2 posts tagged “transatlantic”
Hello everyone! So many things have been going on, I've just now had the time to sit down and pour over all of our photos from Hawaii. We woke up last Sunday at 4am, and we didn't get back to London until about 12 on Monday afternoon.
We were up for about 31 hours. We went to Starbucks in Honolulu, Los Angeles, Surbiton, and Kingston all in one day. Can anyone else say that? NO I DON'T THINK SO. WE WIN.
Now that my extreme jet lag has subsided a bit (I fell asleep in a pub and on a train this week) I can now write about the glory that was Hawaii. And by "glory" I mean "the fun bits we had in between fighting with my family".
I love my family to tiny smitherines, but anyone who has gone on a family "vacation", you know what I mean. (And you also understand the sobbing on a beach and screaming NEVER AGAIN!!! I HATE YOU!! Right? Anyone?)
Highlights from Hawaii:
- Heathrow Airport: We're hardcore jet setters and had enough air miles to upgrade from Economy to FIRST FUCKING CLASS on our next flight from SF to Honolulu flight. We sob tears of arrogant joy
- Somewhere over Greenland: I have the aisle seat at the
anus of the plane. (That's how far back I am.) There's a nifty spot
right next to my seat where the airplane door is. People like to
congregate there when I'm trying to sleep. They open the window on the
door, flood the entire plane with light and screech in possibly the
most irritating accent I've ever heard about the "TINY ISLANDS" down
below. For an hour. Then, some man decides to stand right next to my
seat and stretch his legs. He ferociously
marches in place yelling
about the dangers of DEEP VEIN THROMBOSIS. I prop my "Fuck off" sleeping
mask on my forehead and plan their deaths. (And drink wine.)
-
San Fransciso International Airport: Our flight from London was late. We had 25 minutes to get our luggage, go through customs, go through security, and basically run across the entire fucking SF airport. I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm not exactly a runner. On the verge of my untimely death, we make it with 10 minutes to spare. I contemplate doing a Endzone dance on the front counter, but realize I'm too tired. Mr.Front Desk tells us they gave away our first class tickets because he didn't think we would make it in time. "My! You're fast runners! Gosh. We're sorry about that." I spontaneously combust.
-
Kualoa Ranch, Oahu: Look desperately around for Lost
filming locations so I can find Jack. Find Kualoa Ranch, they tell me
they have a tour with Lost filming locations. I crap my pants. So, we
go on the tour. Basically, we spent $20 to see a log used in Jurassic Park, a WWII bunker that "Matthew Fox opened once", a hill where
Hurley played golf, and a giant footprint from Godzilla. This all took
place in a hundred year old school bus that bounced around so hard I
was afraid my boobs were going to fall off. (The left one did. We glued it back on, though.)
- Shark's Cove, North Shore: Snorkelled with FISH! Considering fish sort of freak me out, I was a wee bit nervous.However, the fish were actually quite welcoming. One offered me tea. I saw numerous of fish shitting in the water, and from then on noticed the copious amount of fish shit in water. I try really hard to not let this bother me yet suddenly start gagging every time I get water in my mouth. See an eel with mean looking face. Cut myself on coral and become seriously concerned that sharks will be able to smell me.
-
The Sheraton, Waikiki: We have an ocean front room on the 24th floor. I have a pina colada and watch sea turtles pop up their little, wrinkly heads for air. We then lay out and work on our pasty, English tans. A guy from the Sheraton stands over me with a mister and asks if I'd like an "ice cold spritz of water?" We, again, shed tears or arrogant joy. "Where the fuck are we?"
- Luau, The Royal Hawaiian, Waikiki: Develop crush on hot
(female) hula dancer. Get leid. Get involved in shouting match between my
mother and greasy Jersey Girl at the luau's buffet. Some immature words were exchanged, my mom then told her she didn't have any manners, to which she replied:
Jersey Girl: "Yeah? Well if I have a problem with someone I JUST KICK THEIR ASS. (She's 5'2, perhaps 270lbs.)
Mom: OH yeah. I'm really afraid that you're going to kick my ass AT A LUAU. (5'8, has a lot of pent up rage.)
JG: Oh. YOU SHOULD BE. (Adds sixth drumstick to her plate.)
Mom: "Don't worry. I'M NOT."
Me: "Shut up." (That'll show her. Biotch.)
JG: "No, YOU SHUT UP."
Me. "Uh...no you shut up." (Are you kidding?)
JG: "NO. YOU SHUT UP."
Me: "...You shut up INFINITY." (HAH! I can't believe I just said that!!)
JG: "Yeah? Well WHY DON'T YOU WEAR A LITTLE BRIGHTER LIPSTICK?"
Me: "Oh. GOOD ONE.'
Downtown Waikiki: We go drunk, late night shopping at tourist shops, Billabong, and The Stupid Factory at 10:30 at night! (Anyone from England will know why this is so exciting.) I buy a mousepad, a pair of jammies that say "Shake your Coconuts!", a big shawl, peanut butter M&Ms and Ritz Cheese Crackers. I am happy.
Kailua, Waikiki, Honolulu, North Shore, Haleiwa, Starbucks, the Taco Bell parking lot, our rental car: Fighting with my family!
"Well, what do YOU want to do then?"
"I don't know! I'm just saying I don't want to do that?!"
"Well if you don't know what you want to do then why do you have a problem with what we're doing?!"
"I DIDN'T SAY THAT!'
"GOD WHY ARE YOU SUCH A BITCH?"
"ME? Why are YOU such a bitch?!!"
"OH MY GOD I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS!?!"
"SO WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO THEN?"
"I DON'T KNOOOOOOOOOOW!"
Plane ride from Honolulu to Los Angeles: First-Fucking-Class. Let me tell you about First Class. There was a phone. We got table cloths and cloth napkins. Iain drank about 4 mimosas - for free! We got A FUCKING OMLETTE for breakfast. And it was GOOD. They serve you beverages in real glasses! And the best part? I could actually fucking sleep.
Plane ride from Los Angeles to Heathrow: Back to Ec-o-fucking-nomy class. We're in the bowels of the plane, again. The bitchy flight attendant calls me "Young Lady" and skipped us when giving out drinks/lunch/pretzels THREE different times. My elbow got hit with the food cart 5 different times. The big ass lady next to Iain had to keep getting up to go to the bathroom, each time bringing a travel sized jar of VASELINE with her. Hemroids? Ashy knees? Dry labia? I DON'T KNOW.
We did have a wonderful trip. We got tanned. Despite the fighting, I got to give my Step Dad shit, take shots of Patrone with my mom, and laugh so hard at my sister I thought I would pee my pants. Moments I wouldn't trade for anything. (Except maybe the chance to fly First Class FOREVER.)
On the Sunday we flew back, my interview in The Observer Woman ran. I'm scanning that shit in as we speak, and I'll have a post on that coming up soon. Oh god, do I have a lot to say about that.
And another thing about feminist values!!!! - Kidding!
Unclench! I kid, I kid.
<Collective sigh of relief>
So. Tomorrow, at this time, I will be sitting at Heathrow airport, gel-less and liquid-less, waiting for the plane that will reluctantly fly me back to California.
What is it like to go back home, after you have been creating a different life across the world for the past 6 months?
I hear a lot of:
"But don't you miss your family?"
"You must want to go home. You poor thing. You must be so home sick."
So. Here's truth.
I miss our fine family tradition of sitting around the TiVo with our 3 dogs, while my Mom, Step dad and I create our own dialog for The OC while my sister screams,
"SHUT UP! Shut up! God! I can't EVER watch this without you guys talking!! This is serious! That's NOT what they're saaaying!!!! SHUT UP! Rewiiiiiind iiiiitttt!"
I miss my chihuahua (Bug, or more commonly referred to as The Bug or Bugawuga) driving me crazy because she just won't lay down with me, and instead wants to drag my dirty underwear out of the hamper and run around the house with it.
I miss my Step dad using a power drill at 7:34 on a Saturday morning while the rest of us are still asleep.
("What? It's not THAT early? Come on, Princess, wake up!")
And I miss seeing my mom in her glasses before she goes to bed, and her Ponds lotion on my skin after she kisses me goodnight.
Corn dogs, Taco Bell, The Roseville Galleria, and Starbucks' baristas that recognize me from that 1 time we worked together and not only give me a discount but understand what prissy drink I want.
(What's so hard about a tall, 2 pump sugar-free vanilla, soy, no water, no foam, with whip, chai??)
I miss the familiarity of driving up 80. I miss seeing people I know at Target and avoiding them.
("I hate that bitch. Do you think she saw me?", "She's right behind you.")
But my heart. My life. My fresh and promising new start that is composed of everything I love and am passionate about is 5,000 miles away from the life, and family, that I was raised to be a part of.
How can I ask them to understand that I was miserable in that life? Not because of them...But because it just wasn't enough for me. I needed more than amber waves of grain. The Golden Gate would never be the Tower Bridge...
They have let me go with as much ease as they could and without direct protest. They have understood the big crush that I've had on England since I was a little girl.
I just don't think it ever occurred to them that my crush would turn into a love affair that would move me 5,000 miles away from 'home".
And that this love affair with black, wraught iron fences, scones, tea and red telephone booths would lead me to the man that I was born to be loved by.
And to all of you men and women who have moved your life to another city, state, or continent, I'm sure can understand and appreciate that it is not easy.
At my worst moments, I have guilt. Guilt for leaving. Guilt for my absence at dinners, birthdays, and those lazy sunday mornings where we sit around eating country potatoes watching Nascar.
My heart finds it's home in two places.
One of the fun side effects of this, is that I have become somewhat of a Culturally Mutated Freak.
I will always be an American. I will always be a California girl. And my cowboy boots and Sugarland CD are ever present.
But I now say things like,
"For fuck sake! That got me right up! I got so fucked off that nearly gave him a bollocking!"
or
"That's absolute rubbish. Complete shit, that."
I now love Curry and Thai food. I tried "Duck in Oyster Sauce" the other night for the first time, and I loved it.
I can now drink multiple pints of lager like a pro, and I even enjoy a good Guinness every once and a while.
I can go into a restaurant with a table for one, and enjoy a meal alone without feeling embarrassed.
In fact, I can buy myself a glass of wine, and sit in a pub alone, too.
(Who says you should never drink alone?!)
I've really had to learn to be blunt, and honest and to really say what I mean. I've learned how to put those who give me unsolicited advice in their place.
These things may sound silly...But they're things I've never done before, and I don't know how long it would have taken
me to learn these things had I stayed in my comfort zone.
I have learned how to be still. I have finaly learned how to be comfortable and safe in my own skin.
I may not have it all figured out, but at least I'm not too scared to try.
So. Am I nervous to return home? .... I've had the runs for the past 24 hours.
Am I scared about applying for my visa? ....Scared shitless. I haven't slept much.
Being apart from Iain for a week isn't really going to be much fun either. :(
And thank you mother nature for increasing my emotional instability by giving me the gift of menstruation this week.
How I look forward to getting up every 3-4 hours throughout the flight, stumbling through the aisles, and trying to use a tampon in the bathroom the size of a coin purse during an inevitable storm of turbulence.
I wonder if they make tampons for long journeys...
Like, instead of Super Plus they'd make one, huge tampon with a incredible absorbency level...
Ya know, like, "Jumbo Jet Tampons, for those Transatlantic Flights".
Toxic Shock Syndrome? Pfffft. I'd be fine.
But, I'm still not packed....
Next time you hear from me, I'll be blogging via California, with my laptop on one leg, and my chihuahua on the other.
(And Iain on the phone, my Step dad sawing through a wall, and my sister screaming, "Get off the fucking phone! I can't hear Tyra Banks!!!!")
...Wish me luck.
I'll send you a ePostcard or something :)
