For those of you who know me well, you know that I have a knack for keeping a journal. I’ve kept a journal since I was 12. Since before Aunt Flo ever came to town. When I graduated HS I put all my journals in a suitcase that never found itself to my designation of Ft Lauderdale FL where I spent the summer in between senior year and college freshmen year. I remember keeping hope alive for a good number of weeks. I was 16 when I graduated HS and quite the optimist. I truly thought I would relive my journals in a ABC afterschool special. Never happened.
The start of my college freshman year I started writing again. And my words today can’t describe the circus that was my life. My girlfriends and I have a monthly ritual called HODIN, that’s another story, and in these HODINS we have dinner and lots of wine, and after dinner and lots of wine we break out my old college journals and the shit that used to come out of my brain and onto paper is more than we can handle. The only reason it’s so funny is because I thought no one would be reading it. It was dedicated to the children I don’t have. That’s not a downer, because when we we’ve been drinking and we read the foreword to my journals we practically pee our pants.
So I will try to the best of my ability to be candid and true hearted when writing about my journeys to the other side of the world with my 4 coworkers. It really is so hard to be truthful on paper, when what you feel is “documented” which is why these words are for the dedicated few.
Day -1. Not Day 1, Day Negative 1, the day before my trip. Pepto bismol, calomine lotion, alka seltzer, advil, Prep H ( for the bags under my eyes) bandaids, antimalaria pills, sleeping pills, birth control pills, a walking pharmacy. Work clothes, fun clothes, casual clothes, work out clothes, staying in clothes, Jesus that’s more planning than I’ve done all year. Chargers and cameras and laptops and ipods and chargers and socks and wtf? I don’t even want to go on this trip. How can I not want to experience a new culture on the other side of the world, doing something I enjoy….. for free.
My bf which we will call 27, has only but a few duties while I’m gone. Air out my condo and put some bills in the mail. Only 2 bills, the only 2 bills that cannot be autopay or paid online. 20 minutes before I he drives me to the airport I’m trying to explain the simple procedure of paying my bills because in my head its simple and why the f can’t he read my mind? I’m already stressed and I feel the Puertorican heat bubbles up inside of me. I snap at him he rolls his eyes and turns the other way. Oh snaps, settle down Maria, I can’t leave for 3 weeks on a sour note. Traveling and bad directions give me the Puertorican heat wave. I’m pda needy in relationships and unfortunately 27 is not. So when he drops me off at the terminal it’s a quick kiss and a hug and smile and a genuine “have a good trip” and off he goes. In my head he barely came to a stop, just a slow roll and me jumping out. Up in the distance I see Jennifer who’s struggling with 7 carry ons. I’m pretty sure her husband stopped the car for her to get out. For some reason I think calories don’t count in the airport and have a Burger King meal. Yum and Yuk. Land in LA for a brief 8 hour layover. The 4 of us with our 16 pieces of luggage build a fort at a long booth in front of the Haggan Daz and I decide calories don’t count in LAX and have McDs for lunch.
Since we got to the airport so early we couldn’t check in, which gave me time to walk around the duty free and browse things I was never going to buy. All around me were Asian faces, Syngapore airlines, Korean air, Luftansa, unfamiliar airlines that I probably will never travel. It felt surreal, am I the outsider? Where the hell am I? Am I still in the US? We are the only non Asian faces at the terminal for a few hours. Then a couple of white faces come strolling through but not American. It feels like we’ve been there for a while and yet we still have another 5 hours to kill. Then Jason says, that sucks what happened in Russia. 2 suicide bombers in a Russian airport kills 35 people and injures 100. That happened while we were in LAX. Within a half hour there’s a noticeable presence at LAX of the airport police. Now don’t get me wrong I have soft spot for all LE but let’s be real, the airport police…………is the airport police. People who want to be cops don’t have the dream to one day be….airport police. In my experience, and I could be wrong but AP is where you end up when you don’t qualify for the city Pd and are over qualified for campus security. Is that mean? It’s true. One cop was walking around with an AK47 and mean mugging people. Really dude? AK47, that’s going to scare a suicide bomber, And another thing I know about cops, when you’re a bad ass you don’t need sport a gun the size of a small child to be a bad ass. Bad asses know who they are and they let that speak for themselves. Who knows what kind of training they get and maybe that’s what they think will scare someone with a bomb vest tied to their chest.
Business class is ad bomb. Unless someone is rubbing my feet and feeding my grapes in 1st class I’m totally digging business class. Time
went by fast in the lounge and maybe I was not worthy of business class since I currently have contraband in my backpack i.e. granola bars and bloody Mary mix. I was close to smuggling some booze in my bag but was a big girl and decided against it.
I never knew how uncomfortable sitting in a plane for 20 hours cold be. And we’re in business class so we could walk around and our seats reclined all the way back They fed us 3 times on the plane, for a minute I thought they were over feeding us but then I realized I was on that plane for 20 hours. How about fish for breakfast and it wasn’t lox and bagels.
So here I am in business class sitting next to a Philippine business man who is thinking what’s that smell?
Do I take the Lunesta? I’m scared I’ll start talking in my sleep or make a spectacle out of myself. The last time I took Lunesta, 2 weeks ago I had a dream that Mathew Maconahay was my bf. I love Lunesta.
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