"I'M HERE!!!!!!!"

...is what I texted Stella when I stepped inside her gorgeous, amazing flat. But let's catch up.

Earlier today...

1 hour til landing

God I love Virgin Atlantic. My great flight started about 9 hours before my flight when I reached Jeffrey, a sweetie with a Scottish accent, on their customer service line because the computer wouldn’t let me in (WHY put O or 0 in a record locator??). After gently and sensitively pointed out my mistake, he noticed I didn’t have a seat. When I asked for a window, Jeffrey, put me in a window seat in a row next to an empty. God bless Jeffrey. 

my "bits and bobs bag"

Another reason I love VA: my "bits and bobs bag" filled with travel necessities. Also their movie selection had a great variety and their TV selection included Fleabag, which is phenomenal. 

I’d planned on taking my Ambien the instant the plane went wheels up, and literally had the pill in my hand, when the attendant handed me a menu. I forgot they feed you on good flights! For free!! I was the opposite of hungry, but I’m a stray cat and I live for free food. So I watched Bridget Jones’ Baby until they came back with dinner.

(BJB: Not the train wreck BJD2EoR and obviously nothing can touch BJD. Not as bad as it could have been, likely as good as it was going to get all things considered. McDreamy just keeps getting hotter and no one has a better happy smile than Mark Darcy. And I cared about their relationship, which is basically a rave review as far as watching a movie on a plane goes.)

(Someone just farted in my vicinity. I’m so jealous of them right now.)

The choices: Pork Ragu, Chicken Pesto or Veggie Thai Curry. Thai or die, always. It was a red curry and rice and about 3 1/2 jalapeños spicy which is pretty risqué for airplane food. It came with a heckuva nice salad and the cutest little salted caramel ganache that I couldn’t help keeping. I’m off desserts again, but it was so adorable I couldn’t bear to send it back to the trash where it would probably get soiled by old ragu or be the only lonely little ganache in the dark trashy world because everyone else’s ganaches wanted them. So I’m going to find him a good home.

Almost there!

After dinner I took half my Ambien because I’ve been on a hydration kick which has me peeing hourly. At the last second I had a paranoid fantasy of falling so deep asleep that I wet my seat. You wouldn’t be able to tell by looking at me since my leggings are black and already a little shiny, but the smell would give me away and also I’d freeze if I had to sit in a wet seat for hours. SO I broke my pill in half and passed out dead. THANK GOD AND JEFFREY FOR THE EMPTY SEAT NEXT TO ME.

I woke up with about three hours to go. Time for another movie. I picked Bad Moms. Sigh. I’m really fighting the urge to defend my movie choices… 

I lose, my urge wins: On planes, I like watching the same crap you’d watch on a hungover Saturday, when you’re too lazy to change the channel and know you’ve got nothing but time so you surrender to rom coms and anything else that won’t make you think too hard. Plus I love Mila Kunis. I want her to live in my pocket and coach me through life.

(BM: Not good, all over the place, and trite, one-dimensional everything, but somehow I wasn’t mad about it. Prob the Kunis factor. And I love Kristin Bell. Now Katherine Hahn… I like KH but I HATED her in this. Wire hanger in my ear drums, secret jalapeño juice in my eyes hate. I’m personally mad at the director for casting her and at her for doing the role.)

And out of the blue we’re landing!!

90 minutes after landing

Oghhhhgoddddd. The customs line is long and slow. It makes for good people watching though. I'm in the non-UK/EU line so my line buddies are from all over. Most everyone is on their phones (me included as I type) so it makes for easy lurking. 

But boring lurking. Rare conversations, no meaningful gazes or glares. This is reminding me a lot of Wall-E :( 

There is a couple in the quardroned section and I wonder what got them there. Passport problems, status problems...? Lately, at every check point I imagine I'm a spy or criminal so that every time I get waved or stamped through I feel the thrill of satisfaction and relief. 

Gross. I'm a privileged white looking American asshole. I get to pretend so I feel a lick of anxiety. Meanwhile, millions of immigrants and refugees travel in constant fear. It's disgusting that I have it easier than most because I won the skin color/nationality lottery. 

Well, this got less fun fast, but that's our world now, isn't it? In related news, I just realized by LA time I'm overdue for my antidepressant. 

3 hours after landing

Roly Poly, me & the MF

I made it to Stella's place with my luggage, Roly Poly and the Motherfucker. Roly Poly is a little black case who rolls and is sweet and easy to deal with. The Motherfucker is a motherfucker. Big. Red. HEAVY. It's my fault, obviously, but that doesn't stop me from getting pissy about it. 

In addition to my stuff, I packed fifteen lbs of kombucha. Stella asked for a single bottle, but I wanted to treat her to more. I knew the suitcase was overweight and I figured they'd make me get rid of some of it, but (Thank you, Virgin Atlantic, kinda) they didn't. I was psyched until I had to heave myself and my stuff all over the airport, on and off the tube, up flights of stairs, on and off the bus, up and down the street when I got a little lost finding Stella's place, and then? Up three flights of stairs once I got to Stella's.

But I'm here now! And starving, so off I head to one of my favorite travel past times: grocery shopping!