Tuesday, May 24, 2005

Home Again, Home Again: Redux

Well, we're back again. Our weekend in New Orleans was super. Number one, it was h-o-t, HOT! Above average temperatures, and I mean above average. Easily into the 90s. My brother's girlfriend's parents (did you follow that?) told us that their car temperature read 104 on Friday afternoon. And while those in the South may have not appreciated the heat, I certainly did. If you haven't guessed by now, I hate the Michigan weather. I literally cried last night when I realized how shitty the weather was going to be here for this coming week. When I woke up in New Orleans yesterday at six am, the temperature was 72. It was clear and there was, believe or not you Michigan readers, SUN. (It's still there, I promise you. I saw it. And seeing is believing.) When I landed in Michigan at noon, it was raining, dark, and grey. It was also only 50 degrees. I hate it here. I don't know quite when I turned into a lizard, but it's who I am now, and so it's hard for me to live in this stupid cold place.

Although the trip was fantastic, I did think at one point I was near death. We had one of those infamous horrid plane trips. In fact, after we were through the worst of it, the pilot came on and told us how sorry he was, and if he had known how bad it was, he would have never left Detroit. We dropped hundreds of feet numerous times. We were swaying back and forth (almost worse than the free drops) and you could hear the wind slamming into the plane. At one point, the plane was diving nose down, and I am sure this was the pilot's attempt to get us out of the horrid air pockets that was causing the drops, but it was disconcerting, to say the least. Almost everyone was hanging on to their chairs or seatmates. One assshole insisted in releasing a loud "woo-hoo" every time we'd have a particularly long drop (and I mean a couple seconds, and if this doesn't seem long to you, then count in your head "one mississippi two mississippi" and think of your plane dropping straight down for that time period). No one thought he was funny. Except for him, the plane was deathly quiet. The stewardesses (can I say that still?) were strapped down in their little jump seats until the last 25 minutes of the flight. It was hell. I was scared shitless and prayed every good prayer I know to Our Lady nonstop. To top it off, when we finally got off the plane and into the car taking us to our more than perfect NOLA destination, a fucking wasp stung my finger, which ended up swelling to more than twice its size and itching the shit out of me for the entire weekend.

It was good I suppose that all the shitty stuff happened in one night-- that way it cleared the rest of the weekend to be perfect. Baby Brother's graduation was easily the nicest graduation I have ever attended, but I think there might be something about a private school college graduation to that fact. Did I say I was proud of him yet? I am really proud of him.

I also could very used the constant and socially sanctioned drinking at all hours. I opened each day with either a mimosa or bloody mary, and just kept going. Even on Sunday when we brunched at 10:30, I could drink! Again, this godforsaken state thwarts me: Here in Michigan one cannot order a drink until noon. Oh, how provincial! And now here I am, still sitting in an office at quarter to eight (by this point in NOLA I would have already had at least two evening cocktails), and I haven't yet had a drink. I'm off to do that quite soon. Ah well-- as I just said to a friend, I'd move to the South if it was just a little more blue. Until then, well, here we are.


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