If I had live blogged my trip to airport this morning, it would've read something like this:

[For the busiest/most impatient of my dedicated readers, the really exciting stuff starts around 5:43am.]

5:10am – Wakey wakey, eggs and bac-ey!

5:18am – Ok, if I put the two makeup cases in my suitcase it makes the carry-on too fat for the overheard storage bins. But if I put the two makeup cases in my purse, they make the purse super wide and unwieldy. Even if I wanted to abandon one, I’d have to go through each of them individually and reorganize what to take and what to leave and who has time for that? When did I become the type of girl that can't fit all her makeup into one damn case? Wait, where did my cute new hat go? I really wanted to take that hat! It’s actually cool, and I like looking cool when confronted with high school classmates. Oh, hey, if I shift my boots this way then there’s more room for the makeup cases…

5:25am – Alright, need to leave in 2 minutes, everything’s good. I’m dressed, deodored, my suitcase is shut (and of the appropriate storable size), boots are on (should I really take the brown ones? I’m wearing a black cuddly sweatshirt for the flight… do they look stupid together? Well, I should take them, they’re the only cute brown winter shoes I have, really. Oh, and this way I can take my green skirt! Ugh, I hate myself…), computer in bag, iPod charged… sweet!

5:34am – Where the hell is that hat? At this point I’m more concerned that I’ve lost it altogether than I am about bringing it. Last seen on my head on the way home from work last night. Hmm, not on the table or the kitchen counter. Oh I ordered Indian last night. But I wasn’t wearing the hat when it came. What if it’s in the trash can? Checking the trash can… why would it be in the trash can?? Oh god, late now, forget the stupid hat! It’s too trendy anyway, you hate that.

5:37am – Great, out the door. Didn’t slip on the stairs, that was good. Leaving the building, I’m surprised by a woman who’s walking super close the fence outside my apartment building. She’s clinging to it and warns me that the sidewalk is super slippery. She’s pretty right. Basically the entirety of Brooklyn is covered in a minuscule, invisible, but absolutely effective layer of ice. Oh yeah, and those brown boots I insisted on wearing? No traction. At all.

5:38am – Reach my corner; contemplate going into the WaMu to put on better walking shoes. Abandon idea… only other shoes I brought are heals and my Vans, which aren’t that much better in traction terms. Girls are dumb. Girls who wear Vans are worse.

5:43am – Woman starts yelling for help across the street. Uh oh. Stupidly respond to pleas for assistance from what appears to be a crazy bag lady. “But it’s Christmas Eve, you have to help her.” “But she’s a crazy bag lady, and I’m running a bit behind schedule.” “You might be a bag lady one day.” “Yeah, and I’ll have the good sense not to be outside in the winter at 5am; that’s no condition for… wandering around with bags.” “Well that’s irrelevant anyway, you’ve responded to her. You’re engaged now; you know you’ll feel way awkward if you ignore her.” “Fuckity.”

5:44am – Help crazy bag lady walk a few blocks on the ice mass that is Brooklyn, NY after she is nearly hit by a van (as people who are standing in the middle of the street making no attempt to move out of the path of oncoming traffic might expect to be, but logic is apparently totally irrelevant in the real world). Learn that crazy bag lady is not actually a crazy bag lady, but is in fact a 55-year-old woman who is being driven crazy by her mother who lives with her and hoards things. She tells me she was out this morning to throw some of those hoarded things away, since this is the only hour she can get away with such actions. I don’t feel the need to ask the crazy lady why a simple action like throwing something away would require walking any more than a few steps away from ones apartment, thus necessitating assistance on the several blocks slide home. I’m just happy she feels the urge to get breakfast now; because that’s normal.

5:54am – Finally arrive at subway station… wanted to be here at 5:45am latest so I could catch the 6:30am bus to Newark. Oh well, the train will probably be here soon.

6:10am – Train arrives. Lazy jerk. Sit next to lots of guys who look like they work in construction or some other industry that actually requires labor whilst at work. The smell of sawdust and/or dried concrete powder permeates the subway car. Think about how I probably get paid more for far less real work. Feel guilty. World kinda sucks and is unjust and stuff. Oooh, “Jump” comes on the iPod.

6:35am – Emerge from the subway depressingly close (but just too late) to the bus’s scheduled departure time. Do some mental calculations… “if you catch the 7am bus, you’ll be cutting it close but you should be at Newark by 7:30ish, and that’ll give you like half an hour to get through security and get to the gate for boarding, which should start around 7:55.” Cool.

7:12am – WHERE IS THE BUS?

7:17am – Ok, everything is fine… I’ll only have about 10 minutes to get through security, but it’s fine. Everyone’s on the bus, we’re on the way. We’re even hitting the lights pretty nicely.

7:45am – OH MY GOD WHY ARE WE STILL IN MANHATTAN? We have been stuck at the same intersection for almost 20 minutes and the driver WILL NOT think about an alternate route EVEN THOUGH WE CAN SEE A RAMP OF BUSES MOVING DECENTLY 50 YARDS AWAY. Finally a couple passive aggressive women bitch and moan enough for the driver to UM, DO HER JOB AND DRIVE. Y’know, that whole way with dealing with life typically annoys me, but it gets shit done. I can’t believe I'm gonna miss Christmas because I stopped to help that crazy bag lady. Stupid.

7:55am – On the phone with Dad, like 13 Delta agents and getting a little hysterical about how I’m going to be calm no matter what. My flight is boarding now and we’re still 30 minutes from Newark. Delta says there are no seats available on any flights out of Newark today and I’ll have to go tomorrow morning instead. I ask if they can check other airlines; they claim they can’t but I know they used to. Assholes. Dad finds out there’s a flight going out of LaGuardia at 4pm. Call Delta back and reserve a spot on that flight since I’ve probably missed mine. They tell me to call back when I’m sure the flight has left Newark so they can edit my reservation. Because I, on the bus, have access to Delta flight information and can tell when the flight has left. OH WAIT, I’M A PERSON, THEY’RE DELTA AND HAVE ACCESS TO THAT SORT OF INFORMATION.

8:25am – Arrive at Newark Airport, Terminal B. Thank the driver when she unloads my bag from under the bus. Feel pretty good about myself for being polite since she’s the reason (along with my good samaritan-ness) I’ve missed my plane and not might make it back home for Christmas. Feel defeated by life, and think karma is a sham.

8:26am – Enter terminal and look for departure screen to verify that the plane has departed so I can confirm my new flight. Flight #847 to Atlanta… BOARDING! Look around frantically for some Delta rep to let them know I’m here and that I’m coming and that I will do all sorts of degrading things if they’ll just please please please hold the plane. Only 2 Delta people are around and they’re both helping people… there’s a line… I could maybe cut in front and just ask what I should do… it’s the holidays, which means people will either be generous and ok with that or be totally stressed out and will yell at me and make me cry… shuffle back and forth, confused… accidentally get in the AirFrance line… start running towards Security (which I’m sure is a smart thing to do in a period of heightened alert).

8:28am – The guy who checks your ID and Boarding Pass is taking LITERALLY FOREVER with some foreign family. Let them through! They’re a nice family of 7! They’re from Europe! Two of them are old! Dah!

8:35am – Make it through Security and sprint towards the gate, sans shoes. Think fleetingly about how I could compare myself to Shoeless Joe Jackson, then realize that I'm basing that comparison solely on the commonality of being shoeless; consider reading up a little more on baseball, but conclude that I really don't care enough to bother. First automatic sidewalk is broken. Second one works. Hop on and continue running. Scare young child on end of sidewalk… she was keeping 20 feet back from her mom, as kids do sometimes… only then she sees a crazy lady sprinting towards her (still no shoes)... desire for independence crushed, she rushes to her mother's side. Oh well, I’m teaching her to not wander too far. This is Jersey. Shit’s dangerous. Good life lesson.

8:37am – Arrive at gate with another dude who is equally late. We are both overjoyed to learn that the pilots are stuck in traffic on the way from Manhattan (surprise!)… planes can’t leave without them!

9:12am – Did I brush my teeth?