check your sugarcoat at the door

“You might be the only person I know that goes on vacation to read.”

I know myself well enough to know I’d be an emotional mess if Kiddo and her dad took me to the airport on Friday night. I do not know well enough to avoid this mess. Sniffly, I proceeded through security with no snafus. Within minutes I was near the gate with an hour to kill. It was silly of me to have been so nervous to fly alone. It’s much easier than I thought and even me, the walking talking calamity, was not lost or confused. I was rewarded with a big margarita. I hopped up on the bar and wrote about my surroundings. There are beautiful gay couples everywhere. Red faced Hispanic lesbians interlocking fingers, balding old men sharing salad & red wine, and foreign femme boys extending their hand right when I needed it. Security compliments my heart tattoo and a gentleman asks if Daisy Mae is me as a kid. “Sure.” He smiles so wide.

The five hours in the air were easy. I drifted off, head against the cold glass window and dreamt about the passengers around me, wondering if when I woke up we had actually interacted or I’d imagined it. I’m still unsure.

My aunt and cousin picked me up at the airport in Orlando. The sun was coming up. I could hardly keep my eyes open but didn’t hesitate to divulge in some chocolate chip pancakes before getting to their place.

View from the balcony:

I quickly sent that picture out to some frenz&fam at home with the caption, “I just dread sitting out here with my books.”

Post-epic nap and spa-tastic shower, we went to collect the bride-to-be cousin from her adorable yellow house for her surprise bachelorette party.

Having never been to a bachelorette party, I didn’t know what exactly to expect, but I did know it wouldn’t be the extravagent cut-loose and drown ourselves in liquor ordeal. It was a tight knit friends and family group of girls getting together for an amazing dinner, hosted by a beautiful couple in their much-coveted home, and giggling over lingerie gifts and taking pictures and being perverts and laughing our fucking asses off.

aka, perfect.

It is inexcuseable that this is the only picture I took with any of my relatives. Though above cousin has a digital camera of us making some questionable faces.

The remainder of the weekend was very quiet, very mellow, very book-filled. I read so fucking much. I had brought five books and a magazine and I read some part of all of them, finishing a couple.

Since diving into non-fiction, all I want to do is read and learn. Read and learn. And then some more reading. And some more learning.

The flight home was uneventful. The usual mouth-wide-open-snoring-woman was seated next to me, as has been the case with all of my homeward bound flights from Orlando. She hogged the arm rest and forced me to attempt sleep with my arms crossed over my chest until my wrists went numb. No amount of Bright Eyes or Portishead could lull me to sleep so there was even more reading before I ran off the plane and dove headfirst (quite literally) into Ree.

It makes no sense how much I could miss that girl, someone I see every day, but it was goddamned painful.

We BBQ’d all day with some friends on Monday. They spoiled us with the fucking most amazing feast I’ve ever had. When I got my hands on Kiddo that night, I could hardly keep my maw off her cheeks. I think she grew thirteen inches, so basically, I’m never going anywhere again.

-CJ

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