Fate is stubborn

It seems like every time I have to catch a flight, something happens either at security, baggage check, or elsewhere that delays me and makes me almost miss my flight. I hate the feeling of being rushed in the airport, as the possibility of missing a flight and potentially blowing a lot of money is very stressful. Consequently, when I was in Chicago for a political science conference earlier this week, I decided to play it on the cautious side and leave for the airport three hours early. On arriving at the airport, I stretched my legs out and relaxed for about half an hour, feeling relaxed about the fact that, for the first time in a very long time, I was sitting in the terminal with plenty of time to catch my flight.

I noticed that American Airlines did not have any kiosks nearby, so I approached a Delta airlines employee about information on how I could check in. After showing her my ticket, she gave me a confused look and informed me that I was at the wrong airport.

Shoot.

I ran with all of my luggage to the train terminal, where I took a train back into the center of Chicago, switched lines, and took the route to the correct airport. I made it to my terminal with about ten minutes to spare. So, the moral of the story is: when you are in a large city that could plausibly have multiple airports, you do not necessarily take the subway line that leads to a picture of a little yellow plane at the end.

dream come true

Ooops! I accidentally published my last post too soon and didn't realize it. Here is the 2nd part to that post:
Anyway, I might as well make it known that since I was a child, I've loved seeing couples where the woman was taller than the man. It seems a telling sign of a man (and woman) who refused to accept the ridiculous gender norms of our society. I am pleased that Stephen and I now qualify to be such a couple.
Guess who else is growing in their old age?
Yup, Kumquat. He's just a little string bean that fellow. When our doctor said we could give him solids, I got pretty excited thinking of all the fat rolls that would be the result of the avocado I would mash up, but it turns out he can't even get good tasting fruit and peaches to the back of his mouth. I guess we'll have to put those fat rolls on hold.

Update on us:
I'm done grading papers and Stephen is done with finals!
Our landlord won the biggest loser contest. He may or may not have taken something that would make him a frequent visitor of the restroom. (He would have won anyway.)
Chistian got his immunizations today (a month late) and has had a bad day since.
I'm wiriting this post without contacts, so forgive me if it has errors.
I hurt my back a week ago and have been standing up much straighter since.
Here's one of my favorites of our getting fatter and fatter Kumquat:

Did I ever mention that mother instincts totally skipped me?

A more recent picture of our little fellow:

For the longest time, I've been wondering why everyone has been lying to me about their height, or have been simply measuring their height in their mother's high heels. Today a nurse measured me and I was not 6'1 as I had been told for the past 5 years of my life, but 6'3 (Granted she was much shorter than I was and asked me afterwards if that was correct, but hey who am I to question standard U.S. measurement system?)
I've thought since before I even started dating Stephen and he was simply "plaid shirt boy" that I was taller than him. It wasn't until we started dating that other people had us stand back to back and said we were the same that I started doubting my guessing-height instinct.

with his daddy

I beat anorexia

I decided after my mission in Spain that, at some point in my life, I wanted to go 48 hours without food. I figured that this was the closest that I could come to experiencing what so many others have experienced without dealing harm to my body. Lately, I've also been in a competition with "the landlord" to see who can lose the most weight in a four-month period. So, this weekend I designated Friday 4:30-Sunday 4:30 as my no-calorie time (Rachel won't let me call it a fast for such an unworthy purpose). A few observations:

The main inconvenience during the first 24 hours is the hunger and desire for food. The second 24 hours, the main culprit is lethardy and weakness. My desire for food did not increase (it might have even decreased a little bit). Additionally, the hunger pains increased only marginally.

The lethargy from hunger near the end of the 48 hours is similar to what you feel after a hard day's work on no sleep (my trip up King's Peak elicited a comparable feeling) only it's less soporific.

The second 24 hours, a set of weird (but minor) symptoms kick in. For me they included light headedness, irritible legs, and sensitive eardrums.

At the end of fast Sunday, the impulse to gorge is high, and afterwards a peaceful, content feeling comes over me as a lie sprawled out on a coach. Not so with the 48-hour fast. After gorging, the sudden rush of food in a stomach not used to it, while it feels good, comes with its own litany of symptoms. While it's better than not having food in the stomach, it comes with its own unique sense of uneasiness uncomfort.

Diminishing returns applies to crash weight loss. The first 24 hours I lost 5 lbs, and the second I lost 4 lbs. (and that was with cutting out water for the last 15 hours).

Overall, I'm glad that I had the experience, but I will never do it again.