Destination: That Other Coast

The morning was a rough one.  Let's just say a snotty-nosed Ashley went through security and was asked, "So how are you this morning?"  Look at me man.  It looks like my cat died.  I'm still blotchy.  I have snot coming out of my nose.  I can't see through my watery eyes.  Oh, I'm peachy.

My obvious response, "I've been better."  Derr...

So after the hour-long wait at my gate in Medford, we boarded the plane.  Thank goodness my seatmate looked like a recluse grandma.  I could really use a nap.  After an hour of sleep the night before, I curled into my pretzelly self and slept through most of the flight.  That's after my devout Catholic routine every flight of praying for myself, the pilots, the skies, the air-traffic controllers, Santa, the Tooth Fairy, my stomach, my luggage, and timely connections.

I somehow remember a delay outta Medford, but I'll be honest...my "Rabbi beard" is incredibly comfy so I usually knock right out.  What's a Rabbi beard?  My travel pillow.  It's U-shaped, and can also double as a Rabbi beard if I ever need to perform a circumcision or a funeral.

Anyways, so touchdown San Fran.  The flight attendant knows there a tight connection to Philly (now after the delay) after Grandma and Grampa Old-As-Crap-And-Don't-Understand-Air-Travel complain about needing to hurry up and thinking they can push through the middle aisle upon landing.  Good luck.  So us Philly folks (a half dozen or so, which on a Medford flight is like a third of the plane) are allowed to get off quickly before everyone else (kinda awesome).

But this isn't before a slight glitch in the system.

"We're sorry for the delay folks.  We're having difficulty opening the hatch.  There shouldn't be more than a 20-minute delay."

INSTA-GROAN!  Omg, I've never heard it before.  It was like a pack of zombies were there.

Then someone next to me said she didn't hear the announcement.

"She said that there's a problem opening the door, so there might be a 20-minute delay.  But honestly, if I can get a couple alcoholic drinks comp'd, I'd be okay with it."  *Cue the chucklin' crowd.*

Thank goodness 1.5 minutes later that door was open, and we were off.

So I make it through SFO, through security, yacking at my dad telling him I had made it there, found my gate and heard, "Now boarding all rows flight ### to Philadelphia."

Well that's quick.  No time to tinkle.  No time for food.  No time for sanity.  I wonder if those f.o.p.'s made it.  Not like it's my problem.  Old people and traveling are not my combination.  But let's not start another post now.  Focus, people.

So we're on the plane.  "Good morning, looks like we're having a full flight so if you could just stay seated we'll be moving shortly."  Okay, no worries.

Turns out, the flight was only 70% full and they didn't want people moving around so the plane balance was off.  Makes sense to me.  Then this woman keeps bitchin' about how she wants to sit someone place upfront.  Obviously this woman wasn't a Rhode Scholar and doesn't understand the need for balance in a safe flight.  Hopefully she hasn't reproduced with those genes.  Okay, off subject again.  Returning.

But by this time the flight attendants were right by my row, so I ask, "So does this mean I get the whole row to myself?  Like I can stretch out?"

"My goodness, you can do whatever you want after we get into the air."

NO WAY.  DUDE.  SERIOUSLY.  SCORE.  BACK OFF.  THIS IS MY ROW!

So here my legs are, stretched out, enjoying this 4.5 hour flight to Philly.  And it wasn't 4.5 for me.  It was 1.5.  See, when you don't sleep the night before, you're really tired.  Really tired.  So after we were up, I buckled myself in the middle seat loosely and laid the heck down.  I slept for 3 hours.  It was amazing.  I stirred every now and then.  But you won't believe how comfortable it is until you experience it yourself.  Absolutely spoiled.

Now what was supposed to be a quick connection in Philly turned into Denver-Christmas 2.0.  As soon as I leave Sarah a message about being in VA around 7:45pm, I hear an announcement.

"Blah, blah, blah...delayed incoming aircraft...blah blah...departure time of 7:40pm."

You know what, we're cool.  I passed a bar on the way in.  So I let the troops know of the news, walked back to the bar, plopped my butt down, ordered a Guinness and some chicken fingers, and chatted up a stranger from mid-state New York.  Delay, shmelay.  Nothing new to me.  But this time I get to entertain my liver and stomach.  If I hadn't gotten that severe nap, I probably would have been a Crabby Ashley.  But this time.  We're good, we're good.

So we finally boarded at 8:10pm, and my dad said we got off the ground at 8:50pm (he stalks all my flights just so he knows where I'm at).  I say this because I don't remember taking off.  I had fallen asleep.  Mind you, I had been traveling 12 hours.  I'm allowed.  I woke up mid-flight to some narly turbulence.  Like Space Mountain turbulence.  It was kinda fun.  

Got into Norfolk.  Dog tired.  Wook thankfully met me at Baggage because I needed help with my 2nd checked bag of 54.5 lbs.  (And they didn't dock me for it, shwing!)  We got home.  Said hi to the turtles.  Dragged my fleece pajama pants outta the duffel.  And crawled into bed.  We didn't even hit up Taco Bell which my dad had joked about earlier in the day.  I scrounged down a half bowl of Cheerios.  That's it.  Sad.  I know.  But at least wook had gone out and made the big purchase.  20 points.