After many hours of sitting on, cursing at, and throwing things into my many overstuffed luggage, my bags and I finally reached some kind of disgruntled peace. Around that time it hit me just how long I was leaving for. I think up until the day of my departure, moving out of the country for an extended period of time seemed like such a theoretical idea. I couldn't see what it would look like concretely. But actually packing and leaving were two huge steps that helped reality set in.
LAX and I don't have the best relationship, let's just say. Lots of ugly metal, even uglier traffic, and the worst security lines I have ever been to (and I have been to just about every major airport). But today the tides just seemed to be rolling in in my favor. Hardly any traffic (at 5 o'clock - seriously? Did a pig just fly by my window?), a nice man with a large machine gun let my family stay in the Cadillac outside for 20 minutes while my mom helped me with my oversized bags, and a nice old lady named Jana let take me time moving some heavy sweaters and stilettos to a different suitcase so I wouldn't be charged $50. Security took 10 minutes. 10 effing minutes. I'm still in shock. I was actually the only one going through my line at the time. Which I can't say I minded because of the individual attention I got from one of the better looking, younger TSA agents : ) Anyways, I found my fellow adventurers Kelley and Bianca in the lobby and we proceed to explore every corner of the terminal as we waited four hours for our delayed flight. Expect many pictures, Bianca's just as crazy about taking pictures of things as I am. This will be a fabulously documented quarter haha.
I quickly decided that Flight 168 would be an amazing one about 20 minutes in. I didn't know what the drinking age policy was, and I tossed around the idea of just ordering with authority and not even mentioning the drinking age. But then I decided that I'm the most terrible liar alive and probably couldn't do so with a straight face. So I ask whether they go by the UK or US drinking age, to which a lovely old British lady replied, "Oh honey, I really couldn't care less." With a huge smile, I reply back, "I would love a cranberry and vodka then." I hand her over a 20 and she asks if it would be ok to use my credit card instead because they don't have much cash to make change. I replied sure, no problem, to which she pulls out a second beautifully royal blue miniature bottle of Skyy vodka and says, "Here's another one for making my life easier." So now I sit, listening to The Spill Canvas, considerably more relaxed about the turbulence over the Rockies, and ready to watch Mean Girls and make myself a second drink. Life could be worse : )
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