Panic.

(written on 10 August 2006)

Woke up today to the friendly neighborhood sounds of "Terror Alert: Orange. Prohibited from bringing liquids onto aircraft."

What fresh hell is this?

Apparently there was a "terrorist plot foiled" and so many taken into custody and Oh My God Egyptians are missing in this country (this was a conversation I listened to on the parking shuttle to the airport)! And lines at the airport are reaching out the doors! And every carry-on inspected! And Chertoff has never looked so spooked!

Uh. Huh.

Trying really hard to not be self-absorbed and think "But I've got a plane to catch!" (whine, whine, whine).

And driving to the airport, there was some panic, some anxiety that yes, I was not meant to be on the beach, baking my epidermis to a wrinkly brown.

But then when I got through security in 20 minutes, no one even unzipped my bags, I was a little outraged. Thinking "I bet I could have smuggled my conditioner on board," badass that I am. I waited for my plane for ninety minutes. I'd like to say it's because I look so disarming that I wasn't searched, but, honestly, no one was being searched.

Bwah. Terror alert.

I would be less sanguine if my bags had been popped and they had taken my cost-the-earth Armani lipsticks (so perfect. Worth it.).

Or the Bobbi brown one that's constantly sold out and when I blot it, it makes my lips look soft and rosy and when I leave it at full-strength, my lips look like they will commit crimes in the near future.

So, you know, grateful for the lack of hassle, but let down.

So what have we learned today?

That I am totally self-absorbed and easily panicked. That's not really a lesson learned, but probably more of a confirmation.

(Also, I saw the tallest man I have ever seen in real life with surprisingly small feet. That's just mean.)