Sunday, August 2, 2015

chef boyar-JFK

wow. it's been a hot minute since mama updated her blog. apologies for the delay! life in NYC sure doesn't leave a gal with a ton of free time. but, after much harassment from some of my goofball coworkers who happened to discover the blog (despite its somewhat NSFW content), i've decided to make my glorious comeback and grace you all with one of my all time favorite ridiculous tales.

one of my girlfriends, lauren, travels a ton for work. (no, this isn't a story about joining the mile high club. surprisingly enough, i actually don't know anyone who's a member. side note: friends. approach me immediately if you've been withholding this very valuable and epic information from me).

anyways. lauren was headed home to san francisco after a two week long journey on the east coast. it'd been a hectic trip: multiple cities. dozens of cranky clients. too many disgusting hotel meals. so you can imagine her frustration upon arriving at the gate at la guardia airport to find her flight home was delayed. after each announcement, her hope plummeted as her departure time was pushed farther and farther away. of course, the only way to stay sane and pass the time was at the airport bar.

so there she was. sipping on her glass of sauvignon blanc cursing the airline gods. among her, were many an airline passenger doing the exact same thing. among them, a guy around her age sipping on a beer. after a few minutes of coyly making eye contact, he struck up a conversation (they say misery loves company. turns out, it also makes for a great pickup line). so they commiserated over their delayed flight, shared their stories of where they're from and what they do (his name was christian. he was a chef working at a restaurant in london. home for a few weeks visiting his family in arizona).

they enjoyed another beverage together. lauren started to think things were looking up! he's a chef for crying out loud. and a cute one at that. there had to have been a reason she met this young man at this moment in time. if anything for the potential of living out her dream: free food and a pen pal across the pond.

but then she heard over the loudspeaker: her flight was canceled.

grumbles erupted around them. frustrated, they threw the last drops of their beverages back, closed their tab and made their way over to the customer service area with the swarm of unhappy airline travelers. at least they weren't alone in the situation. they had alcohol on their side.

after forty minutes of arguing, back and forth, un-booking and rebooking, their flight was miraculously un-canceled and scheduled to leave in 2 hours. with that time to kill, christian suggested they grab a bite to eat. of course lauren complied, excited by the idea of picking a chef's brain over food (and consuming more wine). so they sat. and they ate. and they laughed a ton. and they ended up drinking an entire bottle of wine. lauren was actually having quite a pleasant experience at an airport, which was otherwise unheard of.

but then her phone rang. it was an automated update from the airline. the flight was canceled. again.

so back to the customer service desk they went. accompanied by their white wine buzz. as it turned out, there were no other flights departing that night or the next morning from la guardia. (which isn't surprising. airline travel is so easy and accommodating in the NYC area). they were ultimately both rebooked on flights departing from JFK the next day. they'd have to cab it from la guardia that night and stay at a hotel near JFK airport.

maybe it was the wine talking. maybe it was her apprehensiveness to stay alone in a shady neighborhood. maybe it was how sweet and adorable the chef was. or maybe she just wanted to be featured in my blog. but since her company was paying for the hotel room, she offered him to stay with her. but not before they became facebook friends. so in the instance he did in fact turn out to be an ax murder and chop her into a million pieces, there'd at least be a paper trail.

so off to the hampton inn they went. they checked in. went outside to smoke a cigarette. and made their across the street to the only thing that was open: a gas station bodega to purchase more booze. lauren got a bottle of wine. christian a six pack of beer.

back at the room (which, for the record, had two queen beds. lauren made sure of that. she didn't want to come off like a floosy) they sat in their respective beds and drank their respective beverages. they turned on the tv and watched the movie tremors. because nothing says romance like a kevin bacon thriller while chillin' in a hotel room with a strange man you just met.

the movie ended. the majority of their beverages consumed. an awkward silence overcame the room.

so…, christian said, do you… want to come over here?
that’s your move? lauren slurred. making her way over to his bed.
yeah, I guess so!

well, that was all it took. and there, in that shady hotel room, lauren boned the chef. with one of his foreign condoms straight from london.

her 4 a.m. wakeup call came around much faster than she'd had liked. the pounding wine hangover wasn't doing her any favors either. but she got up, snuck out of the hotel room of shame, and headed home. where she went straight to the office.

after a long day at work (and a burrito to cure the hangover) lauren's roommate picked her up from the office so they could grab some pho for dinner. while in the car, her roommate noticed something.

um, what is that thing on your neck? she asked lauren.
what thing on my neck?! lauren panicked. she'd had her hair up at the office all day.
girl, i think there's a hickey on your neck.

lauren pulled down the visor and looked in the mirror. and sure enough. there it was. in all its red round glory. a hickey right smack in the middle of her neck. in plain sight.

at least she had a damn good story behind it. worth it.

Sunday, August 4, 2013

san francisco: a love letter.

dear san francisco,

five years ago you took me in. with no job and no direction, i started my journey above kitty's nails in the tender nob. i had no idea what i was doing or where i was going, but i trusted you, and was quickly enamored by your beauty, charm and wonderful weirdness. ready to discover a new life after college, i dove right in, and thus our love affair began. 

over the course of our relationship, you guided me and forced me to discover new things. i took risks. i met new people. i had many an interesting encounter with various bums. i opened myself up to a whole new world of opportunity. and, most importantly, i found out who i wanted to be. i never wanted to let you down, and as a result, had the best five years of my life, with the most amazing people, in the most incredible city in the world. 

it was you who introduced me to my love for running. because of you, i was constantly surrounded by a pack of pals who know how to have SO MUCH FUN and who will always have my back. you made me realize a big city can be oh so very small, but that isn't always a bad thing. and finally, you taught me how to trust and believe in myself. 

so, thank you san francisco. for taking a chance on a bright eyed, bushy tailed 22-year-old mess. i'll never take advantage of the important role you played in shaping who i am today, as i am forever grateful. i might be moving on to different things, but you will always have a special place in my heart. stay awesome. stay weird. stay hyphy. 


Friday, June 28, 2013

shiver me tinder.

picture a world in which with just the swipe of a finger, you can judge someone solely based on looks and looks alone. well, ladies and gentlemen, we live in that world. and that superficial world, is tinder.

for those of you still lucky enough to be single (or those shadeballs in a relationship) you've probably heard of the nifty little app by the name of tinder. if you're not familiar with it, you should be. because it's the best and worst thing to ever happen to our generation.

the premise is locating people nearby and surfacing photos, age, shared friends and interests pulled in from facebook. you can then swipe to the left if you're not interested. and to the right if you're diggin' them. if you mutually like each other, congrats! it's a match. and you can message one another within the app interface. and potentially, set up a date. and/or a time and place to get down and dirty. however you decide to roll is your choice. i'm not one to judge.

in case you're still wondering, the average tinder experience goes a little something like this:

- await anxiously as you stare at the flashing blue dot signifying your location while tinder's magical red lines circle about to find out who's nearby.

- giggle in excitement as the first person to pop up is a 19 year old taking a selfie of himself shirtless. 

- swipe to the left and give 'em a big fat NOPE because you've actually decided to go with your better judgement on this one and have actively chosen to avoid dating said 19 year old with a bangin' body.

- next victim. oh, your name is puma? yeah, no. swipe left. 

- the next one catches your eye as a potential match. you're intrigued enough to scroll through his pictures. he's on the top of a mountain. he's in the snow. he's skydiving. yikes. i really like my couch... yeah, sorry sporty spice. to the left.

- finally! you're served up a cutie who actually tickles your fancy. couple mutual friends. couple mutual interests. OK, guy. let's give him a big ol' hell YES and swipe to the right. OMG OMG OMG i got a match! HE LIKES ME BACK! our future children will be so cute! and look at all our shared friends and interests. it's meant to be!! <<3 excruciating days go by>> WHY HASN'T THE LOVE OF MY LIFE MESSAGED ME YET? we could have had at least 5 babies by now!!! ugh. i bet he's a compulsive right-swiper. what an ass. welp, back to the swipe grind i go.

it's quite the emotional roller-coaster. but it's also a great way to feel better about yourself by putting other people down. or, left, i should say.'s also a great outlet to make the biggest little mistake of your life.

enter tanya. tanya travels a lot for work and is frequently by herself in new cities. she was recently on a trip to denver and had a day off. so instead of fumbling around the city solo, she thought it'd be advantageous to hit up some local bros on tinder to show her around town.

an excellent idea... in theory. what tanya didn't realize is the underlying stigma that tinder is more or less the grindr for straight folk. this, was her first problem.

but, there she was. matched and chatting with a bro named mike. he was cute, 30, and a local real estate guru. they befriended each other on facebook, chatted on the phone, and made plans for lunch and a tour of the city. it was 11:30 a.m. and mike said he'd need an hour to go home to get a little more work done before the rest of his friday was free.

tanya waited patiently as the one hour turned into two. mike called apologizing, saying he'd just be another hour. so, that hour went by. after which mike said he'd be just 20 more minutes. but those 20 minutes quickly turned into another 60. tanya was not impressed, as it was almost 3:30 p.m. and she could have been boppin' around exploring the city by herself at this point.

finally, at a quarter to four, mike arrived to take her to "lunch," but not before they ran into his apartment to drop off his work bag.

"this is getting really dumb," tanya thought. "i really don't want to go into this kid's apartment. i better text someone his license plate number. i'm also fucking hungry. i thought we were getting lunch. dear lord, please don't let this man chop me up into a million pieces."

the longer she sat in the car with him, the more she was regretting her decision. all mike could talk about was how much money he makes and how hot his ex-girlfriend was. he also may or may not have had a mandatory breathalyzer in his car as a result of his probation due to a DUI. what a winner.

they went up to his apartment, where he began to show off his $13,000 watch and his new summer wardrobe from j-crew. again, tanya was hardly impressed. oh, and mike also offered her cocaine.

FINALLY it was time for lunch, which tanya hardly even wanted to sit through at this point. he took her to a denver must-eat restaurant which was on her list of to-dos. at least she had something to show for her day. and even though he wouldn't let her order and he ordered for them both (a huge no-no in tanya's book), she did enjoy the food. but most definitely not the company.

it was time to put a stop to this. especially since mike was under the impression they were going to spend the rest of the day/night together and ultimately end up in bed.

tanya had been texting her friend alli throughout these shenanigans, begging to help her to find a way out. alli came up with the perfect plan. as tanya's phone rang, she motioned for mike to shut the f up and pretended it was her boss calling with a deadline (the faux-phone call seems to me a running theme with my friends).

thinking she was in the clear, she asked mike to drive her home after they finished their meal. turns out, that wasn't going to happen, since mike drank a beverage with lunch and couldn't drive (you know, because of his probation and all). he kept trying to persuade her to ignore her boss's request. and after talking in circles about why that just could not happen, he finally agreed to let her leave.

so back to mike's house they went to wait for a cab. and for mike, to do more blow. also, mike's friend tommy happened to show up, whom tanya had the pleasure of meeting. tommy was a 300 pound man wearing barefoot shoes and reeking of B.O. and when asked where he'd been the last few days his response, "you know, dropping acid and taking shrooms. just a normal thursday." 

after about what seemed to be the longest 20 minutes of tanya's life, the cab arrived. mike walked her to the elevator and went in for a kiss. lucky, tanya had recently been taking a lot of kickboxing classes. she knew the bob and weave would come in handy one day! she dodged the kiss of death, and ran out of there as fast as her little feet would allow.

she then unfriended mike on facebook. blocked him on tinder. and refused to answer his calls and texts the rest of the trip.

lesson learned: keep calm and tinder on.

Friday, May 31, 2013

faux-brunch me not.

we've all at some point made poor and impulsive decisions that go against our better judgement. sometimes it works out. but more often than not, we're left with a feeling of regret, a debilitating hangover and/or someone in our bed that most definitely shouldn't be. and as nice as it would be to make people disappear with the wiggle of a nose and the nod of a head, we're instead forced to be a bit more creative.

my friend carly tends to constantly find herself in the aforementioned situation. one time in particular stands out from the rest: the tale of the faux brunch.

last year, carly was dating a guy named dave. things were going well until she realized dave was a severe man-child with a weird mis-shaped head. (sounds superficial, but hey, a gal's gotta have standards). despite the amazing sex, she decided she needed someone who didn't recently purchase a peanut butter and jelly sandwich wallet and ended it after only 4 short months.

a few weeks later, carly awoke on a sunday morning feeling lonely (and suffering from the shakes as a result of binge drinking). it'd been a rough couple nights out, with very little to report back in the man department. she was craving satisfaction, something aside from her slice of 3 a.m. pizza, which didn't quite cut it. she vaguely remembered texting dave the night before. totally a great idea 8 hours prior when she was of complete sound mind and body. and shoving pepperoni pizza in her face.

that's it, she thought, i'm telling him to come over. who cares if he gets drunk and hits on my friends? i have hot friends! that's a compliment. and so what if he wears a baseball cap everywhere. it's doing him more justice than letting his gargantuan noggin roam free. i also really need to work off this piece of pizza. sex > gym, everybody knows that. this would just be helping me in the fitness and wellness department. 

you can guess what happened next: carly whipped out her texting thumbs from their holsters and fired away.

dave was clearly receptive to a sunday morning booty call and shortly thereafter arrived in a cab. clad in a baseball cap, of course. god i hope he keeps that on while we're doing it, she thought. i really don't want to see his head.

unfortunately, she wasn't so lucky. though the sex was decent.

however, after the deed was done, carly rolled over to her side and was horrified by the sight. she was face to face with the PB&J wallet. what the fuck did she just do?! she wanted him to leave on the double. and take his juvenile money vessel with him. (actually, maybe he could leave that behind and she'd do him the favor of burning it). to be completely honest, carly really didn't have plans for the day other than watching the entire first season of homeland. hell, even an entire season of glee would have been better than laying in bed at that point.

when dave got up to use the restroom, carly realized it was time. she had to make a move. so she did the only thing she could think of: texted her friend andrea to stage a faux brunch. andrea, being the most amazing wing woman in all the land, asked no questions. and 2 minutes later, sure enough, carly's phone rang.

carly: hello?
andrea: i'm hungryyyy are you almost here??
carly: oh shit, i completely forgot about brunch!
andrea: i'm soooo hungryyyy. hurry up!!!!
carly: ok fine, i'll be ready in 20 minutes.
andrea: 20 minutes?! k hurry! i'm hungry! 

reluctant to shower on a sunday, but super thankful for her dear gal pal, carly hopped in the shower, thinking dave would be gone by the time she got out. but much to her dismay, he hadn't moved an inch. and thus her dreaded worst fear was upon her: she'd have to wear jeans and makeup on a sunday.

<<enter horrified gasps here>>

so there she was. with clean, brushed hair (and teeth). in an outfit that wasn't her PJs. with a bra. on a sunday.

after what seemed like a dog's age, homeboy finally got the hint and left the premises. carly closed the door behind her and immediately took of her "real" clothes. she got back in her PJs, and enjoyed the rest of her day balls deep in fantasies of officer brody.

does dave know this staged brunch was merely a ploy to get him the hell out of carly's bed? i'm going to guess not. from what she's told me, it seems as though andrea might have a future in acting.

as for dave, he was able to gather both his heinous wallet and baseball cap upon his exit. he's still out there ladies. and if a man offers to buy you a drink out at the bar, and he pulls out a PB&J... run for the hills.

unless it's a real sando. then by all means, go to town.

Sunday, March 31, 2013

i want to love you, BYD.

there comes a time in every sports fan's life when the stars align and they have the cherished opportunity to see their favorite player up close and personal. for me, it was first when i was 10 years old and met vinny del negro at basketball camp. but, more recently, i received a dick pic from a new york yankee.

that's right ladies and gentlemen. an active member of the yankees sexted me his bronx bomber.

it all started with a tweet.

one summer evening, my friend meghan and i made the trek across the bay to a's stadium. our yankees were in town and it was our obligation as west coast fans to show up in blue and stare at jeter's ass.

plenty of beer, nachos and chicken fingers later, the yankees were still losing. so we directed our attention to the pitchers' bullpen, where one particular number 38 caught our eye. of course, we googled the shit out of him. he's a closing pitcher just pulled up from the minors and he was oh so very cute. between his looks at his dirty side arm, we were drooling. swoon town USA. population 2.

disappointed by the yankee loss, but even more so our boy not getting on the mound, we decided to voice our opinion via 140 characters:

one sullen BART ride later and i was in the comfort of my bed, getting ready for an 11 mile training run awaiting in the morning. and just as i was drifting off to sleep i was startled by a buzzing iphone. turns out, our closing pitcher is also pretty social media savvy and started following me on twitter:

there was a bit more back and forth during my run. something along the lines of him wanting me to run to his hotel, as long as i promised not to "take advantage" of him. really, guy.

so many things were flashing through my mind:

am i SERIOUSLY going to go to this yankee's hotel room right now? i really need to finish this run. maybe i'll head over there after? what if i re-routed and ended at his hotel? no... can i really go there sweaty like this? no chance. but... he's a major league baseball player! when does this ever happen? well, for him, probably everyday. what underwear am i wearing? no, i can't bone a yankee.

this internal struggle continued on for the next couple miles. but then, in true mama form, before i could even come to a decision, i was rounding out mile 10.5 and completely ate shit. as in, knee to concrete. i'd completely busted through my fleece lined running pants. blood everywhere. scraped hands. and had definitely become the highlight of about 50 tourists' morning.

needless to say, this put a bit of a damper on my yankee meet up as the rest of my afternoon was spent with hydrogen peroxide and band aids.

the yankees ended up losing yet again (did i mention he threw the pitch to the opposing team's winning run? ouch). i figured i might as well voice my condolences to the yankee through twitter DM. can't hurt, right? might as well keep him on the back burner in the off chance they came back for a playoff game later in the season (le sigh).

the yankee responded, and according to him, i could make him feel better if i sent a picture of me. i'm typically not one to "sext" (as clearly proven on my birthday), so you could imagine my apprehension. but that didn't stop him:

...cute, right?

to save my dear mother's sanity, i will withhold from divulging the actual word for word text exchange that preceded these photos, but it had something to do with him bending me over in the shower. i didn't think people actually spoke this way outside of pornos. but, oh was i mistaken.

this was quickly becoming very much out of my realm of expertise, so i called upon the jedi master of dirty talk: cameron aka daddy. daddy is one of the most sexually in-touch people i know. he's never afraid to be upfront about any and all things sex related (that's including, but not limited to, introducing women to anal beads). i knew he'd know exactly how to respond. 

and thus my sexting apprenticeship began in the form of copying and pasting sexy text messages from one hornball to the next.

apparently it got the job done because the next day, while minding my own business at happy hour, it happened: the dick pic. i'd like to claim this was completely unsolicited, though that's not quite the case. he might have requested a picture of my ass (if you knew the hill i live on and the many a stair in my apartment, you'd want a picture of it too!) in return for a photo of him. and, upon promising to hold up my end of the deal, in addition to never telling or showing anyone his photo (HA!), i was in possession of the BYD. big. yankee. dick. 

nothing could have prepared me for what i had just laid my eyes on. i am still traumatized to this day. i'm not going to claim i'm an expert in dicks (not to be confused with my father, who is a vagina expert), but it was HUGE. and veiny. and almost purple. it made one of my coworkers squeal, giggle and turn hot red (so much for not showing anyone). 

unsure what to do next, i ignored the yankee for a few hours. which did not go over well. apparently it's rude not to complement a dick when presented to you. he was also less than impressed by my lack of photo reciprocation. 

that night, at 1 a.m. (4 a.m. EST), my phone rang. it was him! is this bro for real? waking me up in the middle of the night? our conversation went a little something like this:

me: ...hello?
him: where's my picture?
me: what? it's 1 in the morning.
him: but i sent you my dick!
me: i didn't ask for it!
him: send me a picture.
me: dude, i'm asleep, it's 1 in the morning. i'll send it tomorrow.
him: ok. promise?
me: yep.
him: really?
me: yes. bye.

my method of stalling was starting to wear thin. so i caved. hey, a promise is a promise. i sent him a picture of my ass in a lacy thong (without my face in the photo, obviously, because c'mon - that's just sexting 101). this was finally enough to get the kid off my ass (heh).

you're probably wondering why the photo of this legendary penis is nowhere to be found here. first of all, this is not an outlet for pornographic imagery (and i'm certain my employer would agree). secondly, most of you have probably already seen it. if not from me, then from some other jersey chasing slut (i hear he gets around). but in all honesty, i don't know that professional athletes are really my cup of tea. they seem to be exponentially needier and hornier than i had ever imagined.

although... baseball season is right around the corner. we'll see what kind of trouble i get into this time around.

Monday, March 18, 2013

"star wars got me laid," said no one ever.

...until me. on my the eve of my birthday celebration.

as everyone knows, birthday sex is one of the most coveted experiences in life. it can either make or break what is already a tumultuous day of facing yet another year older. and what better way to cope but mixing two of my favorite things: sex and star wars.

pretty sure those two have never before been in the same sentence.

until now.

back to the night of the birthday party: lots of friends. a plethora of booze. and one very feisty neon boustier that was aching for some action. and thus, at 11:05 p.m. on that saturday night the following literary genius (with he who shall remain anonymous) was formed:

in spite of what it may seem by the address exchange, this lad happens to be a very good friend of mine (in fact, if you'd like to read more about our relationship, you can do so here). i just hadn't had the pleasure of seeing his new place yet. so, i walked up the stairs to an apartment i could only assume was the right one and headed in. i stumbled into the living room, since i had no idea where i was going (the copious amount of booze wasn't working in my favor either), and found his roommate sitting on the couch with an entire pizza to himself (my friends are classy).

after an awkward hello and happy birthday, his roommate pointed me in the right direction.

i knocked on the door. and was welcomed into a room lit by candles and my friend chillin' ever so casually in the middle of his king size bed.

"hellooooo there...."

...and happy birthday to me.

Tuesday, February 5, 2013

hey, i just met you. and this is crazy...

there's an episode of friends (season 5 - for fellow friends obsessed who want a reference point), when rachel tells ross she loves him and then bursts into a fit of laughter. her explanation, however, is freaking fantastic. for those who are unfamiliar, the dialogue goes like this:

rachel: i'm still in love with you, ross.
ross: ...i'm not sure what to do with that right now.
[rachel starts laughing]
ross: was that a joke? because it's mean.
rachel: i'm so dead serious. i'm totally serious.
ross: then why are you laughing?
rachel: because... because i just heard it! and it's ridiculous! i mean, you're married. you're married! and it's like... i had this rachel rising out of my body. and the floating rach... the floating rachel is like 'you are such an idiot!'

i bring this up, not only to demonstrate my love and devotion to this classic sitcom, but because one of my gal pals had a similar 'floating rachel' experience. but it wasn't due to professing her unrequited love in a coffee shop. it actually took place in the parking structure of an airport.

some backstory: rachel was going through a bit of a life shit storm and was in dire need of an escape from reality. she decided a weekend getaway was very much in order and called up her trusty friend tom to tag along with her. given the fact that rachel very rarely takes 'no' for an answer, tom booked their flights. and in one week's time, they were on their way to visit some mutual friends.

the weekend, however, left much to be desired. rachel played wing woman so her hostess could get it in, resulting in rachel sitting on the couch at a random bro's house desperately covering her ears while it was happening. (the noises. terrifying). she was blatantly rejected by a bro at a bar (seriously, he physically shoved her aside). and she discovered (via facebook) her ex-boyfriend was dating someone else (someone super ugly, according to rachel). talk about a couple kicks in the pants.

by the time sunday came around, rachel was more than thrilled to head back home. and tom's friend, matt, had offered to take them to the airport at the end of what rachel could only view as an epic failure of a weekend. however, unbeknownst to rachel, tom had planned a last minute farewell sushi soiree with a handful of his friends. friends who love sake bombs. the last thing rachel wanted to do was rage at a sushi restaurant. but a free ride to the airport was on the line. so... when in rome.

now, rachel had never met matt before dinner. and you could only imagine the sloppy first impression she was making, tossing sake bombs down her gullet as if it were going out of style. but after drinking the restaurant dry, it was time to head home, so rachel wobbled to the car and adam and matt tucked her away in the backseat.

the following series of events are a bit of a blur, seeing as though rachel doesn't quite remember the ride to the airport. she also doesn't have any recollection of dropping tom off at his terminal. and she definitely doesn't recall how she ended up with matt in the backseat of his car parked on the top floor of the airport parking structure...

...but, she can recount her floating rachel experience. of course, the below is my interpretation of her out of body experience, but i believe the inner monologue to have gone something like this:

wait a second... what... am... i... DOING? who is this small persian man on top of me? of course he would be driving a BMW. why is my bra strewn ever so gracefully across the dashboard? wait, am i in an airport parking lot? yep. confirmed: parking lot. does this count as the mile high club?! are such an idiot.

ps: tom can never EVER know about this. 

welp. i can say with confidence the last bit has been thrown out the window. but, at least there's a lesson to be learned from our dear floating rachel... time, take a cab to the airport.