...That's What She Said

After re-dressing myself (jewelry, belt, jacket and boots) at the end of the security checkpoint, I extended the handle to my rolling carry-on luggage and dragged it to an open seat at the gate at the end of the terminal. With over an hour of time to kill before boarding was to begin, I settled into my plastic chair with iPod in ears and book in hand. Having only turned a few pages, I paused and took inventory of my surroundings. It was three o'clock in the afternoon on a Friday, and while I would normally be sitting in my cubicle counting the minutes until five and struggling to maintain focus on my final file of the week... here I was: anxiously awaiting my newest out of Florida experience. I could hardly believe that I would be landing in Chicago around 8:30 P.M. that same night. Had I asked myself earlier this year if I thought I'd do much traveling, I probably would have remarked that heading to Texas for the Austin City Limits Music Festival again might be something I'd like to do... but Chicago? What in the world would bring me there? Oddly enough, the growing internet friendship with a friend of friends sparked the idea and the temptation of new photography opportunities and a new puppy to smother with love turned the plan into a reality. It seemed like a fun idea... and the airfare was unbelievably cheap... so I didn't think much further about the decision. Then, sitting at Orlando International Airport (trying to avoid the constant stare of a 6 or 7 year old blonde girl) I realized that I was living my dream. The "living" I speak of started last year with getting a place of my own (no roommates), purchasing my dream car (oddly enough a downgrade from the one I leased prior to that), flying to Texas and New York and going to any concert or any weekend getaway that my heart desired. When I was barely 20, one of my biggest fears was that I'd never get out of the Sunshine State... that I'd end up financially stuck and unadventurous like my father and stepmother. The fear was temporarily relieved during a week's stay in Mexico in 2003, though it was only due to my best friend's misfortune (a/k/a fiance screwed up and there were no refunds on the honeymoon trip). The years that followed were simply cycles of me trying to escape the fate of my family name and often failing miserably. Over the last two years, things had started to turn around for me and I became accustomed to being able to pack a bag and go wherever whenever someone asked me to. As I folded and unfolded the corner to my boarding pass, I couldn't help but wonder if I'd jumped at the chance to escape once more a bit too readily. There would be questions at home and up there... and lots of wine... and talking. I was worried going up there alone, without a mutual friend to act as a diversion. I warned her that I was a lot more entertaining on paper and while I know it was taken as a joke, I couldn't help but hope that my calm and often quiet demeanor would not be a disappointment. I hoped that I could be fun enough on my own, without someone like Brian or Jonathan to crack all the jokes and be the center of attention while I remained a sideline participant. I hoped this wasn't a bad idea, that I wasn't doing it for the wrong reasons, just to get away from my family or something, that I wasn't being selfish... and then I boarded the first jet. The lay-over in Atlanta wasn't much to write about. I read, I made phone calls, then I was on the plane to Chicago.

The flight attendant informed me that it was time to put my iPod away and return my seat to it's upright position. I peered out the window that had previously only been filled with a blanket of grey. There was a storm and the plane had been quiet. In between the lightning flashes, I expected to see the little green Twilight Zone monster grasping the end of the wing. Just as I was realizing that on every single commercial airliner I'd ever been on, I'd been seated directly on top of the wing and in the window seat, the speaker above my head crackled. The captain of my second plane that night happily advised his passengers that we'd be landing in Chicago over 20 minutes early. Just then, the clouds broke and rather then darkness, the city lights were spead out before me in perfect lines that went on for miles. It was like Christmas... I instantly felt as though a moment like this is what causes people to want to become pilots. I could have circled the city for hours, it was that beautiful. As we taxied toward the gate, I sent a text message to announce my arrival. At 8:11 P.M. a text from my soon to be ex-pen pal Adrienne read, "Good cuz I made killer time. Holy god I'm so excited I might wet myself, ha!" My excitement level was mutual... and I wondered if I should hit the restroom before heading to the pick up area after all the Diet Coke I'd gulped down over the course of the day. Deciding not to keep my ride waiting, I lugged my bag from what appeared to be the furthest gate away from the arrival doors as quickly as I could. While I was speed walking, I observed a man in a suit in front of me pulling a similar piece of luggage. As he passed over a metal strip that ran across the corridor, it made a noise that sounded identical to a fart. I smiled a little. My wheeled suitcase made the same noise two seconds later. The five people behind me with rolling bags had the same result... and I was trying my best to keep my giggles silent. After four more of these noisy speed bumps, I nearly doubled over, unable to continue my brisk pace. As I stopped for a breather, I looked at the others traveling toward the exit... and not one had so much as a smile on their face. I began to worry that the people of Chicago were above flatulence humor... but upon jumping into the Cheerleader Gangsta Funk Mobile and sharing the experience with Adrienne, I was validated. It was funny. Sometimes I'm funny... sometimes... I can even be fun.

Friday night consisted of another fart noise device (a foot pump used to blow up an air mattress), some wine drinking and girl talk. We talked of our mutual friends and how we'd first met them and how our paths only barely missed one another while she'd still lived in Florida. We talked of our ex-boyfriends and what made our relationships fail. We spoke of our parents, our dysfunction and what similar lives we'd led. We laughed, we shared and it was all good feelings. There was little mention of the present... we'd spent so much time on the past that we were out of time... and after meeting the infamous "Jeffrocks" who had a sporting event thing going on earlier that night, we all resigned to our sleeping quarters and dreamed of puppies. Later, I heard that Jeff actually dreamed of cleaning up puppy poo.

Saturday, we downed some extra strong coffee, cleaned up puppy poo, grabbed my camera and headed for the train station. It was amazing. It was exactly like the scenes in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. I immediately wanted to catch the train to Montague. Instead, we took the red line downtown. I'd easily taken 40 photos before getting off the first train. I was in love with it... with all of it... the trains... the city... It was love at first click. I took pictures of the Sears Tower, of million-something dollar bean sculpture, the weird water fall face towers in the park and more of the trains... oh and fire escapes. I love trains and fire escapes. Then Adrienne took me to the roof of the building of her old apartment. Again, I was amazed... again, I snapped another 40 photos easily. Standing on the edge of that building, surrounded by the city... it felt like being on top of the world. I could see a sliver of Lake Michigan and it was decided that I needed to go to the beach before heading to the airport on Tuesday morning. It was a good Saturday. I had a good tour guide.

After showering and getting prettied up, we hit a local hangout and I met a group of Chicago friends. We sat outside under the stars, ate hamburgers and drank too much cheap Sangria. We laughed a lot. Adrienne said "poo" a lot. We laughed more. I met someone named Rory, though she's far from a Gilmore Girl. Rory and I crunched together in the back of Jeff's jeep and were dropped off downtown... and we began our girl's night out at Berlin... a gay bar. You see, gay bars are great places for non-single girls to go dancing because there's less chance of getting hit on (or so I thought). In Florida, the gay bars are filled with men... men who normally compliment my shoes, dance well and tell me how pretty I am. It's similar in Chicago except there are a lot more lesbians... and they're mean as hell. Adrienne likes to dance up on stages... she says she feels like a queen and everyone below is dancing just for her. So... the three of us danced on stage until it got crowded as it neared midnight. After getting elbowed in the nose and dumping a bottle of water on a girl, Rory was done for the night. I'd stopped drinking first due to the Sangria from earlier not sitting too well, but I'd still danced my little heart out just the same and made friends with a he/she who's name I can't remember but he/she liked my boots and I liked his/her's black evening gown. Watching the city whiz by through the taxi cab window, I decided that it had been a pretty good night, too.

Sunday was a lazy day. There was a greasy breakfast, a photo shoot in the park, a photo shoot on a ladder (complete with hilarious pantie shot) and then a trip across town to consume the best Chicago hot dog in town for dinner. It was delicious, however I can't say that it rivals Hot Dog Heaven here in Orlando. This was good news for Brian because Adrienne was let off the hook and no hot dogs would have to be mailed to Florida packed in dry ice. The retro diner was called Super Dawg... and the atmosphere was great... except for the extremely creepy 6 foot tall hot dog people on the roof. One was a boy, the other (wearing a skirt) was a girl... the boy had glowing red eyes and the girl had green, one blinked. If I hadn't been too tired to dream that night, I'm sure that I would have had a horror movie type nightmare about the creepy hot dog people on the roof of the 50's style diner.

Monday I was able to sleep in because my host and hostess had to go to work. To repay them for the free lodging, I decided to clean up the floors due to the mini zoo that also lived there... remembering what a chore it was to keep up with normal cleaning when a new animal is part of your household. Then I took the puppy, Sherwood Lunchbox, to the park. I took more adorable pictures of him eating flowers and read some more of my book on a park bench. The weather was perfect. It was a refreshing and relaxing day. I reflected on the weekend and started thinking about how everything had gone by so fast. The conversation that lasted a couple of hours Friday night seemed unfinished, there was just so much ground to cover and to try to squish it all into one night was impossible. The sight seeing on Saturday, while amazing, was rushed and I sat wide-eyed trying to take it all in the whole day... and as I was absorbing all the new visual and audible stimulation, I doubted I was very good company for my tour guide. As I pulled weeds out of the puppy's mouth and tried to get him to pose for more photos, I worried that I hadn't been fun enough... that I'd been too quiet... to distracted by the city. Then I returned to Adrienne and Jeff's darling wood filled apartment to straighten up a bit more and start dinner. I hoped that by having all of the animals completely taken care of and dinner ready to eat, it would be a stress-free reward for the people who'd taken me into their home and made me feel more then welcome. I hoped that it would make up for my lack of being fun.

Tuesday morning was a mad rush to get everyone in and out of the one bathroom and ready to go. Then there was more train riding... and picture taking... of the trains. Once downtown, Adrienne took my luggage to her office and I had just over an hour to explore the city with my camera on my own. Two blocks later, an older man in a navy blue suit slowed his pace and walked along side of me. "It's a shame there isn't much going on today for you to take pictures of with that nice camera," he said to me. "When you're new to a place, everything is something to take pictures of," was my reply. "Well, in that case, take a good one of that building right there," he pointed to our right, "That was the tallest building in Chicago when I moved here in college." I thanked him and he resumed speed walking to wherever his office was, his black briefcase but a blur. This was Chicago. People rushing past on both sides, stopping for coffee, speed walking with purpose. I took pictures of them... the kind of pictures you see on bank websites. They were great. I found a diner on a side street called The Oldtimer. My egg sandwich was on the kind of bread that you have at home. The cash register was one of those really old ones where you push one of the big round buttons and a green "$20" or "$5" tab popped out of the top of it. I took a photograph of it when the waitress wasn't looking. As I rushed back to pick up my suitcase and say goodbye to Adrienne, I soaked in the last of the Chicago morning sunshine. I was out of time for crossing to the other side of the street to see Lake Michigan. Apparently the old staff at The Oldtimer had eaten up all of my extra minutes, but I thought the food was worth it.

After goodbye hugs and saying thank you, I caught the orange line train that would take me all the way to the airport. I tried to look like a resident, despite the obvious black luggage at my feet and the fact that I was taking even more train pictures with my camera phone. One hour later, I was re-booting and belting after the security check and headed for a seat to wait for my flight to Atlanta. Then I was reading my book on the plane. During this particular chapter, the main character of the book was returning home to Chicago, the place I was leaving. He'd found his mother's ashes at the funeral home, several years cold... and had taken them to Lake Michigan. He decided to throw her remains into the lake from the beach which had been one of her favorite places. He described the rocks he'd tip toed out on to better spread the ashes and how some of them spilled into the crevices between the rocks as he struggled to lay her to rest properly. The scene was so detailed and so heart wrenching... and I immediately regretted not going to Lake Michigan myself... and then I wondered what else I would regret not doing. I had a hard time shaking the feeling that something about my trip was unsettled. I felt like I'd missed something... but maybe I'd figure out what it was once I was home and could review the digital photos on my computer.

We touched down in Atlanta early as well. Knowing that my two Florida friends were still driving up, I took my time rolling my case through the incredibly lengthy hallways of the airport. Sadly, there were no farting speed bumps this time. I sent them a text stating "The eagle has landed." They replied that they were about an hour away from Macon. I avoided people movers and monorails, thinking that I'd rather be walking then sitting at the hotel. I later regretted this decision. My shoulder began to throb and the soles of my feet made themselves known as I found my way to the Atlanta train station. I purchased a one way ticket and happily took a seat in the back of the car. Within a half an hour, I was on Peachtree Street downtown. Despite being directionally challenged, I trusted my instinct and headed left. Thankfully, about 10 blocks later I stumbled across the hotel that Amy had reserved for us online. Since the reservation was not in my name, I was made to wait in the lobby, but lucky for me, they started serving free cocktails at 5:00 and I helped myself to a glass of red wine as I continued to read my book while trying to ignore Oprah which was blaring from the lobby TV. Around 6:00, my phone vibrated with a message that said, "The cheetah has parked"... to which I replied, "The eagle is drinking free booze in the lounge."

Our hotel room was awesome. It was one of only two rooms on the roof. One could only get to it by climbing these rickety fire escape type stairs and crossing a platform. The platform connected to the roof of the next building. I immediately grabbed my camera and started shooting. I captured nearly all of downtown Atlanta just from those roof tops... right down to a homeless guy asleep in the park. We were so lucky to get such an amazing view for our online bargain price. I was a very happy (and slightly tipsy) photographer. Then we grabbed some food and walked a few blocks to the civic center to see The Arcade Fire. I had no idea that there were 10 people in the band... the entire stage was cramped with people and instruments. We sat, stood, cheered, danced and sang along... it was almost like a rock 'n roll church service... oddly enough there were neon bible light graphics all over the stage in honor of their new album. Amy and I decided on the walk home that we needed to buy some beer. We stopped at a shady little liquor store that until the previous week had sold single cigarettes. We bought a 40 oz. Budweiser for Amy and a 40 oz. Bud Light for myself. I felt gloriously white trash like. Then we took our beer to the roof. We all changed into pajamas, but only Cindy went to bed. I grabbed my camera and as I found a place to sit next to an air vent shaped like Darth Vader's helmet, I noticed that the moon was full and well placed between two sky scrapers. Having not read the 100 page manual on my digital SLR and having downed a fourth of my giant bottle of beer, I couldn't remember how to switch my camera to a manual setting in order to take this night shot. Amy was sipping, smoking and talking about something when I suddenly realized that during my frantic pressing of menu buttons in an effort not to miss my perfect moon photo... I had gone into a menu labeled "format"... and somehow I'd not exited the menu before hitting a button that re-formatted my memory card... and erased all 379 of my photographs. My jaw dropped as my heart sank. I tried pushing more buttons in order to reverse this horribly stupid mistake, I repeated, "No," over and over. Amy took the camera from me and pushed some buttons herself in disbelief. Sadness crashed over me like a tsunami... The brown line train roaring through the middle of Chicago between buildings, the pigeon, the scary old elevator, the puppy, the kiss, the party dress, the skylines, EVERYTHING... my entire trip... erased. A tear slid down my left cheek, then one on my right... and then a steady stream flowed down both sides on my face and onto the asphalt rooftop. I remembered sitting outside the bar in Chicago where the group had been sharing pitchers of Sangria and I'd remarked to Adrienne that no one brought a camera. Her response was that nothing was happening yet to warrant a camera. I then replied that the best thing about bringing a camera out is that later on when you show the pictures, it looks like everyone was having a blast, even if it was a boring night. We all commented on how this was true... how all group outing photos look as though the participants are having the best night of their lives regardless of whether it was a spectacular evening or not. Through blurry vision, I looked around at the bank buildings to my left. I decided that I didn't want any more photos of Atlanta. I'd lost everything that mattered to me, so there was no point trying to replace any of it. I would go home empty, as if I hadn't brought my camera at all. I had no photographs to share with my Orlando friends... nothing to prove how much fun I'd had, even if I wasn't really sure that I'd had it. Worst of all, I'd lost one of the most beautiful pictures of love that I'd ever taken. My plan to print out and mail copies of the photos I took of Adrienne and Jeff as a thank you present... completely destroyed. As I sat on a roof in Atlanta, not hearing the words that Amy was using in an effort to console me, I drank my 40 and cried... cried over the loss of memories and beauty. I felt horrible... as if the one purpose I had for being in Chicago was erased. I began to worry even more that perhaps the trip was a mistake, that the deletion of pictures was an omen... a sign... that there was a reason I could have done something so thoughtless. As a photographer, my photos are everything... and as I sat atop the Best Western, I felt as though I'd ruined everything.

Within an hour of my waterworks show, Amy did manage to cheer me up. All I can say is that she now has an Asian sounding nickname, "Pee-Shoo". Also, neither one of us were able to finish our 40 oz. beers. Then we went to sleep, missed breakfast, woke up, and eventually made it back to Orlando courtesy of Cindy's reliable Honda Civic on Wednesday night. Waking up on Thursday morning, inching up I-4 during rush hour traffic and eventually settling into my desk chair at the office... I felt the same. I felt as though I hadn't left on a trip at all... like it had all been a dream. If it weren't for the few blurry camera phone pictures and text messages, I may have questioned myself. I missed Adrienne and I wanted to find out if she felt like we'd spread ourselves too thin on time, that we were rushed and unfocused. I wanted to send her an email and talk about the actual trip, since we never got to that while I was up there, since we'd been stuck in the past during out porch conversations. I wanted to apologise for being a poor representative from Florida... to say that I was sorry for being so arrogant to think that I would somehow relieve her homesickness, when I was not a part of her nostalgia. I wanted to write this blog... to document everything before I forgot the details... especially since my visual aides were gone forever. I wanted to suggest that perhaps the photos were lost because I needed to go back and do it right next time... and bring someone else with me... someone more fun. I wanted to find a reason for the "off" feeling in my gut... but I waited.

Now I've been home four days and I still don't know what to make of all that happened. All I know is that while I may not have shown it at first, I did fall in love with Chicago. I could easily picture myself living there if I ever want a change from Florida. Also, I bonded with three girls that grow closer to my heart with each day that I know them. In total, it was a surreal, but beautiful experience. I'm still thankful that I'm "living the dream" and being spontaneous... but maybe in the future I'll go into things like this with a plan. Maybe next time, I'll do it better... and I'll have the photos to prove it.