*My sincere apologies to the blogosphere for being MIA over the past month. This is my London blog, therefore I only find it appropriate to post when I am residing in said location.
A huge chunk of update is necessary. Prepare yourself for a novella.
Let’s discuss December 19th. I fought with an airline. And I WON. 10 hours before my flight’s scheduled to depart for Vegas, with no food left in my flat, I get a text from Virgin Atlantic telling me the plane’s been delayed 36 hours. I was ready to go home days ago, and this was not some meager delay- it’s basically a cancellation. So I cried and furiously pounded my tiny ineffectual fists before some kind housemates suggested that I just call a cab, go straight to the airport and into battle.
My lovely flatmates were good enough to inform me that due to snowstorms in, of all places, Las Vegas (this really could ONLY happen to me) flights were grounded yesterday, but a plane would be departing for McCarran Airport at 9:45 am. If I had to sit on the pilot’s lap, I vowed to be on that flight. So 50 GBP later I get to Gatwick at 2 am, and no one’s at the desk. No one will be there until 5 am. SPLENDID. So I parked my tiny American ass in the front of the queue and seethed for 3 hours.
Then I unleashed some Italian fire on those bastards. I told them in no uncertain terms that they were to switch me onto that morning’s plane with no questions asked and no change in fare. I think laser beams may be have been shooting from my coffee and creme eyes at that point. Behind me were about 150 other angry passengers who wanted to leave for their holiday. So, due to my pre-sunrise display of epic bitchery, they decided one unpleasant conversation was enough. They took the double-decker plane out of the hanger and combined the two flights. All’s well that ends well. Valium+Shiraz= the most lovely 10-hour flight possible.
To my great delight, I found Vegas to be sunny if unseasonably cold (50 degrees F? I’ll take it and run). And run I did, up and down the Vegas strip in my bug-eye sunglasses. My most effective cardio was shopping, however. Thank you Dillards for putting all boots 65% off before Christmas 
Welcome home indeed!
I nearly cried with joy when I sipped my medium turbo cocunut iced coffee with cream and one splenda from Dunkin Donuts. Digital cable also flooded my body with endorphins. I managed to hit up a club or two, but my time there was pretty low key as it was mostly spent in the company of my displaced parental units. Like me, they just…do NOT blend in the affable ennui that defines the west coast. People in the public service grin at you and ask you how you are and what you’re up to, all the while looking sincerely interested and all I can think is what are you people on?? NO ONE IS THIS HAPPY! It’s like Prozac Nation out there. I can’t open my mouth without someone smirking and asking “You’re not from around here, are you?” Gee, whatever gave you that idea?
Even with ubiquitious strip malls, Vegas is relatively small, and it is definitely a desert. Go five miles off the strip and you’ll find that the place must have been designed by dyslexic carneys. There are no street signs, and sometimes there are street signs where there is no street at all. Sound weird? Go there, you’ll see what I mean. They also must be under the impression that the lights from the strip power the whole city, because the highways and back roads are so dark you can’t see your hand in front of your face. I bought my dad a GPS for Christmas so he doesn’t get shot at during a road rage incident because believe me, it’s inevitable.
After 12 days on dry land it was back to the east coast. As I walked out of Newark Aiport’s Terminal A to greet Evan for what proved the be the perfect airport pickup, I noticed the streets smelled of piss and people were rude- AND I WAS HOME!! I felt like Dorothy back in Kansas. The Turnpike! 295! 42! I actually knew where I was again! Off to a diner for a Belgian waffle and Lacas coffee, and the familiarity was immediate. I knew I’d made the right choice to start the new year by returning to my roots.
295 to Philadelphia
Oh New Years Eve… it was exactly what I needed. I have no regrets, no questions, and no ghosts anymore. But in the interest of keeping things pretty (a major flaw in my software), I’m just going to leave it at that. Should auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind. How mind-blowingly appropriate of you, Ryan Seacrest, because 2009 will most certainly be different.
Then began Meghan’s USO Tour of Familial Goodwill. Such an excursion is necessary when your parents move like they’re on the lam or something and everyone else is understandably perturbed. Between my obligations to the Mucciarellis and the Ferraras in Trenton and Atlantic City,
my grandparents' WWII tree
respectfully, AND the approaching deadline for my Cultural Theory and Politics paper, I relinquished the rest of “break” or “holiday” as they call it in the UK and went into Yes-I-Will-Fix-It-Because-I-Can mode. It was eye-opening to say the least. I probably didn’t need to put all that responsibility on myself, but it’s as natural as drinking coffee or inhaling oxygen and I’ve been doing it for as long as I can remember, so I wasn’t all that suprised when the calendar said January 15th and I hadn’t seen any movies or spent a night in the good ol’ T-W-P or made it anywhere close to NYC.
I just slept the next three days away and let the skin around my nails grow back. It was freezing, and I went into hibernation mode. To no one’s surprise but my extreme chagrin, it snowed the night I was supposed to depart. Instead of leaving at 9:25 pm, my plane took off around midnight. I cannot even begin to express how deeply I loathe sitting in airports alone. It just fills me with the worst possible feeling of isolation, pills or no pills. That’s why I dial everyone in my phone book while I’m sitting at the gate. Once onboard I can never be seated next to the hot Scottish guy, I’m always stuck in front of the smelly family with screaming, puking children. Midway through the flight I moved myself into business class (the rest of economy was full) because I refused to subject myself to any further assault on my olfactory nerves.
The sign next to the curtain said “business class only” and my expression must have signified “don’t even THINK about screwing with me” because the wiry flight attendant simply handed me an extra pillow and told me to have a “pleasant rest.”
The nap must not have been enough because I am severely jetlagged like never before. I had class at 4 today and woke up at 1. My body has no idea what time or day it is, and I can barely tell if I’m hungry. I still haven’t gone food shopping! I’m subsisting on water, coffee, and oatmeal.
Maybe I’m just getting lazy. Maybe I’m truly exhausted. I feel like a snake getting its second skin, like I need to stay still long enough to let the new me become a fully formed entity that can move and think on its own. Yet another incarnation is on the horizon. Once I get my MA, I’ve decided to move back to the east coast. I have no idea where yet, but just know now that it’s where I need to settle down once I get this travel bug out of my system.
