Dirty Socks

I was ready to go.

My clothes, including three dresses, enough casual clothes for 5 days, toiletries, and all the other accouterments we ladies need in order to travel with comfort and confidence, including my big ol' camera, were all packed in a small rolling carry-on.

(that is, however, all except for my shoes. In the 11th hour I found out that T had plenty of room in his suitcase. Consequentially, instead of the functional but pretty-darned-ugly pair of shoes that I'd brought that were comfortable and sensible and matched all of my dresses, I got to cram about 8 pairs into his luggage. Yessss!)

I finished up with dinner as T showered, completed packing and brought his bags downstairs. I was, meanwhile, smugly surfing the internet, mentally patting myself on the back for my scheduling ingenuity.

We loaded up and M drove us to the airport. During the 15 minute drive we discussed the trip and the weekend and the weather, and how M's dropping me off at LAX has such a familiar feel (from the years during which I visited her at school out here while myself living in the East).

Having pulled up at the Continental terminal, T popped out of the back seat and began to unload the trunk. I was unbuckling and gathering stuff and checking my purse, and as he looked at me somewhat impatiently and I stretched one foot out of the car, I looked down.

dumdumdummmmmmm

I was wearing flip flops.

This may not seem like a big deal to you, but for me, it was gargantuan.

One of the main themes of the trip rested on me having my sneakers! I'd planned to exercise each day, which is a must when we're out here - for example, at dinner last night I ate more than I ordinarily do in an entire day at home. Exercising while visiting Hazelton is not so much for my waistline as it is for my happiness. The highs and lows given by the caffeine, sugar, and who-knows-what-else have the ability to turn my normal internal state upside down.

Besides, and perhaps more importantly, I have the homeostatic temperature regulation of a lizard. In other words, I'm cold-blooded. I almost freeze my toes off every time I fly, and I foresaw hours of icy discomfort before me on the red-eye trip.

I needed those shoes!

And I'd left them! While I was feeling so proud of being ready on time.

Grrrrrrr.

As I expressed my disappointment (some whining MAY have been involved), M reached into her back seat and magically produced some cute black and pink Nikes.

Life saver!

She explained that these were her jumping shoes, so the socks in them (magic again!) wouldn't be so pretty.

As I pulled them out, I saw what she meant.

Those socks were dirty.

And I don't mean a-smudge-on-the-heels-and-toes-from-walking-around dirty. I mean, streaked-with-clay-colored-dirt-and-dust, yellowing-and-stained-on-even-the-unstreaked-parts dirty.

Understand, M skydives on the weekends. That's why sneakers were in her car (you wear those while jumping, and since Perris Valley Drop Zone is her home away from home, she always keeps a skydive-friendly change of clothes in her car). Also, Perris Valley is a desert, and so it's sandy. Combine that with the force of landing hard from the sky, in said sand, hundreds and hundreds of times, and you get dirty socks.

The actual socks were probably perfectly clean, but would never appear so. Never, ever again.

What did that mean?

Why, that I was horiffically embarassed at the security check, that's what.

What did that mean?

Oh, that I probably drew all the more attention to my ghetto socks because of my embarassment.

Whatevvva. I only kinda cared - T was with me and he doesn't care if my socks are dirty :)

Afterward, we went to the gate, saw that our flight had been delayed for two hours, and had some time to kill. T wrote a song on the spot called People Watchin' at the Airport, but that's for another post.

Happy Friday!

(no whiteboard quotes now, I'm on vacation!)

Holiday Recap Part I

This holiday season was busy, to say the least. Let's get started!

On Christmas eve, M and I, being the progressive and modern girls that we are (progressive & modern = impatient and rule-breaking), decided to exchange presents that night, rather than on Christmas Day.

Fun wrapping-paper-taking-off-while-preserving-it-to-make-curly-ribbons-for-future-presents time. (that's all you, M!) It was fun. And I got some awesome presents. TWO copies of a book I've been wanting for years, and though I'm thankful and all, I'm not exactly sure what to do with the extra one now...it's amazing, so I'll probably regift it. That serves as fair warning to the gift-givers, I think. If they read my blog....oh well, doesn't matter :)

Oh, the book is Ingathering by Zenna Henderson. It's odd, but I looove love it. Makes me cry every time.

The next morning, after I did actually open my Mom's present that had arrived a few days prior - a pink GPS! And I'm not a pink person at all, but not gonna lie, I love it. Albeit the fact that I'm an idiot and stood outside in my tank top pj's freezing while I held it out and waited for it to find satellites...

Note: How odd is that? A little box that, in order for it to work, all you need to do is hold it out so it can see the sky, and forever after, it can always tell where you are and where to go and what time you'll get there and how fast you're currently going and....magic! Just sayin. If you didn't understand how it worked, it would be....

....then, we used the ready-to-go magic GPS (that has since been named Clarissa by T, "because she explains it all" hehehe) to get out to M's jumping family's house by Perris, otherwise known as BFE. Just sayin.

Dinner was delicious and included funny stories and amazing food (thanks Pat!), then off to the airport. M dropped me off, eye mask in hand, the flight was delayed 15 minutes which gave us just enough time to swing by home and pick up my amazing leather gloves that I was mourning having left behind (at the airport I got a text from M saying "you know that it's your fault the plane was late. The Universe didn't want you to have cold hands"...) and onto the plane I went.

What's up with having to pay for even ONE checked bag these days? Robbery. Anyway...

On the plane I wound down, got comfy, pulled my sleep mask down, and...

...directly behind me, a baby starts to fuss.

Not proper crying, just fussing. The type that's not bratty or spoiled, but that means that the little one is really uncomfortable. (No wonder, I thought later as I saw the size of the kid and the fact that the parents expected her to sleep all night on one of their laps in a chair that barely reclines...)

I pulled the mask up. She stopped. Pulled it down, she started.

Sigh.

This went on for just about the ENTIRE six-hour flight into Newark. About 4.5 hours in, as the other people in my row are writhing in discomfort similar to the baby's at this point and I can hear the parents whispering threats to her, I was THIS CLOSE to turning around in my chair and asking if they would mind if I just take her and walk her up and down the center aisle. Heck, at least ONE of us would be more comfortable if both of us had to be awake anyway...

But I didn't.

Finally, we arrived! T came to pick me up at the airport (did I mention how painful my withdrawal had grown at this point? Anything less than several hours a day with him is unacceptable...) and the drive started.

Note #1 here: T is amazing. He had to get up at 4am to come get me. And he was smiling.

Note #2: I saw snow for the first time in 5 years! Very, very excited about that. T was less excited about me leaning all the way into his line of vision to get a good picture...

We stopped at Cracker Barrel for breakfast (a must-do for this Californian when on the much-missed east coast) and I ate my delicious food, took pictures of the weird old family photographs next to my table,

And of my T, across my table (and annoyed that I was taking yet ANOTHER picture..):

Then, we were on our way back to Hazleton, to see the fam. And for the band performance that night. That's for another blog.

Have a great day!