June 12
 
 

 
 
 

Since I'm leaving tomorrow, I wanted to write an entry so that I didn't leave you all sad and Dana-less for a week. (or forever, if my plane is shot out of the sky or overrun by frogmen.  [Now that I've written that, if something did happen, feel free to say to yourself "isn't it ironic, don't cha think?", then, take a sip of your flyless chardonnay, nod thoughtfully and conclude "A little too ironic, and yeah I really DO think"  Or, just laugh at me for being a dumbass. Like I care, either way]) Since I'm really not so much afraid to fly anymore--a good thing for all involved considering the weeping I used to do on takeoff--I don't feel the need to hit the bar the very MOMENT we arrive at the airport.  I might wait a whole 10 minutes or so.  Oh, come on.  You would too.  You WOULD.  Airport bars are fun!

I am not even remotely packed.  Part of the fun of going away, to me at least, is the last minute pack.  The last minute pack is entirely different from the last SECOND pack--the one where you're stuffing underwear into a plastic bag on your way out the door.  This may come as no surprise to you all, but I am a notorious over-packer.  I pack stupid things, though and not practical stuff, like underwear or a second bra.  (True story:  In about 1987 or so, my mom and I went to Disney World.  I like roller coasters, she does not.  I wanted Space Mountain.  She didn't, so, I waited on line, blab blah blah, got on, and somewhere up at the top of a big old hill, my bra broke.  It just snapped.  Was it my giant bra busting boobs?  Flimsy brasierre construction?  I can not say.  All I know is that I was there, on the ride trying frantically to reattach the strap which is not easy to do ON A MOVING ROLLERCOASTER.  I was half hanging on, and half digging in my shirt, with one tit all flopping around.  I'm not sure that you know this, but because Space Mountain is inclosed, there are video cameras everywhere, so that in case it breaks down, the Disney cogs will know just where the problem is.  When I realized that it was futile, that there was no way I was ever going to make it happen, I gave up and clutched my boob tenderly, so that there was no bouncing at the speed of sound or whatever [I'm sure Space Mountain isn't quite THAT fast, but take you out your privates while you're sittng there , and see how fast it seems to you.]  When the ride finally came to a full and complete stop and I stepped off, I was pretty sure I was getting some strange looks by the Disney Monitor Cogs.  Bare boob on Space Mountain?!  Scandal!  I did not get arrested, and hastened to the bathroom to try and reign
'em in.  Sadly, I spent the rest of the vacation with a bra TIED BACK TOGETHER.  Why?  Because I only packed one.  My inane packing skills on that particular trip gave me like 15 pairs of socks and only ONE BRA.)

My overpacking is the stuff of legends.  Last year, when we returned from California, my bag was SO HEAVY, the strap actually broke off, and I had to stagger sadly through the Laguardia parking lot like a little kid:  "Seriously, wait up, guys!  Ow! OW!  I have no circulation in my hand!"  When my mom and I went to Mexico, no one told me I wouldn't need to pack jeans, so, you know, if you have jeans, why not a sweater?  If a sweater, why not some sneakers?  If I'm bringing sneakers, why not some workout clothes? (I did use the hotel gym, once.  The airconditioning was sketchy at best, and it was way too humid and I'm a giant fat chick and the buffet was calling me and there was a weird grunting guy there, and all of the instructions on the machines were in Spanish.  Excuses?  Take your pick.)  If workout clothes, why not bottled water?  My reasons for packing and overpacking are myriad.

After the bag broke, I went off and bought another.  Yellow and black, wheeled.  WHEELED!!  Note to the overpacker, looking to buy a bag:  a floppy Jeep bag, despite being cool and yellow and having wheels will NOT, NOT make it easier to carry.  The floppy jeep bag will flop around however it wants, reducing everything inside to a wrinkly, smelly pile.  On the plus side, if you don't wear clothes that wrinkle you won't need to pack an iron.
 

Catch you all on the flipside.
 
 

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