Feeling: tired
Listening to: Incubus - Are You In?
Reading/Watching: I Love You, Beth Cooper, by Larry Doyle

Tuesday at nine a.m. a plane landed in Schoolville and expunged a wobbly, dirty, exhausted Meg March, who toddled through the airport and collected her checked bags. Stripping the airport stickers from the handles, she left tatters of the "LVNV" tags in a nearby trash bin and slowly, painfully walked to the Arrival Pickup section.

Matisse pulled up, helped Megsy place her luggage in the back seat, and drove her home, where she slept off:
-five hours of airplane (divided by two hours of layover)
-five days and four nights
-six clubs
-eight restaurants
-two shows
-thirty thousand steps taken in high heels, another twenty thousand in flats
-less than fifteen hours of sleep
-and an undocumented amount of alcohol, estimated to be enough to float a battleship.

Famous quotes from this five-day weekend:
Q: "Why is all the rum gone?"
A: "Because we were in Vegas."

"Sleep when you're dead."

"My shoes are eating my feet."

Q: "Should we do dinner, dancing, or a show tonight?"
A: "Yes."

"You're not showing enough bra."

Q: "What is she wearing?"
A: "...well, it'll be a dress when it grows up."

So yes. It took me a few days to recuperate well enough to write this much. And there is much more to be said, many stories to tell, and I am only allowed to share a few (remember that old catchphrase), so I promise more later.

Wow. What a ride.

Comments? 0 so far...
Not a Diaryland member? Sign the Guestbook.