Brain Rattles

Dude. You guys. I am le tired. You know how when you wake up before your body is ready and it feels like someone disconnected your brain from your brain stem and it feels like your brain is just rattling around all lose in your skull and all you want to do is close your eyes and omg cat stop licking my eyebrow can’t you see I’m about to die?

Yeah. THAT.

So, here’s the thing. I had a Plan. I was going to write about weight loss (50lbs down!), depression (medicated!), BlogHer (!), friends (<3), and BlogHer return (!!) in that order. And when you have a Plan you follow the Plan because hi, that's why it's called a Plan. You don't just go willy nilly changing things in the Plan. What, were you raised by heathens? PLANLESS HEATHENS? But what with the whole brain stem detachment that's been happening lately we're going to alter the Plan which is to say we're going to do the whole damn thing backwards BECAUSE I SAID SO.

Also, please speak softly.

Two weeks ago I went to New York for BlogHer with Casey and Emily. I have Thoughts and Feelings about that, but we’ll get to that later. Wednesday morning I was practically bouncing in Emily’s kitchen. Not only was I going somewhere with my friends, but I was going on a plane!

ME: I LOVE TO FLY!

EMILY: 0_o

ME: *BOUCEBOUNCEBOUNCE* FLYING IS THE BEST I LOVE TO FLY!

Cut to Wednesday night when I arrived three hours later than planned, had sat on the runway for 2.5 hours, and rode with a cabbie who basically conned a $40 tip out of me and Emily wisely didn’t rub my flying enthusiasm in as I face-planted onto the bed and Casey patted my head gently and went to get me street meat. Parenthetical aside: street meat is tasty. Street meat after you’ve been eating cleanly for six months and only had two packets of airplane pretzels and a metric ton of Diet Coke that day? Bad idea jeans. Like super bad. Like bad idea mom jeans.

Until Sunday.

Sunday we were supposed to fly out and be home by 6. We boarded the plane, left New York and landed in DC. Hooray! We boarded that plane and sat. and sat. AND SAT. Outside the window on the left side of the plane dark and scary. Right side of the plane? Bright and cheery! Apparently a wicked storm system was coming in and while it didn’t really hit DC, it was right smack dab in the middle of the route we were supposed to take home. Three hours later they declared the flight canceled. I had a mild panic attack as I’ve never been on a flight that was canceled before and I’m not good with things I’ve never done. Emily was on the phone, on a later flight, and off to her new gate before Casey and I had even talked to a human. Casey and I both got put on flights that didn’t leave ’til Monday so we made the appropriate phone calls, Her: “Cody, I found someone to watch our children. I will snuggle you a day later than planned.” Me: “Mom, I need you to feed the cat one more day,” and we went to go find out what happens to your luggage when you get booted from a flight. We talked with the loveliest lady who has ever or will ever work for US Airways and she was all, “Why aren’t you on the 10pm flight tonight?” And we were all, “UH?” And she was all, “BAM! DONE.” To which we rejoiced noisily. She then told us it was running an hour behind. We rejoiced noisily. Five hours in an airport? THAT’S FINE. THAT’S SO FINE. OMG HEY FIVE HOURS, YOU SO FINE BABY. We ate, we skipped around, we made other people uncomfortable by holding hands, we were FINE. We watched the plane come in. We listened to them assure us that they’d turn it around quickly. We watched them de-board the plane. We listened as a woman stepped up to the microphone and said, “Your flight has been canceled. Go to the third floor for tickets.” Just like that. No waiting. No runway sitting. Just bam. Done. Like the fist of a bored God distractedly brushing a fly off his shoulder, we were sent to third floor. We did the only appropriate thing: burst into hysterical giggling.

I’d been keeping Brie (who I finally got to wrap my legs around in the middle of the lobby of the W meet on this trip) updated on our status since she only lived a few minutes away from National. After Casey and I got on the phone to get new flights for Monday afternoon she managed to activate the Mormon network before I could even text Brie. The lovely Chrysta, saint of DC and longtime Moosh reader, picked us up at way too close to 1am and dropped us off in front of a guest bed with a bathroom full of tooth brushes, toothpaste, deodorant, and honest to god soap. Bless. We stood on opposite sides of the bed, declared, “I’M TAKING MY PANTS OFF,” and face-planted into bed.

In the morning she fed us, the youngest of her three boys never ever (ever ever) stopped the noises coming out of his mouth and I was smitten the moment I heard the distant, yet distinct sound of the Star Wars theme song being hummed from a floor up from the tiny three year old. Chrysta generously obliged our desire to have her drop us off at the Lincoln Memorial and on the drive there, amid the Superman theme song, said tiny one reached over, pulled my hand into his lap, and proceeded to keep it there, occasionally playing with my fingernails and running his other hand up my arm. It was the best date I’ve had in years. Keaton, call me in fifteen years, dude.

We sweated our way through the sights. I dodged Casey’s flailing arms every time something historical came in sight. “DUDE. THAT WAS MARINE ONE.” Yes, yes it was, please stop hitting me I bruise like a peach. By the time we hit The Mall I knew to slow my stride and step to the side. I also may have made an inappropriate bondage joke, but to be fair lady, your son was the one who was hitting people on the ass with a chain. IT WAS RIGHT THERE. Eventually we bid ol’ Abe and company goodbye and went through security where I may or may not have been hit on by an extremely attractive TSA agent, and cautiously boarded our flights, side-eyeing the captain every time he said we’d be off the ground in no time. Sure dude. I’ve never heard that one before.

All in all, it actually went really well. While I love every single one of my friends fiercely, there are very few of them I’d want to be tethered to after spending a solid week together. Especially when I’m tired, under fed, and cranky. Casey makes the list. Had she not had a grumpy husband and children waiting for her at home, I easily could have kidnapped her for another week seeing the sights, flying by the seat of our admittedly sweaty pants. I’m pretty sure I tweeted something to the effect of her being my living, breathing, super attractive lovey. It was not an exaggeration. I would have gotten through that situation with much less grace and far fewer giggles had I been by myself. Also, she’s mine. Find your own human lovey.

And since I’m still playing catch up that means I haven’t begun to edit photos (re: take the 100 hours my ridiculously slow and ancient laptop will require to move the photos) and because I have no shame I leave you with a video of George Weasley and his scratchy rawr while he expresses his disapproval of my closing of the lid of the toilet and cutting off his only water supply omg open it the hell up right now what is wrong with you. Also, it’s about a minute too long because I don’t know how to cut out the boring parts. Also, also, he does this to me while I’m, you know, using the damn thing despite my cries of OCUPADO, GATO. OCUPADO.

10 thoughts on “Brain Rattles

  1. So now I’m an angel AND a saint. Sweet. Maybe someone should let my bishop know that I’m next up to be translated. (Mormon joke. Ask Casey.)
    I like you a lot. It’s nice to have a new friend who has already been properly vetted. (Turd weeding at all.) (I can’t believe I just used the word Turd.) And dude, I’ll make a GREAT MIL. That is, if I haven’t been translated yet.

  2. 30 is pretty awesome. I think this decade will fit you well. Kinda like a new pair of skinny jeans, which you totally need to get. Also, I just found out Trader Joe’s sells boxes of wine for $9.99

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