ammogirl

So!  Where did we leave off…that’s right.  The plane ride over.  That went well.  We ended up buying lunch on the way over, which was incredibly expensive.  Let me repeat that: INCREDIBLY expensive.  Fifty dollars expensive, nearly, and this was for two snack packs, two sandwiches, and two smoothies.  Are we stupid?  Well, no…but I was hungry, which makes me a total crabbypants.  Nobody likes crabbypants ammogirl, trust me.

Anyway, so we landed without incident, and walked at least three miles through the airport, which is the biggest small airport I’ve ever been in, and waited in a line of at least one thousand people to get through customs.  Anddd…thankfully, only stood in the wrong one for five minutes.  On a side note, watching people in the customs line is very entertaining.  Not that they are doing anything overly interesting, I just like to watch people and imagine what their deal is, like, why are they there and are they glad.  You know, nosy stuff.  Oh, also: I have come to the conclusion that the reason why I hate holding in-depth conversations in public is because unless you are whispering, which is nearly impossible in MOST public situations, EVERYONE can hear you, and that makes me really nervous. Of course, there is two disclaimers to that: pretty much EVERYTHING makes me really nervous, including spiders, lint, and unglazed pottery; and this does not count in situations in which I am perhaps indulging in a beverage of the alcoholic sort. 

I am all over the tangents lately, aren’t I? 

When we got to the veryyyyyy front of the line, all the while looking for our ride (and hoping they hadn’t assumed we didn’t make the plane…I couldn’t get ahold of anyone) my name was paged over the intercom.  This sent us all into a flurry of excitement, because getting paged = Fun!  Or, maybe that was just me.  Customs shooed us through, we got our one bag, and headed over to information, where this exchange occurred:

"Hi, I was just paged?  ammogirl?" (oh fine.  that’s NOT what they called me, but I DON’T CARE)
"Oh.  Yes…yes.  That’s right.  What did you need?"
"…um, hm.  Well, I was paged?"
"Is someone meeting you here?"
"I hope so…"
"Let me page them."

And I found it very strange.  But it did summon my cousin Caren, who took us home, and bla bla bla this is taking longer than I thought because holy CRAP I AM WORDY so fast-forward to the next day at the party, okay?  Thanks.

My parents and sister had flown over for my grandma’s 90th, and all the British relatives were there except one, so it was already fun before we got to the free wine, and then…well, we all know what the free wine does to me.  Good stuff, that.  I talked politics with my Uncle, or, rather, he talked politics AT me, while I did my best to pretend I cared while casting longing glances at both the rapidly emptying wine bottles AND the plates of dessert being set out.  We had a party in the bathroom (fun) and did a lot of comparing boobs and being loud in the bar (fun) and my mom accidentally (says she) stole someones jacket and gave it to my grandma…oh!  My grandma.  She’s 90 now, and starting to slip a bit, memory wise, and crowds bother her a bit.  But when I hugged her and said "Hi grandma, it’s me" she said "I know who you are!" and hugged me back, so.  It was a good time, all of us getting together for her. 

Grandma went home after the dinner (with her stolen jacket…good one, mom!) but everyone else headed over to my aunt’s house, where the karaoke took place, and I sang a little bit…fine.  I was a microphone hog the ENTIRE NIGHT, and in several videos taken that evening, you can hear people say "DON’T GIVE IT BACK TO HER!" but damn…I’m good.  We stayed there and drank and karaokeed until after 5.  FIVE A.M.  Not "five-ish" or "early morning" but "we got to bed just before 6 o’ clock in the morning" and WHO KNEW my Brit relatives were SO MUCH FUN?  Next time, however, I’m pretty sure I’ll pass on the vast quantities of shots…Violet Liquor?  Gross.

The next day was pretty low key, understandably.  We had a HUGE meal with the whole family (SIX different kinds of vegetables!  Three different desserts!) and I saw an old friend and THAT was emotional but fabulous and the next day we woke up early and came home.  Which will be part three.  Part three sucks. 

I have this to say: seventeen years, when you are dealing with family, means nothing.  There was a lot of getting reacquainted, sure…but not much.  It’s a very, very good feeling, knowing they are only a few hours away.  Oh, and that they had better get another microphone for the karaoke machine.

Next time:  Car Troubles!  Unhelpful People!  Amazingly High Parking Costs!

Tschuss!!