Day 1: Exodus

Every time I wake up on the day I travel, I'm sick. Inevitable, thanks to many, many past trips with Oli and everything going wrong due to her lack of the punctuality gene. So when I fly, everything has to be EXACTLY where, how, and the way I want it. I call this little quirk of mine Airport Neurosis.

Thus, after re-packing my suitcases three times and suffocating Bluetooth with extra goodbye hugs, I call James and repeatedly berate his shitty timing. I then call Oli, our ride to the airport, and berate her even more. Normally she would berate me right back, but she knows it's her fault I'm like this.

Passport, check. Ticket, check. Money, suitcases, tags, check check check. Sanity, ha! No check there. Change into my funky travel clothes, a white corduroy blouse and low slung pants with PUNK ROYAL written across the butt. 'Tude for Amsterdam, darlings. Moms sends us off with a dinner of pizza, cheesecake and raspberry ice cream, we stuff our luggage in the trunk, I molest Bluetooth one last time, and kiss my parents goodbye.

Check-in at the airport, no emergency row seating for James, which totally stinks since he's 6'4 and will now be a confined hamster to its wheel for the entire flight. Upon boarding, the KLM crew decides to seat everyone "needing assistance" first, when lo and behold, at least 60 people all of a sudden become cripple and need wheelchairs. Fakers. James points to me and yells, "This one has bunions!" but that doesn't seem to work. I guess my elbowing his crotch totally invalidated the story.

We board, I stuff James into his seat (no easy task), takeoff is nice and smooth. Wish I could say the same for dinner, since it fell into the category of tragic plane food, but the fact that KLM serves free liquor with meals made it ALL better! Hello, mini-bar sized red wine. Goodbye nerves, panic, and my winning Travel Scrabble score, since red wine makes me stoo-pid. The stewardess tried to help me by spelling out James' letters in the air while he wasn't looking, but by that point I'd decided to find the phrase "cabin pressure" absolutely freakin' hilarious, and he wiped the board with my face. Shits and giggles.

Lights off, time for bed. Such a shame I can't sleep on planes. I pull out my copy of "Eastward to Tartary: Travels in the Balkans, the Middle East, and the Caucasus" and read a page before stuffing it back in my purse. Didn't feel like educating myself right that minute. I look over at James, snoozing like the peacefully monstrous lamb that he is, and climb over his legs to get to the bathroom. I admire my sexy plane hair and make faces in the mirror right before getting my finger caught on the garbage chute. Sure hope no one heard me yelping.