Go (Mid)west, Young (Wo)man!

Days till Halloween: Who cares, I'm back!*

Once again I have proven I am an indestructible force of pure strength and character; I have battled the dangerous, scathing skies, I have overcome the masses of rabid, hate-mongering Midwesterners, and I have triumphed over the consumption of approximately 400,000 calories (per day). And I survived the smell of cow manure in rural Omaha - and let me tell you, that in-and-of itself should warrant at least a purple heart.

Just give me one reason, and I'll turn you into my manure

I got to experience the smell first hand, when a fabulous coworker and I got lost in rural Omaha - which was unexpected, as we were in a business/industrial park area, and we missed our street, and then suddenly Bam! dirt roads and the crossroads from Supernatural and everything. Totally got the whole Midwest experience right in that one moment. Actually, the smell continued over to the center we were visiting, but I wasn't sure if that was really all that strange or not, since I'm so used to the smell of smog and pollution and all the other yummy things that come along with living in the city (or close to the city, per my childhood.) That might actually have been fresh air, as it's common knowledge that anyone that lives in the city too long actually ends up being poisoned by fresh air if they return to rural areas.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I left on Tuesday, feeling particularly brilliant that I got to the airport right at 9:20am for my 10:40 flight, only to realize that my flight was at 11:40am, and I totally could've slept in for another hour, but now I got to spend that hour sitting at the airport sipping coffee and trying to pry my eyeballs open. Super!

I flew Midwest Air, which I'd only even recently found out existed, and was shocked and horrified by the depravity of the crew and the flight experience itself. I should start off by explaining that the pilot was a dog - maybe that will explain some things:

Oddly, this was the third result on Google Images

The plane was a vehicle of death; it had to have been 500 years old (at least), as was evidenced by it's giant leather seats, the ample leg room, and the warm, safe feeling that the death trap provided us. Yeah, like I want to be hurtling through the sky on an airline without any history of crashes or accidents! Give me TWA any day, my friends.

Worst of all, the airline tried to poison me by cramming delicious chicken fajitas down my unwilling throat, and then - worst of all - they gave us warm, freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. What the fuck. I just want to be left alone when I fly, I don't want some perfectly nice flight attendant trying to force me to eat delicious, warm, gooey pieces of chocolate-ly chip heaven. No thanks! I'd much rather starve.

The recipe for DEATH

When we finally landed and I could fling myself down on solid ground and curse Midwest Airlines for giving me the most enjoyable flight of my life, I realized to my horror that I was indeed in the Midwest. And the people - the people! They were all like "oh hey, we're the first genuinely nice people you've ever met, can we help you with anything?" and I was all like "what the fuck no, leave me alone, I don't want any of your help," but then they were like "let me help you with your luggage, and let me get the door for you, and let me be super welcoming and introduce you to everyone," and I was like "oh my god, you people are monsters, just let me be!" Seriously, it was a nightmare.

I did the rounds for work, and met the whole team (and a good chunk of other employees) and I have to admit that they were fabulously nice people, and I really had a good time. Everyone was really helpful, very nice, very funny, and more than happy to put up with my naturally retarded nature. Of course when I left, everyone probably thought I was a total moron, but I'll imagine it as the nice, safe, enjoyable little bubble that it was. I was very relieved to see that everyone was as friendly as they seemed via email, as I wasn't entirely sure what to expect; probably some combination of Office Space and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. You know, what anyone would expect of an office in the Midwest.

Omaha itself was... well, Omaha. The downtown and Old Market area was actually bordering on adorable, with its brick streets, cute boutiques, loft apartments and plethora of bars and restaurants (yeah booze!), although the rest of the city was too small for my tastes. After spending the majority of my life traveling between Boston, New York and DC, I start to freak out and get super paranoid if I can't hear horns beeping, people swearing, and drunks hollering at all times of the day.

Old Market/Downtown Omaha... damn you for making me like you

On Tuesday night we went out to Anthony's Steakhouse for authentic Nebraskan steaks. Now let me tell you, I don't know what it is that they sell on the East Coast, but it sure as hell isn't actual cow parts; maybe it's some bastardized combination of knuckles and heads and whatever the hell else is in horrific combination "meats" like hotdogs. The steaks out there are completely different from anything else out here (well, unless it's expensive Nebraskan steaks we order in or order at restaurants, but they're not quite as fresh, considering I think the cows were slaughtered out back as soon as we put our orders in) and were shockingly good. Even my lingering sore throat and flu couldn't stop me from enjoying them. Not that I usually have problems overcoming ailments for the sake of food, but this was saying something, considering how much like ass I felt.

Yes, that is a giant cow on top of the restaurant

I think I put on about 10 pounds just from the past two days alone. There was the meals on the plane, the plethora of warm, gooey, delicious chocolate chip cookies, the steaks, the catered lunches, the additional cookies, the giant fudge cake for my boss' birthday, and everything else I managed to cram down my throat. Oh yeah, and the additional additional cookies that the hotel gave us. What is with the Midwest and delicious cookies, and why don't we have more of them out here on the East coast?

I managed to drag my significantly larger bulk onto the plane on Wednesday, and happily didn't have a complete mental breakdown on the flight, per my usual happening. I still hate takeoff with a deep, fiery passion, but the flights themselves were surprisingly nice. Fucking Midwesterners and their stupid approach to a happy, safe life. I'm not bitter, I swear.

The plane - of course! - got in something like 40 minutes early, so of course I had all this extra time, which meant I could go back to my apartment, change leisurely, take my time and unpack, all before heading over to Erin's to watch Supernatural. Damn you, Midwest Air.

The day ended nicely with an abundance of the Supernatural boys, and a discussion of our plans for today. If you weren't aware (and were a big FREAK OF NATURE), today is the day that 30 Days of Night premieres in theaters. Yeah vampires in Alaska! I've been pumped to see this movie for months now, since I first saw something about it in one of the many weird sites I visit online. We're going to truck out either to Chinatown or Alexandria to see it, depending on whether or not the Reds come with us and feel like carting our asses out to Virginia in the car. I am so super pumped to indulge myself in my Halloween horror movie geekiness.

30 straight days of night? We should've thought of this years ago!

Of course I've started with the horror movie atmosphere already, as I'm listening to the radio at work, and Britney' Gimme More is playing. I keep having horrific, PST-esque flashbacks to her badformance (har har, get it?) at the VMAs in which she jiggled her beer belly at us, tottered around in an outfit 400x too small for her, and generally showed school age children everywhere why drugs really are a bad thing.

*Of course I care, that'd be madness otherwise. Days till Halloween: 12