Thursday, July 19, 2012

If its Thursday, it must be America

Hey, you guys!  I'm back!  I've been gone 22 days.  I feel like I've been gone 222 days.  I got home and couldn't remember where we keep the garbage can.  To be fair, I'd been through United Airlines hell for the previous 48 hours, but still. 

There's so much to tell, and I will, but first I want to say that I was so careful about posting all my links on the facebook page before I left so you wouldn't forget me, and then facebook got all weirded out by someone (me) trying to log in from Germany that it made me change my password from my home computer (which Rob did for me) and that made all my links not post.  I didn't notice this until yesterday.  Best laid plans!  So, sorry if you normally get here from facebook and was thinking that I had abandoned you.  I would never.

I don't even know where to start.  How about backwards?  Everyone has an airline horror story, probably having to do with United Airlines (or AirTran, those bastards) so I wont go into mine except to say that we were delayed over 24 hours, seats were changed, and we hung out on the tarmac so long I thought we would just start to live there.  The first day we tried to leave, we were sent to two different lines and asked repeatedly if our carry-ons had been with us the whole time, who packed them, and if we had bought anything since the last time they asked us.  The next day when we lined up, no one cared about those questions.  They also told us we were waiting for the video system to be fixed so we could leave, and not to pay any attention to the fire engines cleaning up the fuel leaking from one of the engines on the right side of the plane.  They think we're morons.

The day before we left Paris, the water heater went out in our apartment, so I couldn't take a shower.  I needed one (it was day three) but I thought, no matter, I'll be home in a day.  Not so.  The shower at the hotel near the airport was so wonderful I nearly slept in there, but they only had body/hand/hair wash, no conditioner and no comb.  So Leila and I had full on zombie hair.  Add to that the fact that when I fly I manage to spill anything I try to put into my mouth all over myself (I should really travel in an apron,) so when we finally took off, I was wearing two-day old underwear, a stained pink T and grey yoga pants, and The Hair. 

I took a walk around the plane to stretch my legs and I thought I'd be adorable and fun loving and smile and make finger guns at all the kids while I was doing my lunges down the aisle, and about half way through I realized what I must look like, and quickly took my seat.  In the middle.  Next to an Italian business man who almost got thrown off the plane for daring to complain to the flight attendant that we didn't give a flying fuck (no pun intended) why we were delayed and to get the damned plane off the ground.  I was okay in that middle seat until around hour nine, after I had spilled chicken and rice on myself.  I was out of xanax and the wine was terrible.  Leila watched the movie Treasure Buddies three times in a row. 

But we're mercifully home now, the suitcases are unpacked, the laundry is in, and I'm going to eat some stinky camembert that I smuggled in my luggage.  Take that, United.

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