We’re finally back in the land of milk and honey!!!  I’m so happy to be home   Let me, however, comment on the inadequacies of transportation once more (if you’ve seen the post about the Greyhound debacle to Detroit from back in December or January).

So somebody, I’m not sure who, told us that the airport didn’t open until 6am, which struck me as odd since it’s an airport and, c’mon, surely there are flights that land before six!  But whatever, we went with it and, after staying up all night finishing last minute packing, cleaning the apartment, and eating the rest of the food in our fridge, we left.  The taxi driver was moody and therefore spent a good 5 minutes on the way to the airport sitting behind a garbage truck that was doing it’s rounds.  Thanks for the extra 5EUR on our taxi fee.

We finally got to the airport and it was abuzz with travelers and intercoms and beeps and whirls and all that. Clearly it didn’t open at 6am.  Since my flight was to depart at 7:10am, I had to move quickly.  I stood in line to check in for 40 mins for Alitalia! Somewhere in the middle of the wait, Kayla came power-walking by in near tears: “I just had to pay 120EUR (about $175) for my carry-on! It can only be 8kg (about 17.5lbs)!”  I put that little issue aside to deal with later because my bag most definitely weighed about 30-35 pounds (I’m an ace at packing, I kid you not.) Then, since I had an extra bag, I had to go downstairs to pay for it and come BACK up to the check-in counter where I was to presumably wait in line again to get my boarding pass.  Pfft!  There were only 1 1/2 people working at the counter to receive the money for extra bags (the 1/2 was a really SLOW employee who got 1 person done in the time it took the other lady to get six or seven done! No joke!)  Many of the people in the line were on the same flight as me, going from Florence to Rome (then I had to transfer. Florence, Rome, Atlanta, GA, and finally Cincinnati).

So I was standing in the line, sweating and shaking because I thought I’d miss my flight, while the girl next to me was like “we’re going to miss it! We’re going to miss it! We’re not going to make it!!!!”  After snapping at her to “Shut up!”, I got to the front of the line.  At 7:05.  So I was sweating and shaking and SPRINTING through the airport.  I got to the check-in counter, bust to the front of the line without hesitation, and gave the lady my receipt, where she said “hurry, they’re holding the plane for you.”  I hauled it to the security check, which was just about empty now because most everybody was where they needed to be.  Except me, it seemed.

Riddle me this: When the security lady took my bag from the scanner to figure out what “that big electronic” was (not my computer) and I showed her my scale, WHY did she take EVERYTHING out of my carry on anyway?  Spare socks and underwear, pens, school folders, EVERYTHING! Then, from across the room, another security guy comes over yelling, “she’s on the Roma flight?” “Si” says the lady, still molesting my bag “She has to GO!” He snapped.  My hero.  I start scooping it all back into my bag, hoping I didn’t miss anything, and sprint towards the departure gates.

And I made it. Sweating and breathing heavily and wearing 4 shirts and a jacket and a coat, and boxers under my pants, but I made it.

The rest of the flight went smoothly after that.  Nobody questioned the fact that I had a backpack as a carry-on that weighed over twice as much as it should.  Nobody questioned that I had aforementioned backpack, a purse, and a tube full of art when I was only supposed to have one thing.  There is a God.

When I landed, I looked for my luggage, but it wasn’t there.  They put it on the next flight, so K. Sorenson and I went to get some food and came back later.  Finally, I got to my apartment and I nearly wept.  I almost lost some of the crocodile tears that I’ve been saving.  Fo’ real.  The sound of blasting car music and thugs “hollerin’” and obnoxious horns blaring was like Siren songs to my ears.  I stumbled over to my bed and kissed it and made many promises of devotion.  I’d woken up on Friday morning and went to sleep on Sunday morning (2am-ish).

Since I spent Sunday running errands and telling people “Happy easter”, my sister and I spent Monday night having a belated birthday party for me.  It was in March, but we two will bend time if we have to, if it means coming up with an excuse to have cake and Ice Cream (capitalized as one should “God”).  And we did just that: we had cake and Ice Cream and pizza rolls and presents (I got her some stuff in Italia) while we watched “Harold and Kumar”.  And all was right with the world.