home again. home again. six jiggers o' jack....

or however the f*ck that nursey rhyme goes...

yes, i've returned from what someone told me was a vacation. ha.

i'll fill you in on the gorey details of the "vacation" later but i'll tell you this before my brain beats me into forgetting it...

we woke up sunday morning around 2 am because the porkchop a) does not like his routine f*cked with b) never got tuned into PST. he was CST all "vacation" long. apparently you can take the boy out of chicago, but you can't take chicago out of the boy.

we got to palm springs international airport around 5 am to catch our 6:15 am flight back to chicago. after submitting to what might as well have been cavity searches in security, we finally board the plane.

we immediately set up "the emergency playroom" (like all the other responsible parents on the plane, who fear mob seatbelt buckle beating midair by their fellow passengers) - including every snack and beverage known to toddler kind, toys & crafts that make no sound but still encourage individual playtime with imagination, learning and fun, two human jungle gyms, portable dvd player with selection of g rated dvds and of course, quality headphones.

as soon as the kids are immersed in playing within the bubble of the emergency playroom, the captain informs us that we're delayed. you saw THAT coming didn't you? but, he thinks the delay is minor so we sit there for 30 minutes praying that the goodwill of our children lasts and that mother nature regains hers.

finally, the captain gets back on the horn and says,"the good news is the weather delay's been lifted. the bad news is a fuel truck scraped the underside of one of the wings so we're grounded until further notice. we'll have to ask you to gather your personal belongings and get off the plane."

at this point, sleep deprived, in denial and decaffeinated as we were, things we're still unclear and so as we slowly gathered up the gently used emergency playroom, the thin man asked the nearest flight attendant if we all had to get off the plane. (clearly, some people were as clueless as we were, since a handful were still sitting in their seats and not making a move towards the open door.) and she responded, quickly and angrily, thus,"doesn't it LOOK like everyone has to get off the plane? yes, EVERYONE has to get OFF the plane."

thank you, almighty b*tch on wings, wannabe glorified waitslut of the sky!

ALL GOOD WILL GONE. POOF.

so what CAN you do at palm springs international after some *sshat scrapes the underside of your plane's wing? i'll TELL you what you can do... you can walk numerous laps around the terminals stalking birds, buy and sample overpriced food that homeless people would deem hazardous and ooh and aah over every f*cking palm springs SANDglobe you can find and think up bizarre explanations as to why you're not going to buy them.

after a digital photo was emailed to tulsa and a mechanic touched up the plane with some paint, the plane's wing was finally ok'd for flight. we left california at approximately 2 pm PST.

thankfully, by some divine intervention, both children napped extensively during the flight home. our poor nerve wracked toes didn't reach casita zilla until 9 pm CST.

like i said, we're home and believe it or not that last travelling bit was NOTHING compared to the constant madness that happened the whole NINE days before it...

good. times.

not.


silver lining? it can't get any worse.
can it?