I love traveling. I think it’s fun to pack (because you get to choose your best outfits and everyone you see thinks you have great style… they don’t realize what’s still in your closet at home). I like gearing up for the airport and leaving the house (apt, whatever) clean to come home too. I like landing at my destination. I like the temporary relief from life because it’s all fun and you barely have to cook meals.
Paul reminds me, however, that we have horrible travel luck. Just as I try to say that we don’t, he recaps our last 4 years for me… this while on our drive home from the airport parking lot that we are currently leaving at 12.30 am due to being blocked into our parking spot for 40 minutes by another car that invented his own space. Nevermind the ghetto taxi driver who tried to scam us thinking we were visitors to LAX or the taxi that took us to the airport at 5am blasting TLC’s Crazy Sexy Cool album on the stereo.
Of course there is that fact that I look like a thug and 90% of the time that I drive through the entrance of LAX I get pulled over for a car inspection. Paul says it’s because I’m mexican.
There was that time in NY where we missed our flight and the next one was delayed 4 hours until 1am and I was sick the whole time. Then we landed at an airport 2 hours away from home just so we could get to California.
And of course the honeymoon flight where they cancelled one leg of our trip making us lose a day and spend a night at the airport.
Or when we got in trouble because I gave some of my first class cookie to Paul in coach.
Not to forget our drive up north for my bridal shower and ended up getting my first and very expensive speeding ticket.
Or when Paul’s flight to Oregon got cancelled and he was stuck in Sacramento and had to drive up to Portland with two strangers, one of which was sick in the back seat.
And the time we sadly had to throw out lilly’s cranberry sauce even though it’s a jam not a liquid.
So I guess it’s good to be home.
Oh, you didn’t know we moved?