check your sugarcoat at the door

Though it may seem so, I don’t jet off from California to Florida every few months. However I’m headed back this Friday for Cousin Kellie’s wedding. For a kid who’s never traveled anywhere, (no, really) a plane ride is still a pretty novel concept. And a plane ride by myself, while previously nerve-wracking and ultimately terrifying for a girlcalamity, ain’t so bad considering my trembling desire to read in silence as often as possible. (Hard to make that happen in a busy household/life.)

So I’m pretty jazzed.

But also, my flight out required a 1.5 hour layover in Philly. And my flight home requires a 1.5 hour layover in Houston. Just enough time to do nothing.

My co-worker was on the right track when she said, “Well, the airport bar…” and yes, a lush like me would certainly stop there, it’s just that I’ve never seen anything in this crazy, monster-sized country and I’m DYING to. If I had a few hours I could at least wander in the street, find a book store or a statue and claim I’d been there. Sitting in the airport is no way to travel.

I’m not complaining. Drop me in the middle of fuckin’ Arkansas and I’ll have a ball, no problem. I can wring fun out of the driest and most isolated of hillbilly sponges, I’m almost positive.

Just looking for some ideas to kill some time aside from face-in-book.

-CJ