Seriously, this is gonna be a quick one. Because I’m home now. Reunited with my Tivo. Bates Motel had a series finale.
There was at least one Mom.
And I still need to figure what in the AF 13 Reasons Why is all about.
So. Yeah. Where were we?
Flew home today.
Aunt Dot and Uncle John (okay, just auntie; uncle didn’t mind) felt bad leaving me at the curb outside the Hawaiian Airlines counter and not waiting for me to go through security. Honestly, I cried like a little bitch with a skinned knee two years ago.
It’s better to say goodbye and then be expected to immediately function like an adult in front of strangers. Keeps my hard ass candy shell from melting.
I teared up waiting at the gate a couple of times (some people probably wrongly inferred).
They can’t prove anything.
It’s mostly leaving them that sucks. But, right had to God, the stress started the minute I pulled out of Pittsburgh International, yinz guys.
I was, quite literally, somewhere over the rainbow between Houston and P’burgh.
Pretty cool, huh?
Not when I left the extended parking shuttle into a freaking tornado warning.
I Dorothy so hard, you guys.
The rain followed me home and there were lots of flares, lots of people standing on the berm – that’s a thing in Pa., y’all, even the cops use it in official reports so it’s real – looking kind of inexplicably stranded. Lots of trees spanked to the ground by the mighty hand of Mama Nature.
I helped zero of them.
People. I couldn’t do jack about the trees.
Because that’s not how any of this works on the east coast.
Ha. Not really. Mostly because I was in airport traffic, and like my 17th hour of straight travel, with a three hour drive still ahead of me.
Put the air mask on your own face before you help your neighbors, my friends.
Them’s the rules.
Before I left Kona the terrifying out-of-nowhere Bill Pullman level storm – my spirit…um…weather, maybe(?) – got the Humpy’s emergency/we’re closed metal blinds thrown down for a minute. Aunt Dot and Uncle both said in the nine years they’d lived there they’d never seen the Humpy’s metal blinds down.
I know they’re not blinds but I don’t know what to call them. And I’ve got shit to do. I don’t have time to Webster it.
We could call them zombie blinds. I feel like they’re only there for end of the night till counting procedures and zombie hoards.
Not as an ultimate solution but just, you know, quickly stock up on provisions and head for higher ground, act one of the zombie apocalypse movie type drills.
Before it gets serious but after you realize they’re not just hungover twenty year olds.
You know what I’m saying.
(She kept telling herself.)
This zebra dove was totally pissed he didn’t get served.
I don’t feel like it was species-ally motivated, but then we never can know, can we?
Maybe Humpy’s has an unwavering but unspoken no avians allowed rule. I don’t know.
It’s always the ones you’d never guess, I suppose.
Basically, sucks to be home in some ways. Like the fact that instead of dinking good beer overlooking the ocean, my Pennsylvania family does things like this:
Without duress. Or weed. On purpose.
I love them both but Jeepers Creepers.
And then there was the five year old MMA deathmatch over who got the Frozen tee shirt from Ross and who got the AC/DC tee shirt. And then a stern talking-to, when no one wanted AC/DC, about pride in our seventies to mid-nineties hair rock heritage.
Next week I’m planning a curriculum based on what Meat Loaf would and would not do for love.
And I think they’re ready for Advanced Rocky Horror dance technique. They’ve seen the videos. Now it’s time to learn why we all love and respect the pelvic thrust (but if any of you clowns tells them why that’s funny I’ll murder you with my bare hands…that’s not age appropriate until, like, eighth grade, at least…).
I think that’s pretty much it.
This trip I read Go Set a Watchman back to front on the way out and paid homage to Uncle by rereading The Old Man and the Sea.
Haha. Who am I kidding?
I’m not kidding.
I love and respect the Sea. I’d never make fun of it.
Okay. I’ll see myself out.
Back to work tomorrow, and it turns out that I got my sunscreen cocktail just right this time. I will be significantly more toast-colored than my fellow, considerably whiter (and probably less melanoma-positive), newsroom coworkers.
I know. It’s something to aspire to, kids.
College first, though.