So, this past weekend, The Good Man and I made a whirlwind trip to Southern New Mexico to celebrate my best friend's 40th birthday.
There was bbq brisket and tender ribs and homemade ice cream with homemade german chocolate cake on the menu.
Of *course* I was going to be there.
It's not a bad trip from San Francisco to Las Cruces, but it does take a skosh of effort sometimes.
So while riding planes, trains and automobiles, I learned a few things about myself.
Here's some of the top thoughts while on the journey:
The speed of the girl, while in motion, is variable depending on geography.
New Mexico, the land of mañana, moves very, very slowly. San Francisco, on the other hand, moves very, very quickly.
I do ok going from the super fast pace to the nice slow moving pace.
I have one hell of a time coming back from slow motion into 90 miles per hour.
In fact, I think I stripped a gear.
The sort of person you are becomes self evident after sitting for an hour on the tarmac.
San Francisco was having bad weather yesterday, so our connecting flight was delayed by a couple hours. Then they said, "hurry up and let's get loaded" so we complied. The plane backed from the gate, rolled toward the runway, and stopped.
And there we sat.
They were having a hard time getting a window for take off. They said we could go at any minute. So we all had to stay seated and buckled in.
As we waited.
You really get a sense of a person under these sorts of circumstances.
The lady behind me started making ever more angry calls to her husband. The people in front of us who started out as strangers quickly became friends, trading stories about delayed flights in their collective past.
A lady across the aisle angrily flipped pages in her magazine and sighed. Loud, frustrated sighs.
Me, I read. I had a really good book, so that helped. But after a while, I was getting grumpy and frustrated too. So then I put down my book and started fidgeting. And then it seemed a good idea to start annoying The Good Man because isn't that what husbands are for?
I guess I'm the sort of person that can be patient...but only for a little while.
Southwest Airlines open seating policy makes people rather aggressive.
Seriously. It's a seat. It's not a gold medal event. Find a seat. Sit in a seat. If you have to sit in a middle seat, it doesn't mean you lost the contest. It just means you have to sit in a middle seat for a few hours. Get over it.
Airports will go to great lengths to get you to buy their overpriced food.
I'm almost positive Auntie Anne's pretzel place was piping hot cinnamon sugar odor into the terminal. Gooey tasty cinnamon suguar. It was damn near irresistible.
I saw another guy with three Popeye's boxed meals walking by. He was by himself...
And then there's Starbucks. Evil place. They suck you in.
I *might* have to succumbed to some of these delights, but the food in the airport is NEVER as good as it is at a real stand alone shop.
But they manage to sucker in almost every weary traveler, prisoners of TSA policies, too weak and famished to resist paying seven dollars for a soggy hamburger.
It ain't right.
Millions of years from now, archeologists will describe us as a quaint nomadic tribe so attached to our possessions that we dragged them around with us in small wheeled wagons called "samsonites".
Honestly. Have you ever seen people so damn attached to their suitcase full of crap?
Ok. Well. I am way guilty on this one.
But at least I'm willing to check my rolley bag and not have to clutch it to my chest, and cram, shove and heave-ho it into the overhead compartment.
Ah well, as the old saying goes, all's well that ends well. It was a fantastic trip to New Mexico, much green chile was consumed. Many wild college era stories were told and fun was had.
Now back to our regularly scheduled insanity....