5:45am. I AM FREEZING. Why is it so damn cold? Oh, because I put the fan on high last night because I hoped all that noise would help me sleep in a little longer because when I’m excited I can’t sleep. So I haven’t slept in days. I’m running on about 10 h0urs sleep in three days. I’m not the prettiest sight right now. But, the fan plan (hee!) was not the best, as we’re having some sort of cold snap and now it’s a FREEZER in here. Also, Dumbcat decided to sleep with me because he TOTALLY knows something is up, but he’s ALSO freezing, so he decided to make himself into my Russian fur hat (Wikipedia says that’s called a ushanka, I just call it a Dumbcat hat) so now my allergies have acted up and my eyes are all swollen up and I’m completely congested. DAMMIT DAMMIT.
6:00am. It is amazing to me how many people are awake on Twitter at the moment. It’s 6am on a SUNDAY. Why aren’t you people ASLEEP? Obviously not you people in other time zones. You have a reason. But the rest of you should be in BED. ASLEEP. Good grief. Also, Dumbcat is so excited I’m awake this early on a weekend that he cannot contain himself. His way of showing this is to stand in front of me wherever I walk and then NOT MOVE. So I almost trip and die. I’m starting to think I’m going to not make it to Florida, because I’m going to die of a Dumbcat-induced broken neck. I don’t want to spend my nine days off in traction due to Dumbcat wanting to be glued to my legs.
6:15am. I just ate breakfast and now I have over six hours to wait until I can leave for the airport. I am ANTSY. I keep adding things to my suitcase and my backpack and now I can barely close them. Listen, I’m going to be gone for a week. Who knows what I will need for a week? All the things, is what. And I don’t want to get to Florida and need something that’s all the way in New York. I’m having separation anxiety from my things and I haven’t left yet.
7am. Might as well write a blog post. WANT TO GO TO FLORIDA NOW.
9am-12pm. Watch television. Check watch every five minutes. Sigh like a fancy lady of leisure. This is how I know I would never be good at being incarcerated. Waiting for anything would KILL me.
12:15 pm. Get an email from the library that some of my books are going to be due back while I’m in Florida. Curse at my poor planning. Grab my things and leave the house earlier than planned in order to return them.
12:45-3:15pm. Drive to the airport. Listen to music at unreasonably high levels. See ALL THE PEOPLE pulled over for speeding. Consider not speeding. Realize that not speeding would be like not breathing. Continue to merrily speed.
3:15pm. Get to the exit for the airport. Realize I have never BEEN to this airport. There seem to be signs. Follow the signs. The signs stop. All of a sudden, BAM, THERE IS THE AIRPORT. I feel like there should have been better signage. I wave apologetically at the person who was following behind me for almost causing him to rear-end me (NO NOT A EUPHEMISM) and turn in.
3:30pm. Call Dad as promised. He is FREAKED OUT that I am only two hours and fifteen minutes early for checkin. “Aren’t I supposed to be two hours early?” I ask. “Yes, but you KNOW I always get places at LEAST an hour earlier than they tell me to. I would have BEEN there by now.” I sigh.
3:35 pm. I walk into the airport and am immediately confused by what I’m supposed to do. In front of me is security. So I assume I’m supposed to go through security? I attempt to do so. The very nice man at security tells me I have to get a boarding pass first. Dammit. I already fail airports. I go over to the airline and get my boarding pass, then head back to security. I haven’t been on a plane, as I mentioned, in 12 years. This security thing boggles the mind. And also makes me sad. Seeing grownups take off their shoes and stand in an x-ray machine in a weird stance just to get on a plane made me mad at the terrorists all over again. HOWEVER, I had been prepared for all the hoopla and people pulling crap all willy-nilly out of my luggage and being questioned in a small room by very loud people and none of that happened. I think because I was grinning like a moron because I was so excited about my vacation.
3:50pm. I can’t figure out where I’m supposed to wait for my plane. The problem seems to be that none of the signs in this airport are in English. Yes, the airport is in the States. But it’s close to the border. And almost everyone here is Canadian. Luckily, I have 5 years of high school French and two years of college French under my belt, so “pour les avions Allegiant, allons-y” with an arrow pointing up some stairs wasn’t the most confusing thing ever. However, I did overthink it and wonder, is this only for French people? Why isn’t the sign in English, too?
4pm -5pm. I waited and waited and waited. Everyone in the waiting room spoke French. The children spoke French. The adults spoke French. I felt like I was in a foreign land. I looked for my cousin I was supposed to find, but no luck. There were a lot of people there and I hadn’t seen him in twenty years. I didn’t know what he looked like now. I just gave up. Twitter kept me entertained. Also, I had a new Stephen King book. And a crappy MP3 player that I can’t figure out how to reload with music so it has the same songs I loaded five years ago. All is well. Ready to be there already, but all is well. MAN is this a long day.
5pm. My mom’s plane lands so I meet her at her gate, which is also my gate, to say hi. She asks if I’ve gone to the bathroom. I reply that I am almost forty, and am pretty good at knowing when I have to pee. A woman comes over and says hi to us. It is my cousin’s wife. Apparently, they’ve known where I was THE WHOLE TIME but didn’t say hi. Why do you hate me, cousins? So I didn’t even get to do my good and funny trick of pretending to be a nefarious ne’er-do-well. Also, my dad told me when looking for my cousin, to look for a tall, handsome man with a gorgeous wife and two little kids. My cousin is my height, extremely average-looking, his wife is pretty enough, and his kids might be young, but they’re tall enough they’d never pass for little. It’s like his family was undercover as another family. FAIL. (Also, I apparently am old, because my cousin’s only a couple years older than I am, and he looks old. Dammit.)
5:30pm. The plane starts boarding. The guy boarding the plane apparently took lessons from these people:
He was the WORST. He kept saying these passive-aggressive inside-jokey things over the intercom, like “If you are old enough to HOLD a boarding pass, PLEASE DO. Thank youuuuu” and then he and the other guy working the gate would giggle like trolls. I hated him the most. Sir, if your life is so sad that the highlight of it is being a jackhole at the loading gate of an airline, please reevaluate. Thanks ever so.
5:45pm-8:45pm. Flying isn’t really the worst thing ever. I got a row all to myself and just read and listened to music until it was over. Easy as pie. There were some weird soccer players sitting next to me who were super-loud, but I just ignored them. When the flight took off, one of them refused to sit. My cousin, who is apparently a big deal cop now, turned around and in his big-deal-cop voice, was all, “YOU NEED TO BE SITTING NOW” and that guy popped into his seat like a chastened child. I giggled. It was impressive. Also, is it a thing that there is never free food or beverage service on a plane anymore? Since when? The cart went by twice and you had to PAY for food and drinks. I mean, I brought my own because I’m cheap but it seemed weird. It was like $5 for a bag of Ritz Bits and some M&Ms or whatever. Or $7 for a mixed drink the size of my thumb. No, thanks.
8:45pm. We land. I call my Dad, as requested. “WHERE ARE YOU,” he asked. I tell him Albuquerque. He is not amused. He is waiting for me when I get to the bottom of the TALLEST ESCALATOR KNOWN TO MAN ZOMG. By the way, I hate escalators, I think they’re going to eat my feet.
8:45pm-9:25pm. We drive back to the condo. Dad drives SLOOOWWWW. We get caught in a drag race with a monster truck and a car. The monster truck has a dead deer painted on the side. A little way up the road, the monster truck is pulled off the side of the road and smells like burning death. Dad says the clutch burned out. That makes me laugh.
NOW I AM HERE.
The condo is lovely. Last night when I got here, I went to the ocean and put my feet in and giggled like a child. Here is the view from the balcony this morning:
This is the view from my balcony. The ocean says hi, Twitter! twitter.com/lucysfootball/…
— Amy (@lucysfootball) April 30, 2012
I am attempting to teach Dad that the internet is non-scary. So far I have shown him photos of some of my people. To each of them, he said, “Killer.” This is not the best experiment, but I am undaunted.
Today we are going to WALMART. You know. As you do. On vacation.
More excitement soon!