Bloggin on the plane

I wrote this last Tuesday June 16th on my flight down to Los Angeles. I didn’t really have access to the internet down there and I’m not about to pay $10 to get online for a 2 1/2 hour flight. Sorry, Richard Branson. I’m not that addicted to the internets.

I don’t know what it is about traveling that whigs me out. I get nervous that I’ll forget something, nervous that I’ll be late for my flight, nervous that my ticket’s for the wrong day. In all fairness, the last thing actually happened. My husvand and I were flying to Los Angeles to visit his family, we went to the Virgin America counter to check in and the girl behind the counter gets a strange look on her face. It was somewhere between mild panic, surprise, and a big attempt to remain professional. Turns out, our tickets were for the day before. Great. Since we’d missed the flight, we had to shill out for new tickets. Since they were last minute, it set us back abooout $500. Super awesome.

Luckily, or unluckily, it’s made me even more paranoid about dates, times, the whole shebang. As I write this, I’m on another VA flight to LA (P.S. the guy next to me just ripped the most horrifying ass I’ve smelled in a while. Ok, okThi since I farted in the Seatac Borders). My flight didn’t take off until 8:55 p.m. and I was so weird about making sure I got everything I needed, I packed three times in three separate bags to see which one I thought would be most comfortable trekking through the airport, stayed up until 10 p.m. cleaning the house (I’d’ve done that anyway, though. I hate coming home to a filthy, cluttery house afte

r a vacation) and was done and ready to go by 2 this afternoon. Unfortunately, that wasn’t enough time to go birthday present shopping for my father-in-law, sister-in-law, or nephew.

I spent an hour snuggling my dogs, because we boarded them this trip and I’m a super sap and, even though it was going to be good for them, because they can’t hide behind us when other people are around, I felt so sad. I was going to miss them so much. I realized that when my husband and I have kids and if we send them off to summer camp, I am going to be SUCH a weepy mess. Seriously. I almost cried when I dropped my dumb dogs off at the boarding kennel. Chrissakes.

This also almost made me question my commitment to not raising obnoxious children. It is my goal as an eventual mother to not raise kids who are complete fucking monsters. Today when I dropped off “my babies”, I encountered the most obnoxious, irritating, shitty child I’ve ever met. Ever. I assume he was the child of the proprietors of the kennel, since he was pretty comfortable around a whole kennel full of barking dogs. He’s about 3 and when I got there, he was climbing on the counter squawking, and making all manner of stupid noises kids make. He was dirty and his hair was wet and matted to his head, which, whatever; kids are dirty organisms. But when I went back with the owner to put the dogs in their home for the next few days, the boy was running around with one of those plastic cars that 2 year olds are supposed to be in powering the thing with their feet like the Flintstones. The kid was running and screaming so loudly I couldn’t hear the guy talk about playtime, or whatever, at all. All I heard was barking dogs and screaming toddler. The guy tried to explain the kids frantic behavior on the fact that he’d just given a tour to a lady who had two little girls about the same age. Um, so? I get that he’s a little boy, but if that’s how he’s going to act, keep him out of the business until he’s a little older,


To be fair, the place is clean; they clean it twice a day. My parents have let boarded their dogs there twice before, and they’re legit. I’m not worried about my dogs one bit. Just what I imagine every mom has when they send their kids on their first sleep over. Only, I don’t have to worry about getting a phone call at 11 tonight saying “Mrs. Harper, Hamish is nervous and just threw up, can you come pick him up?” or “Mrs. Harper, Trixie really misses her mom and wants to sleep in her own race car bed tonight. Can you come get her?” For the record, I would. Totes m’gotes.

Up on the left: Hamish
Here to the right: Trixie

~ by Mergan Fierce on June 22, 2009.

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