advantage of again!! Now, time for some wandering....