It's not secret that I - much like our friend, the fish - do not travel well. In fact, the very first posts to this blog were about the ridiculousness that was Brazil 2007. I still suffer PTSD flashbacks... mostly of a girl with short hair and dark-rimmed glasses, wearing a JCrew tankini in a sea of mostly-naked latinas.
Our rental car once simply stopped working at 80 mph in the fast lane, leaving us stranded on the side of I-5 for 3 hours in 90 degree heat with neither toilet nor water. The dude from the rental company who came to test the battery had bloody vampire fang marks tattooed into his neck and a bumper sticker on his dashboard (a dash sticker?) that said "I love hos." I could read it because he didn't have a front seat. That was also the trip where I stabbed myself with a nasty knife I found on the side of the road and proceeded to drink so many gin and tonics that we let our hotel room for four extra hours so I could recover from throwing up during breakfast. That was the first 24 hours of that particular vacation. On others, airports have lost our luggage even though the flight never left the ground. A horse ate the paint off of the hood of our last rental car. Beto has had to translate "Your wife might have a parasite... in her lung" in a Brazilian ER. On our honeymoon, I had an ear infection that was so horrendous it bled.
I'm meant to stay home.
Right now, I'm sitting at the Sacramento International Airport. I never thought of this city as a hotspot of international travel, but who am I to judge? This was a work trip. My job has sent me to New Hampshire in February, Alaska in late December, Klamath Falls, Florida, Newport, and now, here. Please note: The likelihood of meeting Robert Pattinson in any one of these locations is beyond minute. It's almost criminal.
My rental car on this trip was a Kia Rondo. 38,000 miles. Stained seats. Dirty windows. Jacked up alignment. And a Nebraska plate.
In Montana, we had a car from California. In California, I get a car from Nebraska. I'm now certain that the universe is talking to me. It's saying, very simply, "You ain't from around here, are you?" The answer, my friends, is clear. No, I'm not. And I'd rather be home.
Our rental car once simply stopped working at 80 mph in the fast lane, leaving us stranded on the side of I-5 for 3 hours in 90 degree heat with neither toilet nor water. The dude from the rental company who came to test the battery had bloody vampire fang marks tattooed into his neck and a bumper sticker on his dashboard (a dash sticker?) that said "I love hos." I could read it because he didn't have a front seat. That was also the trip where I stabbed myself with a nasty knife I found on the side of the road and proceeded to drink so many gin and tonics that we let our hotel room for four extra hours so I could recover from throwing up during breakfast. That was the first 24 hours of that particular vacation. On others, airports have lost our luggage even though the flight never left the ground. A horse ate the paint off of the hood of our last rental car. Beto has had to translate "Your wife might have a parasite... in her lung" in a Brazilian ER. On our honeymoon, I had an ear infection that was so horrendous it bled.
I'm meant to stay home.
Right now, I'm sitting at the Sacramento International Airport. I never thought of this city as a hotspot of international travel, but who am I to judge? This was a work trip. My job has sent me to New Hampshire in February, Alaska in late December, Klamath Falls, Florida, Newport, and now, here. Please note: The likelihood of meeting Robert Pattinson in any one of these locations is beyond minute. It's almost criminal.
My rental car on this trip was a Kia Rondo. 38,000 miles. Stained seats. Dirty windows. Jacked up alignment. And a Nebraska plate.
In Montana, we had a car from California. In California, I get a car from Nebraska. I'm now certain that the universe is talking to me. It's saying, very simply, "You ain't from around here, are you?" The answer, my friends, is clear. No, I'm not. And I'd rather be home.