I leave for Miami tomorrow around noon. Before then I have to:
Clean My Damn Hole In The Wall
I do this all the time, clean right before I go on a trip. When I’m home? Happy to clear a trail through the clothes on the floor from the bathroom to the bed, much like Ramona “Radar Feet” Quimby. Happy to let the stove go uncleaned for months at a time. Happy to start my very own science experiment in the bathtub (the less said about that, the better, I think. For all of us).. But when I’m not going to be home for two weeks? Well, that’s when I break out the Comet, apparently. So that…um, no one can enjoy it. I guess.
Get Some Magazine For The Flight
I am experimenting with the idea of bringing no book with me for the cross country flight but instead stocking up on lifestyle magazines to see me through. Plus my knitting. That should hold me, right?
Give All The Food In The Fridge To Carl’s House
Maybe this should have gone under the first category. I don’t know. Too late now. Anyway, I have all this cheese and milk and bread and everything in the fridge that will die while I’m gone, so I have to bag it up and take it next door to Carl and his housemates. Sounds simple, you say? I guess you haven’t seen what passes for my fridge. It doesn’t have a light in it, for some reason, and I’m embarrassed to tell you how much this stymies my fridge-cleaning abilities. Especially since it’s pretty much a Barbie-sized fridge, to go with my Barbie-sized stove in my Barbie-sized kitchen, which I realized last night is smaller than some hotel shower stalls. You’d think it wouldn’t be that big of a problem, but I assure you, it is.
Pack For Hot Weather
No, no, I’m kidding. It’s not hot in Miami. Mom says it’s getting chilly and to bring a sweater because it’s in the low seventies. That joke never gets old with me. Not so the joke of trying to pack for a hot climate when you’re wearing four sweaters on top of one another, because while, technically, you have heating in your house, it doesn’t do so much in the way of making the rooms warmer, in the strictest sense. I catch myself reminding myself to remember to bring woolly socks and a hat, and then have to remind myself to remember sandals instead. And t-shirts. And skirts. I can never quite make the leap though, and end up sweating the whole time I’m there, while my long-sleeved shirts languish in the bag and I have to make an emergency trip to Old Navy for tank top purposes.
This year I am taking the unprecedented step of not bringing the old pack I brought to Italy. This is because Mom got me a very nice rolling case like all the kids have today, and because so far it is completely filled with presents and leaves no room for clothes or anything, it is forcing me to take another unprecedented step of bringing two bags with me for my trip. One for presents and one for clothes. I fear I will be forced to curb-side check tomorrow, which of course means picking them up tomorrow night at Miami International Baggage Claim. Getting baggage at Miami International is akin to haggling for water jugs at a dusty third world open market in terms of its frustration and sweatiness. In fact I can’t remember the last time I checked at all, for those very reasons. I am a little afraid now.
This seems like an opportune time to mention that once when I was at Miami International Airport waiting to go on a huge three-church mission trip, one of the girls from one of the more rural churches told me she’d been warned against white slavers at the airport. White slavers. At the airport. Just thought I’d share.
Maybe Go Out To Dinner With My Boyfriend, But I Don’t Know
We were going to go out last night but I had to go to the gym and make a cake for my office Christmas party today. In retrospect I should have bagged the gym and come home from work early and cleaned and baked and packed and then just be ready to go out tonight, but no. Not me. I baked and then sat around feeling sorry for myself for a while and then took a shower and went to bed. And crocheted a ribbon for my Secret Santa gift to offset the brown paper bag wrapping I was forced to utilize. Not being much of a Christmas person, I don’t have much truck with giftwrap, you see.
Anyway, I’d like to go out but I’m afraid that if we do I’ll be all tense in the lovely romantic bistro and be going “Wait. Did I wash the blue shirt? Because I sort of think I should bring the blue shirt. But if I bring the blue shirt, then I probably shouldn’t bring the other blue shirt, right?” and then I’ll say I don’t want dessert so I can make sure to get home quick and shampoo the carpet or something. So maybe I will just order Chinese and leave the fancy dinner until after I get back.
And when I get there? I plan to follow a vigorous schedule of sleeping late, cooking dinner for my mom, watching movies, visiting with Key Girls and Key Girl babies, going to the beach, eating Cuban food, eating other kinds of food, updating Ampersand on a probably-annoying basis (“Dear Diary, Today I ate, slept, and hung out”), going to see Return of the King, going to the library with a two gigantic tote bags to carry away my spoils, knitting up a storm, and petting the reduced cat population. Interspersed with a modicum of napping and a trip to the Salvador Dali museum in St. Pete when I’m visiting my sister, that should take me through the New Year.