If I go, I'm going with my shoes on.

Hell, I don't even know what that means. But what I do know is that I found myself not only thinking it, but taking action on it today.

To set the stage... A flight that should have taken an hour and a half, took, well, a hell of a lot longer.

I left my house at 12:30. It takes at least an hour to get to the airport. Today was no different, really, a little more traffic than normal but they've been ripping up the expressway in sections, so that causes things to back up.

Got my boarding pass, no problem. Then things started to get a little wierd.

I moved through the security line, but when it was my turn... the lady circled a bunch of things on my paperwork, glared at me (GLARED!) and told me to step around to the last "special line". I've been through this line before, so I thought, "no problem". Little did I realize at the time of that thought, but I was about to get patted down and my luggage ripped through.

I'm all for safety, but honestly I was starting to feel a little wierd when TSA came over with rubber gloves on. They opened all my bags. And dusted everything they could find.

Sigh. And that was just the beginning.

Just because a plane boards and leaves the gate on time does not actually mean they will get you to your destination on time. In fact, a flight that should have taken an hour and a half actually ended up taking four. FOUR. 4. hours. Leaving my house at 12:30 in the afternoon and arriving at my destination at 8:45 PM is a slight bit on the ridiculous side. I could have driven it faster!

Thank god it was Jet Blue and I could drown my misery in episodes of Man vs Wild. You go, Bear. Say, have they ever dropped you on a plane sitting on a runway for four hours, with the captain telling you every 30 minutes that it will "just be another 10 minutes"? Because that might not be a bad idea for a future episode. Just a thought.

I'd watch you forage for snacks on an airliner. Shame on me for not bringing my own.

So back to the reason for the title. Cab ride was just a little hairy, and when traffic backed waaaay up, my cabbie took to the side streets. After a quaint little jaunt through my old neighborhood (doesn't look like anything has changed in the year and a half I've been gone), we got a little deeper into the side streets. The fact that the driver really didn't see any difference between narrow, one way streets with cars parked on both sides and the parkway was a little bit disturbing... and I found myself thinking... "This guy is nuts! Well, if I go, I'm going with my shoes on!" And I proceeded to put my clogs back on (which I'd slipped off a few minutes prior).

What I was thinking, exactly, I'm not sure. If we crash, and I die, what difference does footwear make?

Tired. Morning meetings. I'm out. I'll be pondering my footwear the rest of the evening.