June 15
Well, hi! I'm back from my two trips, filled with vim and vigor and dare I say GLEE, even, to be back at work. I'm going to try and give you a rundown of each of them, but to be honest with you they both seem like they happened a million years ago, even though last week at this very moment I was laying out on the beach (well, no--not the beach, the deck--more about that in a bit) with a book and a glass of ice water. Anyhow, here's my vacation:
PART ONE: MYRTLE BEACH
a: Hartford-Philly:
My trip to the airport in Hartford was about an uneventful as a 35 minute drive can be. Once I got there, I went through the normal checkin business, went to the bathroom and made my way to the gate. There, two things happened:
1.) Announcement was made over the airport loudspeaker: "To the person who left the hamster in the women's bathroom, please go get it. Again, hamster in a box in the women's bathroom, please get it!" Much giggling resulted, and not just from me.
2.) Announcement was made at the gate: "To the passengers on flight WHATEVER WHATEVER to Philadelphia, we have X many seats available in first class, and we'd be happy to upgrade you for a small fee. Please see us if you're interested".
I hesitated for about a minute and then decided that it was extremely likely that I would never ever ever again have the opportunity to fly first class unless I fulfil my not-so-secret dream of hooking up with Snoop Dogg. As I boarded the plane and sat myself in my TREMENDOUS leather seat and was offered food and beverages, I realized that perhaps forking out 50 dollars for a 40 minute flight was not the smartest thing in the world to do, but whatever. I can now say I've flown first class. Plus, I got to give the stink eye to all the ghetto people in coach for fouling my fancy space with their CARRY ON luggage and SCREAMING KIDS. I was snotty about it. I flourished my drink with what I thought was a very ritzy look and attempted to appear ENRAPTURED about sitting at the front of the plane. I sincerely doubt anyone noticed.b: Philly to Myrtle Beach
I wandered around in the airport there looking for shit to buy. I decided that nothing would be better than for me to purchase the cheesiest postcards I could possibly find in every state I happened to visit. I got a cup of coffee, looked at some ugly sculptures of famous people which may or may not have been made from human turds and boarded my next plane.
Things to know:
1. Don't trust Travelocity. They have no idea what type of plane you'll be flying on and as such, your window seat will end up being the MIDDLE seat on a completely full aircraft.
2. If you find yourself situated between two people, one will fall fast asleep, the other will be terrified to fly. She will be the kind of person who clutches the armrest at the slightest amount of turbulence and suck in her breath dramatically when there's even the HINT of an altitude change.
3. I struck up a conversation with the terrified to fly woman who gave me the skinny on Myrtle Beach. Highlights included:
a. "Don't leave your purse sitting on the beach, there are transient people there!!"
b. "Make sure you lock your hotel door, because people will sneak in and steal your stuff!!!"
c. "Southerners don't like Yankees. You may not know it by the way they talk to you, but they just DON'T."
d. "People claim there are no alligators, but THERE ARE."The airport in Myrtle Beach was a lot like the airport in Cancun, minus the opressive smell of sausage and the moustacioed, machine gun wielding police. It was just as warm, just as small and just as unclean. I was happily amazed to see that my bag had arrived along with me, even WITH the plane change and I set off to get a cab to the hotel. (Nick was DRIVING to South Carolina and we were going to meet at the hoteel. Long story...)
The Myrtle Beach Hilton:
Sounds kind of fancy, right? I mean, HILTON! Who has ever heard of a dumpy Hilton? The Myrtle Beach Hilton is surrounded by BEAUTIFUL lush gardens with flowers and palm trees and tennis courts, across the streeet from a beautiful golf course. The outside is lovely. The inside is damp and smelly and not completely clean, but it's a beach hotel. It's a resort. Who cares? Nick gets there about a half hour after I, and we check in. Our room is generic. It faces the Atlantic Ocean. The beach is dotted with chairs and umbrellas. I am itching to get out there and begin my skin cancer process, but it's a little cloudy and Nick and I are starving.
I won't give you a blow by blow of what we did the whole time, but Nick went to seminars and I went to the beach--oh--here's the beach story!
Sunday morning, Nick went off to class and I gathered my beach stuff (sun screen, towel, book) and headed off the deck to the porch leading to the beach. There are chairs all over the place, so I choose one and sit myself down. About 15 minutes later, I am approached by a lifeguard who tells me that the chairs are not freely offered as a kindness from the hotel, but rented from the city of Myrtle Beach at the cost of $25 a day. I collect my shit and retreat to the porch under the bar, by the pool. For 25 dollars, I can BUY myself FIVE chairs at the local 10 T Shirts for 10 DOLLARS store. That's a lot of money for an uncomfortable wooden chair.
I spend the next 5 hours sprawled out in a sun coma, text messaging people ("GUESS WHAT I'M DOING!!!"). I spend the next three days almost in the exact same position, getting up only when it clouds over or it's time for Nick to get back. We eat a lot. I have grits for the first time ever. I take several dips in the pool. People come over to me repeatedly and say (and you have to imagine it in a very Southern accent) "Girl, you've got to put some sunscreen on--you're getting BURNED"
I feel that a burn is the sign of a successful vacation, but I will regret that about 20 minutes after I get back to Connecticut.
On my last day, Nick drops me at the airport VERY early (he needed to start driving back and the weather was looking very horrible) and I spend the next 5.5 hours sitting on the floor of the EXTREMELY dirty Myrtle Beach airport. In case you're wondering, it's infested with ants.
While I'm sitting around, I get a phonecall from US Air letting me know that my next flight, the one from Charlotte, North Carolina to Hartford is delayed by two hours. Also, the plane I was supposed to be boarding in Myrtle Beach arrives late, so it was sort of a mad dash for them to load the plane and get us the hell out of there as quickly as possible.
It's important to know that while we were in MB, one night Nick was off at a seminar and I was watching TV and the show that was on was entitled something like "THE 6 MOST HORRIFIC PLANE CRASHES EVER KNOWN TO MANKIND!!!!" Remember the Alaska Air crash? Did you know that once they knew the plane was going to crash the pilots spent about 25 minutes struggling to keep the plane horizontal? And it kept DIVING and leveling out? And then INVERTING and diving and leveling out? And that the last 90 seconds of the flight were spent in a spiralling dive into the ocean. Think about THAT shit. A FREE FALL SPIRALLING DIVE FROM 30,000 FEET!!!!!!!!! They hit the water so hard, the plane basically broke into a jillion tiny pieces on impact.
Nick walked into the room to find me in bed with the covers sort of clutched up around my neck. We watched the next HORRIFIC PLANE CRASH (seriously, it was like 6 hours of plane crashes ALL IN A ROW!) and called it a night. The next morning, there was a USA Today at the door. On the front cover? Something else about horrific plane crashes. SERIOUSLY, people! I don't ASK for that shit to happen, IT JUST DOES. Nick was like "Hah, look! More plane crashes. They seem to follow you!")
Myrtle Beach to Charlotte:
Boring flight. CRANKY flight attendants (note: There was not ONE FRIENDLY flight attendent on any plane I took. They were downright NASTY)
Charlotte to Hartford:
Since Dead President Reagan's goodbye ceremony delayed ALL the northbound flights, I had THREE hours of extra time between flights instead of one. The Charlotte airport is fairly large and filled with stores, so I wandered around (and bought a postcard, of course) ate some food, called some people, read some books, drank some coffee and deflected the amorous advances of some horny airport employee. Finally, at 10:00 we boarded, there was an empty seat between me and the other guy in my row, so I was unsure why he was shooting me the snotty looks all the way to Connecticut, but he was.
That was my first trip. I got home at about 2:20 Thursday morning, unpacked and then repacked for the trip to Ohio on Friday. I had to pick up my grandparents at their house at 5:30 Friday morning for our drive to Laguardia. The drive was uneventful, save for Angelo not having any idea where we were going, why we were going and who were were going to see. Yeah, things aren't great with him. Here's the Ohio rundown:
Ohio, Day 1:
1. We arrive in Columbus. My uncle picks us up, and we start our drive to the hotel. We stop at a Johnny Rockets for lunch. Grossest onion rings EVER. Gah.
2. Arrive at the hotel, a courtyard Mariott overlooking Route 612 complete with traffic noise in the back and a MacDonalds in the front. There is an indoor pool crawling with scabby looking children. I have 6 cups of their free coffee.
3. My mother and I unpack in our room. Angelo and Eleanor are next door.
4. A few hours pass and we change our clothes for the Rehersal Dinner, which we can't quite figure out why we've been invited to, seeing as none of us are IN the wedding.
5. We drive to a really cute town near the chapel on the campus Megan (and her fiancee) attended and are getting married at the next day (that was the worst sentence I have EVER WRITTEN. Wow!). The town is trying extremely hard to be New England, but it isn't. It makes me a little homesick.
6. Rehersal dinner! We sit through a bunch of toasts, I greet my cousins with weepy joy, it becomes screamingly obvious that Angelo has no idea who Megan OR Susan are.
7. Out to the bars AFTER rehersal dinner. Did I call you from a bar bathroom in Ohio? No? Then you are not too special, son. I decide NOT to attempt to get back to my hotel, instead I crash on the floor of Megan's hotel room. I sleep under a sleeping bag in a room full of hot chicks.
Day Two:
8. I take Megan's car and drive myself back to the hotel. I smell like vodka and cigarettes from the bars we went to, and walk into the lobby of the hotel to find my whole family along with Megan's other cousins, aunts, uncles and whatever sitting there eating breakfast. I was pretty.
9. We retreat back to the room. I take a 2 hour nap and hop into the shower. I get dressed.
10. The wedding was lovely. Megan looked like a doll. I cried like a moron the entire time. My question is this: How did she wind up with SEVEN hot, blonde bridesmaids and SEVEN hot groomsmen? HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE?!!!? They were all hot and blonde and skinny.
11. The reception was typical--at a far off country club. Bland food, sort of lame music. My cousin Susan gave a really sweet speech that got me all boo-hooey again.
12. I was responsible for Angelo and Eleanor's well being. We ate our dinner, did a little talking and I drove us all back to the hotel at about 8:00. My mom stayed on, because she was revved to dance. Apparently, everyone got ripping drunk. I watched Bridget Jones' Diary and fell asleep.
13. I am awakened the next morning at SEVEN by the dulcet tones of my mother using a blow dryer. I scream "MAYBE YOU WOULD BE LESS CRANKY ALL THE TIME IF YOU SLEPT A LITTLE LATER" and try to go back to sleep. Three seconds later, my grandmother knocks on the door. Again, I scream: "BOTH OF YOU WOULD BE A LOT HAPPIER IF YOU SLEPT PAST 6!!!!!!" Sleep is impossible at this point. Mind you, our flight is not until 12:30.
14. We go down for breakfast. Chaos rules because my aunt and uncle are trying to gather the gifts Megan and Jay (her new husband) got the night before. Here's a question: if people register ONLINE for gifts, why not mail them directly to the address? Why LUG that shit all the way to the ceremony?? WHY DO THAT????
15. At 10:15 we leave for the airport. We stand on TREMENDOUS line, learn our flight is being delayed for an hour, kiss Helen and David goodbye and settle in at our gate.
16. This is where I admit that I am an ugly, racist American. If you don't want to think less of me, skip ahead. I'm warning you. Okay. There was a guy of middle eastern descent at the gate. He was acting like a total spazz. He kept checking his watch and leaping up and fidgeting and whispering into a phone. He harrassed the woman at the gate door no less than 8 times. I could not stop sizing him up and thinking "if he has no accomplices, I can take him. He's little!!" He had a mess of carry on luggage, all of it tattered and dirty looking. I KNOW. I am a bad person.
17. Have you ever flown into LaGuardia airport? If not, you're missing one of the most dramatic landings ANYWHERE. You basically fly OVER Manhattan, over Brooklyn, over the Bronx and then over a sort of large body of water on your descent. At about 15 feet from the ground, YOU ARE STILL OVER THE WATER. No shit, it's at the VERY LAST MINUTE that you see the landing strip. The plane can't be more than 5 feet from the ground. It's sort of terrifying and cool all at the same time, especially since I know that several planes have overshot the runway and ended up in the water.
18. We go to collect our baggage and I notice that my potential terrorist has about 4 more really dumpy looking bags, ALL of which have been opened and taped together with security tape, so perhaps I am not the only one doing a little racial profiling. I KNOW.
19. I fetch the car out of the lot. $72 for three days. Hartford was $65 for 5. I expected that they'd at least wash my car or talk to it sweetly for that much money. No such luck.
20. I begin the ENDLESS FUCKING JOURNEY of bringing my mom back to Brooklyn and then driving Ang and El and myself to Connecticut. Total flight time: 1 hour, 7 minutes. Total drive time: 3 hours, 45 minutes.
So, my bag is still sitting in the trunk of my car, my dogs peed rivers in my living room and my house is about 950 degrees. I'm looking forward to not traveling again until August.
Lastly, I was nominated for a Diarist award. I mentioned this in a message I sent to my mailing list yesterday, but I know not all of you subscribe, so I'll just say thanks. I don't vote or nominate anyone for the Diarists anymore (you may or may not know that a few years ago there was a bit of journal furor when it became pretty apparent that there was cheating going on. Cheating. For a Diarist. That makes sense) but I am flattered that some of you think enough about me to vote for me. Also, it's sort of astonishing that I've been writing bobofett for FIVE YEARS in August.