I just returned a day late from a long weekend in upstate New York. It's been a little while since I shared some normal day-to-day experiences, as I've been blabbering about my attempt to accomplish myself as an author... but this trip was eventful, so perhaps some of it will amuse someone other than myself. Of course, if you're looking for a "normal" journal account of a pleasant vacation, you may want to skip on over the the next blog. Still here? Ok, but don't say I didn't warn you.
First of all, those who know me know that I am NOT a morning person. The staff in my office (including my superior VP) all know not to schedule any meetings with me prior to 10:00 a.m. as I need at least two cups of coffee in my system in order to be pleasant or helpful in solving their problems. The few who have dared enter my office before such time have never done so again. With that being said, imagine me having to make a 7:00 a.m. flight this past Friday morning. Then imagine me with a partially disabled husband and a three year old boy in tow. (
Are we going to the airport, Mom? But WHY are we going to the airport? But WHY are we going to ride on a plane? But WHY are we going to New York? But WHY, WHY, WHY...) When I saw the Starbucks counter that was located directly next to my gate at DFW, I thought to myself, "Hey, I have a good feeling about this trip... it's not going to be so bad." Ha! That will teach me to be optimistic at 6:00 in the freaking morning. I did not get to finish my coffee. In fact, I didn't get to drink even half of my coffee. My kid was entranced by Wall-E on his portable DVD player, but the 8 month old baby in the seat in front of me was entranced with spitting over his mother's shoulder into my general vicinity. It was cute for about 5 minutes. After 10 minutes I thought, Hmmm... maybe that lady should stop bouncing that baby like it's on a trampoline, especially considering all this turbulence. After 15 minutes I thought, this is going to be the longest two hours and twenty minutes of my life. At minute 20, my coffee was ruined. The baby's mother's shirt and pants were ruined. The seat was ruined. The carpet under the seats was ruined. By what, you ask? Oh, just a baby vomit apocalypse, that's all. The smell was so awful, I had to breathe through the sleeve of my shirt to prevent myself from throwing up my precious 1/3 cup of caffeine. The hubs, who couldn't do the same because of the bulging disk issue in his neck was lucky enough to at least me in the isle seat. Meanwhile, I got to stew in the window seat of the 1970's plane with barely working a/c, surrounded by a pool of mildew-acid-milk that crept toward my sandals like The Blob. The connecting flight was better, it was a puddle-hopper of a little plane, but anything was better than the vomit express to Washington, D.C.
We arrived in Binghamton, NY... a/k/a Mordor, according to my husband who was born there... and were greeted by my in-laws. I was happy to have a grandma around to answer some of the "But why, why, why?" questions. We unpacked at the Holiday Inn (the fanciest place in town) and headed to my sister-in-law's rehearsal dinner at a place called The Sons of Italy. I don't know if it was a restaurant, a rec hall, a portable classroom, or perhaps a combination of all three... but there was pasta... and a little girl straight out of The Shining. The little weirdo seemed to teleport across the speckled, white linoleum flooring, avoiding the sea of folding chairs and unknown relatives, appearing within a half an inch of my face within a mere three seconds. She just stared at me, then at my son... who was freaked out and trying to crawl into my stomach. Without saying much, she then teleported to my husband, creeped him out, then re-appeared over by the cake table.
At 2:30 a.m., my husband shook me awake. He had a fever and was shaking uncontrollably. The only thing worse than being awake at 6:00 a.m. is having to wake your in-laws up to borrow their car keys before 3:00 a.m. And the only thing worse then that is driving a crappy Chevy in unfamiliar territory to find something open 24 hours. I was really hoping to find a CVS or a Walgreens to pick up some Tylenol... or even a gas station... but no such luck. Nope, I was about to be forced into doing something I'd once vowed never to do... shop at Walmart... in my pajamas. Well, I can now cross that one off my bucket list.
The next day we went to the diner across the street for breakfast... and for the first time in my entire life, I did not finish my eggs benedict. When your hollandaise looks like mustard, you probably aren't in the right place to be ordering a benedict. Following that, I made a call to an old friend from Florida who coincidentally moved to Binghamton a couple of years ago. After the wedding and reception we were attending that day, I was hoping to visit with her. As it turned out, she'd end up crashing the reception.
But first, let me just give you the highlight of the wedding ceremony. It was the first wedding besides my own that I've been to where I wasn't the photographer, so sitting with the family and friends was a whole new angle for me. This time, I was glad to be a spectator. After the vows, the pastor asked everyone to bow their heads in prayer. Not halfway through, a cell phone began to ring in the row behind me. There were some rustling and fumbling sounds as elderly hands frantically dug around in a purse... then a second loud ring... followed by the words, "Jesus Christ! Oh, Jesus Christ!" yelled rather loudly. I had to bite my lip as hard as I could to suppress inappropriate giggling. Disclaimer: I do not find taking the Lord's name in vain funny... but the inappropriateness of an old lady doing it in a church, in the middle of a wedding ceremony no less... well, come on! Inappropriate behavior = funny... inappropriate behavior by senior citizens = hilarious. As the tears streamed down my face, I hoped that the bride would think I was simply overjoyed with her happiness... as I'm sure everyone else on the bride's side of the church pews hoped the same.
My husband's wedding gift to his sister was going to be the gift of song. Unfortunately, the plan to borrow a guitar from a friend of one of his nieces fell through and we hadn't brought any from home. I sent my old friend a text and within 30 minutes, she had a lead on an acoustic guitar. In exchange for her driving across three towns to retrieve the instrument and bring it to us, I promised her some free reception food and drink. I arrived at The Polish Community Center with the in-laws, husband and son and noticed a row of boxed wine on the bar on the way in. Classy. The DJ was playing house music. The 80+ guests who were 80+ in age had no idea what house music was. The DJ walked from table to table seeking requests (none of which he ever played) and my husband nearly fell out of his seat when his great aunt Cynthia requested "Deep Purple". I received a text message from my friend that said, "I'm out front. The guitar has no strap." Within five minutes we were headed to the Walmart around the corner (again). While Walmart may seem to have everything one might need in life, they do not sell music accessories, so I settled on a bargain scarf for the low price of $3.44. Then I popped the trunk to see how I could best fashion the scarf into a suitable strap... and that's when I saw the beat up, puffy-painted guitar that belonged to a teenage girl. It said "Dream Boy" on it in sparkly pink paint. It had purple heart stickers all over it. Fantastic.
Luckily, it was dark... and the crowd was old... and the hubs was sick as a dog, so the decorated guitar got a pass. He rocked an altered version of "Summer of '69" by changing the lyrics to be more about siblings and taking place in the summer of '89... waterworks ensued and all was well. Except for the fact that the boxed wine only came in Merlot or Burgundy. I really don't even have the words to describe how I felt about that. Ok, maybe I do... WHO drinks burgundy wine... WHO? And don't get me started on ****ing Merlot.
After all that excitement, my ill spouse was as pale as a ghost and was ready for bed at the same time as our little one. This allowed me to go out on "the town" with my old friend who wanted me to meet her new friends and cousin that lived locally. The night consisted of a lot of driving around to pick up people, arguing over which bar to go to and a lot of accents that sounded like the commercials I've seen for Jersey Shore. We settled on a bar and I entertained myself by picking 12 songs on the jukebox after I was delighted to find such artists as Johnny Cash, Modest Mouse and The Killers in the selections. I was hoping that the Pitbull song currently playing would end soon. Sadly, I only got to hear a country song before a fight broke out among the girls and it was demanded that everyone be driven home. As I watched the dark tree covered mountains from the passenger window, I wondered if the construction workers that filled the bar would unplug the machine when my songs started playing.
Sunday morning we received a call from the airlines stating that our flight had been cancelled and there were absolutely no flights leaving the area that night. We argued with several customer service representatives who wanted us to take an all day trip on Monday with not one, not two, but four different lay-overs. Long story short, a supervisor found us a flight with one stop in Philly that would put us back in Dallas by 2:30 p.m. the next day. The were sketchy about covering the extra night in the hotel. (I saved the receipt.) With the office notified and another night to kill, you'd think we might have been able to find at least one decent place to eat... but alas, the hubs was complaining that he had never felt so sick in all his life. We called a walk-in clinic and listed symptoms, to which we were told that he needed to go to the ER. We ended up staying at the hospital most of the evening, and brought home two different antibiotics and some painkillers for his either a.) bacterial infection or b.) extremely rare and serious case of food poisoning.
Between flights at the airport in Philadelphia, I saw an infamous celebrity boarding our plane. Security held the line and checked out the place first before letting her on, which concreted my belief in who it was. Having been a resident of Orlando for the last 10 years, I was pretty sure anyway. My husband later egged me on to report the sighting to TMZ... and while I don't watch trash TV (unless you count The Soup), I'm tempted to tune in to see if they were able to track her town and ruin her trip. Of course, she may not even be relevant anymore... so I guess, we'll see... but I'm really hoping that I was able to rain on her parade. Obviously, I'm not a fan.
We finally arrived home today to find that our cats were not dead (much to my husband's dismay) and still had water and a tiny bit of food... though they were apparently too inbred and stupid to figure out how to get more food to slide down the little ramp of the self-feeder. And that, my friends, is how my family takes a trip.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to chug my last sip of my Malbec (that came from a bottle) so that I can hit the hay before I'm too tired to go to work in the morning... which is every day, who am I kidding? Eh, well... goodnight, all the same.
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