FIRST DAY OF SUMMER...
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Me: Ummm......................I'll eat some breakfast, probably watch some TV, maybe read a book. I might take a walk. I don't know. Who cares?
B: You're really happy it's summer, aren't you?
Me: You cannot fathom the intense joy that is this day.
Technically, Saturday was the first day of summer, but Saturday's also a day off every week, so it didn't count. By that logic, yesterday would've been the first day of summer, but I was on vacation, so that didn't count either. Therefore, I claim today as my first day of summer. And it's only by the fear of my mother ever reading this blog that I'm not dropping joyous f-bombs to mark the occasion. So, I'll give you the censored version:
I am very happy.
What have I done so far today, you ask? Well, I've lazed around in bed, discussed with B the drawbacks of being an extremely muscular woman (not that I have any experience in the matter), ate some breakfast, scanned Netflix for things to watch, gave up on Netflix, scanned Amazon Prime for things to watch, watched an episode of How to Make it in America, had a tussle with my Chromecast, ate some cereal and a Freezepop, and texted a few people. I've also thought about doing laundry and considered washing my face.
It is now 10:40am.
In truth, if I did this every day, I would probably fall into a pit of depression, where I would dissect my life and uncover all of the things I don't like about myself or my situation. (I'm not particularly good at extended alone time.) Luckily, it's only day one, and I've got a library, a little cash, and a lot of time to come up with stimulating but relaxing ways to spend the next two months.
This weekend kicked it off right. Saturday morning at the crack of down, B dropped me off at the airport for my flight to Charleston, a weekend girls' trip to South Carolina to commemorate the mid-way point between my 30th birthday and that of my best friend from college, Nicole.
Despite the anticipation of seeing my favorite travel buddy again for the first time in a year and the excitement of visiting a new place, it was hard to say goodbye to B. It's only been five weeks since that fateful first date at Twelve Mile Limit, but we've grown surprisingly close in that short period of time, and I was going to miss him. So we hugged and kissed and said our goodbyes (Don't judge--PDA at an airport is totally acceptable--haven't you seen Love Actually?), and I entered the automatic sliding doors of our still-pretty-crappy-despite-renovations airport, on my way to fun.
Now, it's been a while since I've flown on an airplane. Something like a year and a half, which is pretty unheard for me. In college and just out of college, I was on a plane every couple of months and jet-setting out of the country at least once every two years. But adult obligations and financial choices (see: buying a house) have taken their toll on my wanderlust, and I've found myself ground-bound for the last nineteen months or so. The result of this extended break from air travel is that I've forgotten a lot of the experience that is flying on an airplane. That is, I've forgotten the sounds and feelings and procedures of normal flight. What I'm trying to say is, I was a little scared. It's like spending the night at your parents' house after being away for a couple of years. The creaking will keep you awake.
So, I spend a lot of time reading, praying the Hail Mary, and reminding myself of the rock solid science behind the Bernoulli Effect as I made my way from New Orleans to Atlanta and then on to Charleston. On the way, I also ducked a student's family, finished two books, bought a third book, and eavesdropped on a lady that was clearly Old Money Charleston. To pass the time, I imagined what it might be like to have that much money, and my conclusion was that it's better to know people with money than to actually have it yourself. I dub it the "Entourage" effect, a reference to the HBO show, not the marijuana phenomenon of the same name, which Google just taught me about.
I finally made it to Charleston in one piece, though a little worse for wear, and caught a taxi to a nearby outlet mall where I met my friend Nicole, who'd been whiling away a few hours there waiting for me. One of the goals for the weekend was to find a dress for my sister's upcoming wedding, and Nicole was up to the task. She's always been an exceptional wingwoman when it comes to fashion, and she did not disappoint. When we reunited, one of the first things she said was, "I have some ideas for you." (We actually saw each other from afar, jumped up and down waving, and then sped-walked towards each other with luggage in-tow. It was like a romantic comedy scene, except we couldn't run because of our heavy bags.)
We ended up spending about two hours there, and I bought two dresses, a jumpsuit (Nicole's idea), and two pairs of moderate-to-very high heels. In other words, I'm going to look damn good standing up on Saturday, but my feet and bank account will hurt. Also, I can't bend my knees in these shoes. What's with that?
Saturday night was a blur. My amazing cousin Bennett (the best host around!) picked us up from the mall, even though it meant sitting in 40 minutes of traffic on the way back, and then spent the rest of the evening showing us downtown Charleston through the eyes of a twenty-something local (ironic, considering that we planned this as a trip to commemorate our induction into our thirties). We drank at Republic, we ate at Prohibition, we drank at his house, we drank on the rooftop at Stars, we drank and danced at Prohibition, we danced at O-Ku. After a certain hour, pretty much every bar/restaurant on or near King Street turns into a nightclub. At first, I was really excited about this; I love dancing. Then, I remembered that I'm old. Over the course of the night, I had something like 5 drinks and 3 shots, which is 3 drinks and 3 shots more than I usually consume in a night out. Needless to say, the night ended with me passed out on Bennett's couch (delete the picture, Bennett!), and the next morning began with two Aleve. But it was fun. Man, was it fun.
Sunday morning, with aspirin in my system, Nicole and I ventured out to the closest Catholic Church, St Patrick's on St. Phillip St. It's a small, predominantly African-American church with vaulted ceilings, a welcoming community, and a worshipful experience. To contrast it with the church I go to here in New Orleans, everyone (everyone) in their church sings. While we spend countless hours teaching the congregation songs and brainstorming ideas to get people to open their mouths in church, this small community has already bought in. It was incredible.
The rest of the day passed in much the same way. We had brunch around the corner from my cousin's apartment at a place called the Warehouse: chicken and waffles...and cocktails. "I don't think I can put any more alcohol in my body," I said. "What'll you have?" asked the attractive bartender. "I'll get the Sunday cocktail," I said.
From there, we walked King Street: window-shopping, people-watching, and even visiting my cousin's office (which is just as cool as the graphic design/web-marketing firms you see in movies...they DO exist!). We went out to Waterfront Park, we walked through the Battery, we got cocktails and a charcuterie plate on the rooftop at Vendue Inn, we traversed the Market, we got a driving tour from a friend who's only lived in Charleston for a month ("That house is pink...that house is expensive...that's a hotel...those cannons don't work...").
After a long and gorgeous day of sightseeing, we collapsed at home--the three of us on a queen size bed--for a late afternoon nap. I slept soundly between them for something like an hour and a half before being awakened for dinner on the water at Fleet Landing, a seafood restaurant, with some of Bennett's friends that we'd met before and some new ones. We got the obligatory She Crab soup (so good!), and I opted for a not-so-great burger to absorb all the alcohol that my body was still processing from the last twenty-four hours. "What'll you have to drink?" the waitress asked. "Coke," I said. "Please, just Coke." We watched ships sailing and took pictures of the moon and talked about ridiculous things. "What would you do if that ship had a cannon and blew up that building right there next to us?" "What if it was an alien ship and it evaporated the building with a plasma ray?"
We ended the evening at Bennett's house, watching Parks and Recreation episodes on Netflix and eating cookies and milk. I was asleep before 11.
Monday morning, Nicole and I got up late, got dressed, and headed south to Folly Beach, where we ate at the Lost Dog Cafe and spent a couple of hours hanging out on the beach. Some girl time, if you will. I talked about B way too much. She told me about work and life and dating and her adorable nephew. We reminisced. We talked about when we'd see each other next. We waded in the ocean.
Leaving the beach at 2 gave us just enough time to shower, pack, and hang out with Bennett a little bit before we headed to the airport. There, we ate so-so sandwiches at a "cafe" and talked until Nicole got an alert on her phone that her flight had been cancelled.
"What? I can't leave tomorrow. I don't have any personal days to use." She was understandably freaking out.
The gate representative was completely unhelpful ("There are no flights until tomorrow"), and so, we did what any approximately 30-year-old would do. We called her dad. He calmed her down and gave her some suggestions. Ten minutes later, we were parting.
"It was so good to see you!" she said, hugging me tightly.
"Be safe," I said, "and good luck! Let me know what you end up doing!"
I walked to my gate and pulled out my phone to text my brother. Hey, there's a slight chance I'm going to get stuck in ATL tonight because of airline BS. Can I call you, if I do? I'm trying to get home from Charleston, and flights are getting cancelled because of weather and air traffic.
I waited a second for a response, put the phone in my back pocket, and pulled out a book.
A guy standing next to me, who had been looking over at me repeatedly for about five minutes, leaned in. "What are you reading?"
I uttered an embarrassed sound and hid the book's cover. "Oh, just a trashy book I bought in the airport. Something to pass the time."
I'd bought the book on the way up to Charleston, a chick lit novel called Love by the Book. After reading three heralded pieces of fiction in the last week (The Martian, a great new science fiction novel; Belzhar, a literary drama novel; and Wonderstruck, a lackluster children's novel/graphic novel that a student left in my classroom on the last day), it was pretty disappointing. But no one ever said airport bookstores were a hotbed of literary inspiration.
"An avid reader, huh?"
This guy was determined to have a conversation with me. It was kind of flattering. Especially considering that I was wearing no make up, a stained t-shirt, and my hair was in that weird in-between state of drying-but-not-yet-dry.
We talked about Charleston and his job and my job and our respective trips, the drama at his cousin's wedding that weekend, my fascination with the pop-up nightclubs on King Street (seriously, I can't get over it--every place turns into a club). All the while, I kept thinking, How do I let this guy down nicely? And, I wish B were here. Because B's my guy.
I sat a few rows back from him on the plane, and occasionally, he would look back and smile. Points for persistence.
In Atlanta, he waited for me and asked if I wanted to hang out before my plane came.
"Actually, I've got to run to my gate. I don't have an assigned seat on my flight, and that's making me pretty nervous."
"Well, would you be interested in talking more after today?"
"I'm sorry," I said, "I have a boyfriend. But I really appreciate your talking to me; men don't usually do that. Good luck in Boston, and if you ever end up getting one of those really big houses in Charleston, you let me know, and I'll come visit."
"No worries," he said and smiled.
I checked my phone, and there was a text from Nicole: So I'm driving to Charlotte! I hope you make it safely to Atlanta! I will let you know what happens!
My gate representative told me to wait until 45 minutes before the flight, and he'd assign me a seat. So I visited the bathroom and then bought some chocolate-covered cherries to pass the time. As I sat down again at my gate, I overheard an announcement from the next gate over: "Flight 0552 to New Orleans, we are now boarding Zone 1."
An earlier flight to New Orleans?
Taking my chances, I walked over to the counter and asked the woman there, "I'm scheduled to leave at 11pm tonight for New Orleans, but what are the chances you have a seat on this flight?"
"Wait around and see," she told me.
So I stood beside the counter for about twenty minutes, watching the standby list, popping chocolates, and trying not to get my hopes up. The line looked pretty long. The standby list looked pretty long.
When the last person in line boarded, I looked up at the information screen. 5 seats unassigned. So I approached the counter and re-explained my situation to the other gate representative.
Five minutes later, I miraculously found myself in an exit seat (my favorite!) on a flight that would get me home two hours earlier than expected.
Before I turned off my phone, I got a text from Nicole: OMG, I made it to Charlotte. I am at the gate and they are boarding us soon. I can't believe it! I don't think I will believe it until I am home and safe.
Two hours later, I hopped into B's car outside baggage claim. Four hours later, I was in bed, and I heard a ding from my phone. I am finally at my house! Woohoo! I had so so much fun with you this weekend! I can't wait to plan our next trip!
First day of summer. Heck yeah.
Nice travel journal. Great first day of summer. Rock on.
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