What I Learned in San Diego

April 25, 2012 at 10:10 am | Posted in Family, Home Ownership | 2 Comments
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Nota Bene: If you have a weak tummy, skip to the second paragraph. 

When I last blogged, I was sitting in the airport terminal after having tossed my cookies on the Logan Express.  My Mo’s guess (that it was a result of taking ‘roids on an empty stomach) may have worked for that first instance, but the rest of the flight will need further explanation because I ralphed the entire way.  Seated between a very proper gentleman and a 15-year-old boy, I was that girl in the middle seat who got sick over and over and over again.  The one who used every barf bag within a two-row radius, and who grossed herself out, along with most of my fellow passengers, on the flight now known as The Great Disgust of 2012.  I arrived in San Diego exhausted, ill, slightly dehydrated and thrilled to see my besty, even in the state I was in.

Anywhoodles, what I really wanted to talk about today is the surprising insight I had about my parents while visiting Rhymes-with-Tzarina.  Tzarina and I did not make any plans for our visit (other than attending a Padres game).  We hung out, watched silly TV, ran errands, walked her dog and did some apartment decorating.  And then it hit me…

I finally get it!

One night Tzarina was making dinner and I started cleaning her refrigerator door handles (of all things – weird, I know).  She gave me that look – I know because I give it to people, too – the one that says “please don’t judge me; I know I’m not perfect.”  And this realization hit me like a hipster on the latest iGadget: when my parents visit and My Mo cleans my counters or puts away dishes or brings groceries or does whatever she does, when RWFOTB works on my jungle of a yard or makes suggestions about future home improvement projects, it has nothing to do with my inadequacies (of which I have many, though they would certainly contradict that statement in the public domain) and everything to do with how much they love and want to care for me.

What I was doing had nothing to do with critiquing Tzarina (who is amazing) or her refrigerator door handles (which were fine before I even touched them), and everything to do with demonstrating my affection for someone who is the closest thing I have to a sister.

I traveled across the contiguous United States and felt closer to my parents – and that’s what family is all about. 

And because I rarely write anything too saccharine, I’ll bookend this blog with the ridiculousness of my journey home.  Waiting to board the red-eye back to Beantown (cough cough never again cough cough), I noticed the fella standing in front of me was none other than the very proper gentleman who was unfortunate enough to have had to sit next to me en route to SoCal.  He did a double take when he saw me, and, in the most polite way he could, said:

“I hope you’re feeling better… what row are you in on this flight??”

Awkward, people.  Very, very awkward. 

The Journey is Less Important than the Destination

April 11, 2012 at 2:37 pm | Posted in Around Boston | 2 Comments
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I’m finally taking a trip to visit my gal pal Rhymes-With-Tzarina in San Diego (N.B. The jury is still out on what that name means – agree to disagree).  I was supposed to visit weeks ago, but had to postpone my trip until I was at least mostly over “the plague,” as I like to call the pneumonia/bronchitis/sinus infection I’ve been so graciously hosting for the past two months.

I packed last night, worked remotely this morning, took a cab to the Logan Express Shuttle and then things started to go wrong… You knew this was going to happen, both because something inevitably goes awry whenever I travel and because I probably wouldn’t be blogging about a totally normal journey.

So here I am, sitting at Logan International Airport, attempting to hide from/avoid acknowledging a woman waiting in the same lounge I’m in.  She was on the same shuttle I was on – or, should I say, the same shuttle I started on.  You see, not five minutes after the shuttle left a wave of violent nausea overtook me (and NO, I’m not pregnant and this is not morning sickness).  I let out the loudest, rudest burp I’ve ever heard, and said fellow passenger literally turned around and glared at me.  I started to apologize to her and then it happened.  I couldn’t hold it in.  I vomited.  And it was completely mortifying.  Not to mention really uncomfortable.

The shuttle driver was very sweet about having to turn the shuttle around and hightail it straight back to the lot, and didn’t make me feel like the biggest rhymes-with-glass-bowl on the planet.  But this lady was less than kind.

I get it.  It was a disgusting thing to do.  But lady, if I could have avoided it, don’t you think I would have?  I mean, come on!

As the driver did a little cleaning, I got off the shuttle, called my mom in a panic, and asked what I should do.  Was I pushing it?  Was “the plague” sending me a message and ordering me to stay in Beantown?  What should I do???

As the shuttle pulled away, “Mo” calmly walked me through my day… when did the nausea start?  Did it feel like a tummy bug or food poisoning or something else?  What had I eaten?  And then we figured it out.  I hadn’t eaten.  I’d been so busy trying to cram work in and get to the airport on time that I neglected to eat when I took my prescriptions, which very clearly state: “Take with food.”


Here’s hoping that’s the worst (and only) ridiculous and icky thing that happens this trip.  But I’m issuing a warning to all San Diegans: don’t be surprised if I accidentally mess something up in your fair city.


Stay Classy, San Diego... If you can!

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