single with vodkagood girl gone bad

so, here is the eagerly-awaited vacation post*. settle in because it’s loooonnnnng…

so, last week, charles in charge took the girls to disney with his mommy & daddy. his mommy actually came over the week before to pack & shop for the girls because mr. i want full custody couldn’t handle such a taxing proposition. but i digress. the reason i share this is that i am a huge opportunist & i saw my chance to grab a simultaneous vacation of my own. after much arranging, i decided to visit my cousins in LA & sandwich in a vegas weekend.

i used to love traveling: my parents took us away a lot. for many years my chanukah present was to visit said cousins on my own over x-mas break. after college, i backpacked through europe for 6 weeks, 3 of which, were on my own. the mental patient and i used to travel a lot until the babies came and even then we did our fair share. but unfortunately, i eventually learned that there are 2 kinds of travelers: the happy, laid back, excited to be going anywhere traveler = good traveling companion & the uptight, anxiety-ridden, miserable, generally nasty traveler = horrific companion. guess which one of us was which? enough miserable vacations over 16 years dulled my taste for travel & i came to dislike it. i no longer wanted to go anywhere. then, after the worst vacation i was ever on with the eternally whiny traveler, i finally realized it wasn’t travel i hated, but the companion. and it struck me, if a person can not be happy on vacation, he can not be happy anywhere.

i dig traveling. what i abhor are all the things you have to do before you can actually do it: making the plans, running all your last minute pre-travel day errands (my to-do lists are endless & in no way achievable. see chronoptomist in urban dictionary), putting the house on lock-down, major shopping, pre-trip grooming (it’s thorough and i wonder, “why do i feel the need to be waxed, pedi-ed, mani-ed, colored, cut, & generally fabulous for other travelers/vacationers i will never see again?”). but what i hate most is the packing. i despise it for one reason: i am a bit of clothes-horse/wanna-be fashionista and get antsy when separated from my closet. packing gives me anxiety because i need wardrobe options. how can i know what i want to wear for dinner 3 days from the day i am choosing outfits to bring? i normally dress on a whim. i put on & take off 27 different articles of clothing before settling on one outfit. i do that several times a day. i need to be dressed just exactly right for the venue/activity to promote optimal self-confidence (unless i am hooked up to a vodka drip). i need a plane outfit too. i want to be all glam like those asian chicks in the dresses & heels at the airport, but i just can’t. comfort wins & i look like a barely fashionable slob. don’t even get me started on the agony of choosing a finite selection of shoes. so the obvious remedy? O V E R P A C K. i packed enough for a month, several different climates, 2 time zones, & any haberdashery caprice i might have. i was leaving for 5 days for 1 climate. i schlepped that bulging suitcase to my car with only minor damage to the sheetrock. miraculously the suitcase came in under the 50lb limit. barely.

then after all of this intense, heart-wrenching packing you have to be prepared to never see your beautiful, perfectly planned outfits (with options), again if you are planning on checking the bag. basic physics dictated that i was not getting that giant suitcase under the seat in front of me. it had to be checked. so i said a little prayer to gloria vanderbilt, the patron saint of checked luggage, and hoped for the best. i usually say, “goodbye clothes, until we meet again. you have served me well. hope to see you again, perfect outfits.” i am sure this is what shakespeare meant when he wrote that, “parting is such sweet sorrow.” if you truly love something, set it free right? and giving them that bag is so final. all your faith is in that tag they stick on your luggage, the hope that you kissed the bag checker-inner’s ass well enough, and the kindness of strangers behind the scenes to ensure your bag will join you on the other side. i have had my bag lost several times. there is no more naked a feeling than when you are the last person standing there still optimistic after 90 minutes and no more bags are coming out of the chute. you defeatedly trod over to the lost luggage counter to fill out the paperwork knowing they don’t really care if you are ever reunited with your shoes again…

there is the “getting to the airport” routine which is an experience in of itself because it requires figuring out a precise time line in which you must derive the exact moment you need to be at the gate. it takes a degree in quantum physics. once you get that settled, you must decide the mode in which you shall transport yourself to the airport. will you drive & chose a parking option: long term, short term, off premise, monorail, shuttle, or pack-mule? should you just get a car to drive you? this is cool when you return because you have your very own driver to whom you can say, “home james.” i grew up with a dad that was “the early guy.” we always got there hours before & he had ants in his pants until we boarded, but he was never nasty. i remember the good ol’ days when you only had to be there 1 hour before your flight. then one day some assholes flew some planes into the WTC & now you have to be there 3 hours before to get through security. maybe you are one of those last minute people that are sprinting into the airport to make it on board in time. helpful hint: never have one of these people drop you off, or as my pop called it “the dump & run.” all that aside, getting to the airport is generally the easy part. it’s actually getting on the plane that is the challenge…

after waiting for all the clueless people in front of you to figure out the nearly useless e-ticket machine, it’s onto the horror show called (cue ominous music) security. you know i have to bitch about airport security. no airline travel rant can overlook that hot mess. can someone tell me why i still have to take my gd shoes off to go through security? is shoe-smuggling still a major threat to the country? are there roaming violent packs of 5’0 women wearing platforms diverting planes to nordstrom’s? do toddlers really need to be put through that torture? as far as a 3 year old knows, she is never getting her shoes back & that warrants a colossal melt-down. now the airport smells like feet & is just a giant case of athlete’s foot waiting to happen. there are podiatrists opening up offices in the terminals. and oh, god, the fucking liquids. i threw a full size bottle of saline into my carry on meaning to transfer it to my suitcase but forgot it was even in there. needless to say i caused a stir at the x-ray machine & narrowly escaped a full cavity search because apparently, it is common for most terrorists to wear contacts that dry out on the plane. ummm, TSA? just a thought, but perhaps, once you uncover a terrorist plot involving shoes & liquids, they have moved on to bigger ideas. do you think the terrorists got together & said, “we use 3oz bottles & higher for the liquid TNT. got that, habib? nothing under 3oz – let those dirty americans have their travel size toiletries to carry-on, but that’s it.” but, you sure can check all the liquid you want. you can pack a keg of nitroglycerin in your suitcase & that’s not a problem at all as long as you pay the oversize baggage fee. makes no sense to me. i suppose the terrorists don’t check bags. seems to me someone could be making a lot of money on efficient airline security technology.

after you barley make it out alive from security, there is the boarding adventure. this where you get stuck behind the family with 4 children & 15 carry-ons because they didn’t want to pay the extra ransom of $15 per checked bag (each way). there is no way all that stuff fits overhead but they are determined to do it even if they hold up the entire boarding process. when i finally find my seat, i heave a sigh of relief that someone else isn’t already sitting in it. its like airplane roulette. will they have randomly given my seat to someone else even though it was promised to me more than once? (this why my dad made us get there uber early & race down the jetway like it was the last stretch of the NYC marathon as soon as they let us. that was before the days of boarding you in numerical order. don’t even think of trying to pull that shit now.) if my seat is actually vacant, i always get stuck in the middle between 2 giant people that feel they can spread out in the extra space around me. w r o n g. i may be small, but i overpaid for this seat & i want every centimeter of it to myself. god forbid i should even think about asking mr. aisle seat to get up so i can pee after holding it in for 2.5 hours. he is visibly annoyed. perhaps you didn’t realize having the aisle seat means 2 other people are trapped next to you & are at your mercy for bladder relief. gawd. or should you dare to try to pee too soon after take-off, you are met with the major disapproval of the flight attendants akin to catholic school nuns. i promise i will never ever again say to my kids, “but, you just went,” or “i told you to go before we left, now you have to wait.” i now know how infuriating that is. apparently, you are only allowed to empty your bladder when you are perfectly horizontal to gravity. i actually found myself asking permission. i paid 600 bux to sit in this sardine can & i am asking the snarky male flight attendant if i can go potty? fuck yeah, i can go. if he says no i will pee on his shoes.

but i do love the airplane honor code. the code states you can leave anything in your seat or under the seat in front of you when you go to the lav & no one else will touch it. it’s a strict honor code that is never messed with. you could leave a wad of cash when you get up to use that tiny loo & it will be there when you return. you could get sucked out that super jet propulsion toilet into space when you flush it & never return & your stuff will still be there. you’re all in this together while the plane is in the sky. but before or after its survival of the fittest.

next you have to sit through that whole asinine “turn off your electronic devices.” rant. this is a huge farce. the plane is not going to crash if we all have our ipods & cells on. they just realized no one pays attention to the safety speil anymore which is generally a ridiculous video now. they want to hold you captive & force you to pay attention to the life vest/oxygen mask/seat as a flotation device demo you have seen 400 times and will completely forget how to do should the unthinkable happen & the plane has a “water landing (i.e. crashes into the ocean at a zillion mph).” forget the life vest & squeeze the charmin, because if that happens, i am gonna shit my pants. and they are so pushy about the electronic lock-down. don’t even have your earbuds in place because they will make you show them that your ipod is indeed black-screened. ditto on trying to recline a millimeter before takeoff or landing, because the 180 degree position the seat is in is unnatural to any biped with a spine. they will forcibly push your seat forward while reprimanding you loudly in front of your fellow passengers like your first grade teacher. when did the flight staff get so surly even though they “realize i have many choices for air travel?”

after you listen to the safety rant, you have to listen to the captain do his schtick. how come they all sound the same & are unintelligible? they introduce themselves & then babble about flight coordinates & wind sheer like we care. our main concern as passengers is not dying in a crash. basically, please don’t kill us. that’s all we want to know from you. then just as you are nodding off the captain comes on to tell you about the turbulence. really? no shit. is that why my internal organs are trying to exit my body all at once? or they want to point out shit to look at like we are on a tauk tour. shut up & fly the fucking plane. tell me when we’re there. but i will probably figure that out on my own anyway when we bounce off the pavement at 1000 mile per hour during your smooth landing, cap’n crunch.

all that’s left is to sit there & fly armed with the knowledge that we do not belong up in the sky in the first place & could plummet out of it at any minute. to take your mind off of that haunting vision, there are distractions provided to you: drink, food, A/V, & in seat shopping courtesy of skymall. first you get a drink. you have to beg for a whole can & they are not pleased with your greediness. just because you paid over 800 clams to sit in coach does not mean you can have an entire 50 cent can of soda. the best part of the whole damn thing is when you get a plane where each seat has its own tv. that is flying nirvana. then what follows is the presentation of a loose confederation of molecules they claim to be food. we all know how repulsive it usually is. it’s palatability is rated on a scale of horrible to not that bad. after you’re done eating, the flight crew is very particular about how you give them your trash. they are really bitchy if you don’t do it properly. and then i live for “sky mall.” where else can you buy a $300 portable microwave or hot dog toaster? learn 59 languages while asleep or buy a set of stairs for your stupid mutt? it all seems brilliant in the sky but on the ground not so much.

finally it is time to land & get out of that tinder box. what is it about travel that makes you look like you have just been released from a work camp? i always look like hell when the plane lands. i try to freshen up before landing, but i wind up settling for looking “mildly disheveled.” then, its basically the reverse schtick as boarding, except now you have to pee, your legs are cramped and you have to wait for the same idiots who stuffed all that crap overhead to get it out. but you have made it. another safe flight, thank god.

i met my aunt at the baggage claim. she almost fainted at the sight of my 49.5 pound suitcase, but i assured her i could handle it. i am small but mighty, like the little ceasar dog. i inhaled the familiar smog of LAX, stepped into the bright california sun, caught sight of the gently swaying palm trees, made a mental note to go blond, & smiled. i was back in my old stomping ground, LA. without kids & free from dreadful travel companions. i was ready to party…

this post & all those that precede or follow it are for entertainment purposes. it does not represent any real people, living, dead, or zombies, or events. it represents the OPINIONS of the author & is based on a compilation of events, stories, & personas.

so suck it, whiners.