Things that I have learned this week:

1: My eyes are delicious. Or rather, my eye juices. Why else would no less than 4 bugs fly into my eyes this week. Twice while I was wearing glasses. Once whilst driving.
2: I love the word “whilst”
3: I should never ever attempt to use a travel mug for coffee unless it has a lid. I can manage the whole walking-and-chewing gum thing, but coffee + screen doors + man bag = coffee shower.
4: I am allergic to dust mites, but neither German nor American cockroaches. Oooooh Hopkins research opportunities.
5: The TSA will not let you bring Playdoh as a carryon. Long story.
6: Vanilla Vodka + Diet Ginger Ale is a blessedly refreshing summer beverage, and I think it should be called a Pussyfooting, in honor of Ginger Rogers/ it being perhaps the gayest drink I have ever made.

Dr. BWI Long Term Parking Lot A Shuttle Driver Lady,
I love you. I love you because you are the angriest person I have ever met, including when I used to work with some of Baltimore’s finest crackhead prostitutes.
This summer I am officially handing my soul over to Southwest airlines, as wedding season and family parties send me back to the Midwest with such regularity that I am not even unpacking my little quart sized toiletries Ziploc. And as I arrived back into the warm embrace of Baltimore last night at about half past midnight, your seething, fuming anger with life kind of made me giggle. The delicate slam of the ball of your hand you lodged it into the horn brought me to you; yes, goddamn it, if that goddamn Long Term Parking Lot B shuttle would just pull up 7 goddamn feet more, you would both be in the goddamn loading zone. But the Lot B shuttle drivers never do that, do they? Nor the ESP shuttle drivers. You hate them, and I do to, because of the frustration they cause you. But I love them, because the hatred they bring forth in you travels from your heart to your feet, and subsequently the brake pads and accelerator of a very large shuttle bus. And as you drove with your hatred for the Lot B shuttle drivers, you took a few turns a bit sharp, and stopped not quite on a dime. And this meant that the obnoxiously loud Texans standing on your shuttle bus talking about how proud they are of Alberto Gonzalas crashed into each other, causing their cowboy hats to crumple into a fold. And this made me very happy.
So thank you BWI Long Term Parking Lot A Shuttle Driver Lady, I will see you next weekend, at about half past midnight. I will park in Lot A, and together we will hate those other Shuttle drivers.