Back To Reality

Flew back to PoCo today and while I tried to check in online the day before, Alaska's website said No.

So, I had to check in at the counter, which was OK, as I thought that might prevent me from forgetting to check my bulging 75lb duffel bag. No way would that thing sneak through security.

I hefted my bag onto the scale and the nice agent read the result - 64lbs. I left a couple of pairs of shoes and some clothes in Alameda, but not enough... 14lbs overweight.

She told me, "It's overweight, do you have something to put it in?"
"Put it in?" I answered? My stupidity? The tequila? "Put WHAT in?"
"The extra 14lbs - do you have something you can put it in?"
I'm thinking, Like what? Do you see an empty bag materializing before our eyes?

I told her no, I knew the bag was overweight and I would just have to pay the overage fee. $50. Yikes! But, hey, I got away with it on the way down, so it seemed like a fair deal.

On the first plane I had the pleasure of sitting next to a very loud little boy and his louder younger brother. Thankfully, I had the forethought to recharge my iPod the night before. These kids were born without the Inside Voice Gene and their mother was born with poor hearing. Such a pleasure.

A few rows up from me a guy about my dad's age settled into his seat with a fresh copy of the National Enquirer. By the end of the flight, he seemed to be all caught up on Miley Cyrus and the stars of Twilight.

Just before our scheduled departure, two actual A-Holes boarded the flight with large carry ons and complained loudly to each other that they'd have to move some things around [in the overhead bins].

The second flight was uneventful, though tiny prop jets always make me nervous. It just looks like at any moment, it might stop spinning, and down we'll go like a hot rock. I did another crossword and hoped for the best.

Of course, I returned to grey skies and rain. Very funny. It was sunny and warmer in Canada than in Alameda while I was gone. Canada is kind of a bitch.

Leaving Paradise

So, the weather hasn't been ideal this week - high winds, chilly temperatures - even rain & hail in some spots - but after being away for nine months (wow, I just realized, it's like I was sent away to have a baby in secret), I realize Alameda truly is a beautiful bucolic bubble.

I promise I didn't sneak away to have a baby. If I did, I've no idea where I left it or what it's doing.

This week I've been able to enjoy gallons of Peet's at the store up the street (which apparently causes rhyming), get gas at a brand new Safeway station at South Shore (now called Alameda Towne Centre, even though it's nowhere near the actual town center nor is it olde or British), shop at Trader Joe's and a fantastic local market just a couple of blocks from me, see my amazing chiropractor barely a mile north of our house, get good food and wine just up the street, and shop at the brand new Kohl's also at the Towne Centre.

Just 10 minutes away is Rockridge full of great shops & restaurants and just 20 minutes away I can eat tiny pancakes at Sears or, when it's open, which is not on Tuesdays, for reference, get a fantastic breakfast at Dottie's. That's just the tip of the tip of the iceberg of all that can be enjoyed in San Francisco. Then there's Marin County, the Peninsula... so much, all right here.

I know I was excited about moving to Canada and having an adventure, but it wasn't until being back for this visit did I realize how great this area is to live in. Growing up here you can lose perspective.

It's about time to start packing - gotta make sure I can fit my tequila safely in my bag - but I'm procrastinating... I see rain in the forecast for Friday in PoCo. So irritating. More rain and no more Peet's, no more TJ's, no more fabulous chiropractor, no more Sears, no more Dottie's, no more Cumbre green salsa. Fucking LAME.

But, I will get to see my husband, cats and the parrot. I've got that going for me, which is nice. I guess it's time to see how much tequila and Peet's coffee beans I can fit in with my clothes, or how many shirts, pants, etc. will be staying behind.

How To Travel Like a Dumbass

A step-by-step guide, should you need it. I don't - I'm a pro.

• Pack a 75lb duffel bag that will help pull you down the front steps of your house and strain your back if you try to lift it. It has wheels, so go ahead - stuff that sucker.
• Cook yourself some eggs. You're going to need the protein. Trust me.
• Say a lengthy goodbye to each of your three cats and angry parrot, who doesn't appreciate you waking him up at 5:30 a.m. just because you couldn't wait to get to Palm Springs.
• Leave 40 minutes later than you should. Enjoy the rush hour traffic.
• At the airport, blaze right through to Customs and forget the U.S. Customs Declaration Form. You're departing from Canada - this should not be necessary, as all the crap you have was bought or imported from the U.S.
• Go all the way back out to the airline counters to fill out your stupid customs form. Your flight boards in 10 minutes.
• Blaze back through to Customs and forget to check your 75lb duffel bag.
• Proceed through Customs to Security with your 75lb duffel bag that has no airline tag.
• At Security, realize no one will know where to send your stupid 75lb duffel bag. Ask Security Dude for help. Get directed to the only phone in the area you can use to call the airline counter. Your flight boards in 5 minutes.
• Find only phone in-use by a man who has no intention of releasing his desperate grip on the receiver.
• Ask man politely to use the phone "real quick." He says "Sorry, mum needs her medication." Man's wife explains that she checked her bag by mistake and it's the bag with all her medication in it. She must get it back.
• Plead with Security Dude for help. You will not be allowed back through Customs without an airline representative. There is only one phone. Calling the airline's customer service # won't help - they cannot call the check-in counter (which is odd, don't you think?). Your flight is now boarding.
• Return to magical phone and plead with Mr. Medication to make your call before you miss your flight. He capitulates and hands over the receiver. Call the check-in counter and obsequiously ask the very nice lady to bring a tag for your stupid 75lb duffel bag. Thank her profusely. (BTW, this is one way to circumvent baggage weight overage charges.)
• Wait for the very nice lady with your tag. It will feel like a half day before she arrives, slowly walking her pregnant belly into Security. Thank her again profusely, affix tag to your bag and drag your luggage onto the belt. Thank Security Dude for the tip to put it on the "fragile" belt that's faster than the regular one. Your flight is boarding.
• Wait in the long security line to have your carry-on screened. Luck out by getting behind two families with small children. Resist barking at little Sally to put her damned binky in the bin and to stop crying. Smile even though it feels like your face might crack.
• Get your crap scanned by four - FOUR - screeners crowded around the X-ray monitor, all of whom appear to be in training as they casually discuss with each other the different shapes and objects they're studying. Watch them shift the belt into reverse repeatedly. Your flight is almost done boarding.
• Wait 3 days for your stuff to clear the X-ray machine. When it finally arrives on the other side of Never, quickly repack the laptop and your dangerous lotion & chapstick, put on your jacket and put your shoes back on. You should lace them up, but you won't have time. Your flight is about to leave.
• Run. Keep running. Your gate is all the way at the end of the terminal. Keep running. Hear the final call for your flight. Keep running.
• Run all the way to the gate and rejoice at seeing another family with small children ahead of you.
• Hand your boarding pass & passport to the annoyed gate agent. Tell her you really like her necklace. Smile as she smiles back and says, "Thank you! Welcome aboard!"

Slacker Days

The only thing I accomplished while David was gone was a whole lotta ass-sitting.

I almost felt guilty at first, but then I realized how good it felt. I sat on my ass at home, then I sat on my ass in a movie theater all by myself. Turns out few people go to the movies at noon on a Monday.

My list of goals was ambitious and unfortunately, I only managed to achieve a few of them: wore sweats almost the entire time, did no dishes whatsoever and watched bad TV - The City! The City After Show! Jay is a total lying cheater!

Then there's the ginormous time suck that is the internet - Facebook, Flickr, blogs, news, but mostly Facebook... oh how I love that time vampire.

But today was fairly productive... I bought my tickets and in just over four weeks I'll be on my way to the sun-baked desert where I can damage my skin and float around in the lap pool.

A week later I get to drive up to the Bay Area, stopping at every In & Out along the way, where I will consume gallons of Peet's and eat plates and plates of molé chicken at La Piñata, washed down with buckets of Don Julio on the rocks. I'm so excited I could cry hot tears of sweet tequila.

Holy Plastic Zippers, Batman!

We're saved!

Where is S.C. Johnson's Nobel Prize? Do they realize they've single-handedly saved the world from terrorism with their little one quart zip lock bags?

I felt so secure on my flight knowing no one on board had more than a quart bag's worth of liquids, gels, or pastes - except those with less-than-perfect eyesight traveling with contact lens fluids and mothers with infants traveling with formula.

At one airport the agent never checked my rollaboard and instead gave my backpack the equivalent of a strip search.

At another airport they went through both bags and explained the contact lens solution didn't have to be in the one-quart bag, but it still had to be taken out so they could "see it." Um, Betty, I have something you can see if you want to see something.

So here's my new policy. If you're traveling by plane, fuck the luggage and don't worry about getting dressed. Wear your robe and slippers and throw all your shit into a clear plastic trash bag. You're wasting your time neatly packing your things into a tidy suitcase.

And those nice clothes you like to travel in? Don't bother. You'll have to take off your belt, your watch, your hair clips, your shoes, and possibly your bra if it's providing weapons-grade support. Why waste all that time? Robe & flip flops.

You'll get through security in a flash and won't have to worry about getting dressed all over again or repacking your shit in a frenzied rush to get out of the way and off to your gate.

So... Slow... Gasp...

I've gone back in time. Back to a time known as "dial up." You'll notice today's post contains no photos. In times like these, photos are a luxury we cannot afford.

I'm in central Oregon for a quick trip and because the wireless cable isn't currently active at the parents' place, I opted for ye olde modemme so I wouldn't have to camp at the downtown Starbucks all day. It's a trade off, but I know I made the right choice.

A whole house to myself full of coffee, food, booze, a toasty fireplace, a magic espresso box and comfy couches where I can work in my PJs - or a drafty coffee shop and a public bathroom...

My mother stocks enough food in her pantry that I could be here indefinitely and not need to shop for anything. And there's more booze here than you'd find in a dozen frat houses - better quality, too.

Because the cable isn't on, I'm relegated to Oregon Public Broadcasting and local radio. OPB is the only channel that works without cable. Last night I watched the conclusion to Jane Eyre and tonight's show is something to do with WWII. I already feel a whole 'nother grade level smarter.

More to come about the joys of small airplane travel. While it's no fun flying in a RedBull can, on the plus side, Alaska/Horizon Air gives out complimentary beer & wine.

Postcard from Puerto Vallarta

Hi pink!

Puerto Vallarta, Jalisco, Mexico
November 3, 2005