Today was my last day at my shitty job. They read me out a little early so I got home around 3:45. Mr C took a nap, but I had to stay “up” for the AC repair guy. After he left, I decided I wanted a nap too. I set my alarm for an hour and a half so I wouldn’t sleep too long. I ignored my alarm. Mr C got up to go fetch him some dinner and I stayed in bed kinda 75% asleep and 25% awake. Maybe 80/20. I miss Jack. Obviously, sometimes I think about getting another cat when I’m ready. So I was thinking about looking at cats. I have a long weekend between jobs as I have Friday off and Monday is a government holiday. I thought maybe mom could come up and we could look at cats together.
That would be nice. She could help and it’d be something we could do together. Maybe hit up a few Saturday adoption events. I wasn’t decided or anything, just a thought I probably wouldn’t act on. I decided to get up when a strand of Christmas lights went out on the bedroom tree changing the general cast of the ceiling from a warm red to more of a green shade – then that strand must have completely died and returned the walls to the warm red. When my feet hit the ground I remembered mom’s dead.
I saw a gently sweeping stripe of dead lights on the tree confirming my suspicions.
So this year, Mr C and I spent Christmas with my family. It’s only 90 miles away but we planned to spend the night. My family does their big celebration on Christmas Eve so as to not have to fight for everyone’s time. Everyone’s free on Christmas Eve. So we went down on Christmas Eve and planned to sleep over at Sister1’s house, have Christmas brunch and head home on Christmas. Really just a formality as I feel bad that we spend a week with my in laws but only spend 24 hours with my own family. So we could at least do that.
We’d usually sleep at my brothers house, but they were full for the night. They had to take custody of SIL’s niece. Her mom was a drug addict. She’s supposed to be better now though so they’re working with her and bio-mom was sleeping over for Christmas. So they had a full house — but also a damn full plate of drama of their own. So we’d sleep at Sister1’s house — where Sister2 also lives. Plan. Not ideal because Sister1 has a big dog, but whatever – it’s one night. (Brother has 2 big dogs, but unlike the rest of my family, he trains them. His dogs are insanely well behaved.)
So dinner is at Dad’s at 5. He has forbidden present exchanges so we got to my bros house at 4 to exchange gifts. Well, Sister1 decided not to come cause she didn’t feel good. That’s fine, she has RA really bad and it really brings down her quality of life. Understood. However, since Sister1 wasn’t going to come, Sister2 decided not to either. This pissed SIL off very much because they’re having a feud right now. But whatever. We gave the nephews and kinda-now-niece their presents.
SIL explains that Sister1 is sick with a cold so that’s why she’s not feeling good. Wait, what? No one told us anyone was sick. She explains that Sister1 has had a cough for about a week now. Two things: Mr C is a germaphobe who didn’t want to be there anyway. Also, I have no PTO so I can’t get sick. It’s not an option. I gotta work. So we decide not to spend the night at Sister1’s house.
Sounds simple? Not simple. I about had a panic attack over this decision because this was gonna piss Sister1 off and I knew this would be a nuclear bomb. But Mr C is very supportive and said he’d go with whatever decision I made. So I texted them that we wouldn’t be spending then night. Then I had a mini panic attack but Mr C was very nice and let me sit in the car and calm down. Then we got out of the car at Dads. Sisters had just pulled up.
Sister1 immediately laid into me something fierce. She was furious. She said she wasn’t sick that it was just her RA and she can’t help it. So I’m being an asshole over something she can’t help. I tried to explain it was over the cough but she said she’d taken multiple covid tests and she wasn’t sick. (Which, if you weren’t sick, why did you take covid tests? Someone’s lying.) After screaming at me in the driveway in front of my husband, Bro and SIL arrive. I try to explain to SIL what is going on but she’s having major neice baby-momma drama of her own and needs a xanax and a couple of drinks. Fair. Merry Christmas.
So we go in and pretend to be a happy family, cause that’s what we do on holidays. But Sister1 is still furious. She won’t speak to me or look at me. If I move towards her, she leaves the room. At one point, she had to walk past me and went all the way around all the furniture so as to avoid me. It was really obvious. I pointed it out to my husband who reassured me, I’m not crazy — she’s crazy. But I felt like SHIT. Absolute trash.
So dinner was OK. Affair child and his family came. Dad loves to coo over affair child’s child. He was never nice to any of us or even my nephews. So it kinda just makes me sick. Like, I know he’s kinda probably got a bit of dementia, he’s bonafide insane, and is now on psychiatric medications. So like he’s different. Logical me knows this. But emotional me sees him as an evil bastard who ruined pretty much everyone’s lives just for shits and giggles. HE SHOT MY DOG.
Ok, breathe.
So I walk in the kitchen where SIL is and — just to make sure I’m not insane — I clarify that he never treated her kids so nicely and isn’t that kinda gross? She agrees. Ok, I’m not crazy. But by this point in the night she was taking shots and so was Dad’s girlfriend cause — family holidays, am I right? Oh yeah and Dad has 2 huge untrained dogs and Sister1 brought her dog, so in the background and all around you are 3 huge dogs play fighting. Also a sad little blind, deaf, and incontinent little dog but I mean, you can’t fault him. He just wants the other dogs to leave him alone.
Then girl friend actually starts talking about making him (Dad) go back to a psychologist — not just a psychiatrist who gives meds, but an actual therapist because of how bad he’s been the past two years. She’s actually started to have heart troubles because of the stress of this bastard. So I’m like girlfriend, it’s not just two years. I know for a fact he’s been an asshole for 40 years minimum, and thats just what I can actually verify first hand. Why does she stay? IT DOESN’T MAKE SENSE.
So after dinner we go to the Sister’s house and give them their gifts (because again, Dad had banned gift giving at his house). I was surprised she let us in at all. It wasn’t bad. But we did go home that night. I mean after the way she had treated me all night, there was no winning. Like you want to bully me into sleeping over because you’re angry? WTF?
So we slept in our own bed which was nice. Wouldn’t have had a good nights sleep on her air mattress. And we didn’t have to drive home or do anything so we got to sleep late and chill. We opened gifts. I had eggnog and Mr C had cookies. I took pictures. Later that evening, Mr C took me to look at the Tinsel Trail Christmas lights. But Christmas was kinda ruined.
Sister1 is still so angry she won’t talk to me or respond to texts. She’s acting like I’m being ableist against her RA when I just didn’t want to catch her COUGH. But she denies ever having a cough so it’s moot. So yeah, she hates me now. She’ll hate me for a few months and then maybe get over it a little bit. We’ll see. I feel REALLY bad. So it kinda spoiled my Christmas.
This is a post about gingerbread houses. And Mom. And Jack. And how Mom got her groove back through gingerbread. Just go with it.
So back in 2006, I had just moved into my own place on Golf Road. Lovely shitty apartment of my own. $545 a month. Just me and Jack. And mom visited a lot. I worked at the police department as a dispatcher and was less than a year away from starting my career (though 5 years from graduating — not the point). It was Christmas! My first Christmas in my OWN place. This called for something special. This called for … a gingerbread house!
So mom came to visit and help me make my very own gingerbread house. There were issues. We couldn’t find any gingerbread mix. So it was really a sugar cookie house. It counts, OK? It had windows! Mom showed me how to crush up jolly ranchers and melt them to make stained glass windows! We had a peppermint roof and a full length chocolate chip chimney. I cut up gum drops and made a wreath. It was glorious. This was before cheap battery-powered lights, but if we had had those, it would have glowed gloriously through my translucent blue and purple sugar windows.
OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
Then the next few years we’d always do something special for Christmas. Usually treats. Like chocolate dipped Oreos, or chocolate covered Ritz Crackers with peanut butter, or those fancy treats where you melt a Rolo on top of a pretzel and smush it with a peanut M&M — or if you’re going somewhere fancy — a half a pecan. Sometimes we even did gingerbread cookies and decorated them with icing.
Then, in 2009, I was feeling adventurous. I was in a much nicer apartment with a guest room and dating a cute guy who would become my husband. It was time for another gingerbread house. We had to outdo our previous effort. This had to be magnificent. We would do something with more grandeur. We would make a church.
How does one make a gingerbread church? Well, you just make the front and back taller so the roof is steeper and put a steeple on top. We’re not on the Food Network here, aint nobody got time to make templates and stuff. But don’t you worry, we got this. It would have even more jolly rancher windows! More icing! The M&Ms would be Christmas colors to look like Christmas lights! And best of all: Shingles. We would use Cinnamon Toast Crunch cereal and put individual shingles on that shit. Boo-yeah!
Now, I would like to say, we kept improving on our gingerbread game. We got so good we could do competitions! But we didn’t. The church was actually the pinnacle of my gingerbread greatness. Sad, I know. But that’s not where the story ends. Those were merely flights-of-fancy in the gingerbread game of my own. Mom would take gingerbread houses and flip the script.
So take a step back. I moved away from my text-book codependent family in 2003 and got a shit ton of therapy. In my evolution of self, I turned from my father. Fuck that asshole. No, not God, my real father. THAT asshole. Sometimes the pendulum has to swing really far to right itself. Now my beloved mother had been beaten down by that motherfucker for decades. And you can be damn straight I turned my pot-stirring self to getting her to realize it. And she was really coming around by the time she kicked the bucket. I think she might have had the gumption to skip Christmas by the time she died. I’m sad I never got to see that and sneak her a wink and a high five. OK, back to the early 2000s:
So dad always controlled every holiday. Though they divorced when I was two, dad always controlled everything. Holidays were at his house. We’d go over the weekend before and scrub it clean cause he’s kinda a hoarder. Mom would make every single dish and we’d go over to dads and pretend to be happy. Even after he got a girlfriend — who thankfully took over the cleaning part. Mom would still cook for a week and haul it all over to that bastards house so he could have his happy family holiday (yes, with his girlfriend and my step brother — the kid he had while he was still married to my mother). Every Thanksgiving and every Christmas — even Easter.
At some point, she started making extra to “hide.” Is it hiding if you make it yourself, in your own house, and just don’t take it over? Not really, but in my codependent family it was rebellion. I think this started when the girlfriend would start making to-go meals for her friends and for my step brother (the affair child). We stopped having leftovers left. Mom stopped having food to eat off of for the next week after she’d spent all week cooking for everyone. No more turkey casserole! You know, where you shred the turkey and mix it with the dressing and cream-of-chicken soup? None. So mom started making extra dressings and extra mac & cheese and keeping it at her house. Come 2014 something had changed.
Now I’m not sure what triggered the change. And I wouldn’t dare say “something snapped” — nay, something clicked into place is what happened. Maybe that was after dad started putting rules on presents — how much we could spend, and then one year declaring we weren’t allowed to give gifts at all (yeah no, fuck him — yall know I didn’t listen to his shit). But 2014 was a new era. In 2014, mom decided to have her own Christmas.
Now don’t get me wrong, it was still a secret. It didn’t replace dads Christmas. Mom would just have her own Christmas on a different weekend with only her own children and we’d ACTUALLY be happy for real. There were kinks. Bitch sister banned pictures so there are no photographic memories to look back on with my blessed mother. Because god-forbid dad find out and get his wittle-feewings-huwt. So I’m a bit bitter that moms gone and I can’t go back and look at those non-existent-photos, but it happened. And I have the gingerbread houses to prove it. Recently, I took an internet deep dive to find them.
2014 was a learning year. What would we do for moms Christmas? She’d make a big meal but what should we do? Gingerbread houses! But we’re not going to be all difficult about it. This was before gingerbread house kits were a thing, mind you. Mom decided we’d make cardboard houses and decorate them! And we’d use hot glue and caulk because ain’t nobody eating these anyway. So we made cardboard houses in advance. And even one Pringles can which became a rocket of sorts. Then, when the night came, we exchanged presents and ate food and laughed and made merry in my sisters tiny house where mom lived. And after dinner, we gingerbreaded! We had tons of cheap candies and graham crackers, pretzels and cereals, all sorts of shit to glue to your box house!
I chose the biggest box house because I’m ambitious. I did not anticipate the sheer amount of time it would take to cover such a large house with graham crackers, cookies, and smarties. Much less how much time it would take me to caulk to entire roof and lay it with pretzels. It was all I could do to get a Twizzler door and butterscotch windows before the night was over. But it was a wonderful Christmas party! And mom was beaming.
I returned home with my house and eventually, I had to spiff that shit up. I had run out of time! So one night while my husband was playing D&D at the table with friends, I sat in the living room with hot glue gun and made that shit SPIFFY. Look at this. M&M Christmas lights! Lined windows! My signature gumdrop wreath — and Christmas tree Peeps. Fuck Yeah. Much better.
Oh now we had a tradition. And the next year, we found gingerbread house kits! 2015 brought a cookie roof and a ice-cream-cone tree (pretty sure mom made me that). We even started saving all the leftover candies because, again, nobody is eating this stuff. And we got better. Caulk is great for cookies and cereal, but don’t use it on the sugar candy — it melts it. Like, it never dries and the candy melts off it. Some kind of chemical reaction. I don’t know. Eventually we gave up on caulk anyway.
In 2016, I bought a whole stash of PREBUILT gingerbread houses. All we had to do was decorate. I went with a Chex roof.
By 2017, gingerbread house kits were becoming a thing. Not only were they easy to find, they started making weird shit. Mom bought me this sweet Mario castle kit! For some reason it didn’t come with a roof or second-story walls. But I’m an engineer so I hot-glued some wooden-skewer beams for supports and filled in with graham crackers. Fuck yeah. Add some Peep trees. Magnificent.
I should also point out that it started to become clear that this tradition was spreading in the family. And by family, I mean Jack. It became very clear that he was sneaking on the counter at night to eat the icing and marshmallows. I let him have at it. It was Christmas, after all. It was pretty evident on that red mushroom though.
In 2018, I brought back my cereal shingle technique. Notice the Mario-Coins saved from the previous year.
In 2019 mom really went all out. Sister had moved into a bigger house so we could set up in the downstairs game room. Multiple tables were set up and everyone was gifted an adorable little spruce tree in a gingerbread box. I’m gonna be honest, I don’t remember this year much. I had some pretty bad brain trauma and I probably barely made it there. That might also explain why the hell there is so damn much icing on the roof. Not my best showing.
2020 was one hell of a year. The party almost didn’t happen because — well, Covid. My husband wasn’t about to leave our house and he really didn’t want anyone here. But I begged and God was on my side. Everyone promised to quarantine and come up here for the party so I wouldn’t have to travel (I was still recovering). God really made that year special for us. Everyone came up. And everyone spent the night! It was so much fun. We had a full house. And mom had got us all matching PJs! We took one of the family’s most cherished photos that night. A family photo with us in our matching PJs and mom up front. Who knew it would be the last family photo we ever took? We didn’t even hardly have any family photos — maybe just my wedding photos, actually. I’m still so sad my sweet husband took the photo because that means he’s not in it. If only I had thought to ask CB to take one with him in it…
Well, we didn’t actually do houses that year. We decorated cookies to make things easier. J had bought an ugly sweater cookie kit and me and mom baked hand-cut gingerbread cookies before everyone got up here. I think it was December 19th? Just a week before she died on Christmas day. Fucking Covid.
The next year, 2021, not everyone was in much of a celebrating mood. But my sister-in-law and brother agreed to host. I found these spiffy fondant penguins at Target. My sisters didn’t come. But we kept the tradition alive. Hey, I even did a damn fine showing with a frosted miniwheats roof. And that was the last Christmas with my precious Jack. And damned if he didn’t go after that house in those dark mid-night hours. He nearly ate a whole damned Peep tree! And look how his tongue sanded down the wreath candies and the fondant door. And is that a Super-Mario star I spy from years before atop the tree?
This year, 2022 was a little better. My sisters still weren’t feeling the joy so I said I would host. And I bought us all fun kits from Publix! I honestly didn’t expect my sisters to come, but last minute they did! Not only did they come, but they stopped at the store and picked up their own gingerbread kits to make! Since I didn’t expect my sisters and I’ve been insanely depressed about Jack, I invited K2 to join us. She made her first gingerbread house in the form of a Publix. I made a moose lodge with a pretzel roof. Apparently, my husband doubted my pretzel roof. SHAME on you, husband! My pretzel roof is fantastic — I mean, there’s a lot of glue strands but whatever.
It’s not very traditional Christmas-look, but it’s there. I wasn’t feeling it as much this year without Jack. Last year we didn’t have mom, but it was still a tradition for me to make a house for Jack to eat in “secret.” This year was harder for me without mom and without Jack. But we kept the tradition alive. We KEEP the tradition alive. Long live mom and her rebellious Chirstmas parties!
I finally got my Christmas cards ready to send! Envelopes stuffed, addressed (labels), and stamped! Look at these beauties!
I was so proud of myself that I got out our Christmas cards through the years. Look at how cute we are.
A few things. Why do I have to relearn how to make address labels every year? And why do printers hate us? Printers are a pain in the ASS. They shouldn’t be. We’re engineers. I’m not stupid, but it’s a horrible battle every freaking year. Actually, it’s a horrible battle every time we have to print something. You never win.
Lastly, I do not have a copy of the first year we sent out photo cards. It makes me sad. I didn’t think to keep one. Also, I think 2018 with the snowman was the best one. But this year has a professional photo so it’s pretty snazzy.
Oh and sad to say, this will be the last year of “Jack on the Back” 🙁
So you’re horrified that I’m getting tattoos because they’re sinful and now I’m a heathen going to hell. Right? I willing to bet the arguments you’re going to make are that the Bible says tattoos are bad and that our bodies are a temple? Am I right? Let’s break these two down before I go further. (A) Bible says no tattoos. (B) Bible says body is a temple.
(A) Bible says no tattoos:
Leviticus 19:28: “Do not cut your bodies for the dead or put tattoo marks on yourselves. I am the Lord.”
OK, first of all, the word for tattoo didn’t exist until the 1700’s. The Bible wasn’t written in English. Second of all Leviticus? Come on. If we’re going full Leviticus, it says not to eat shellfish (Lev. 11:9-12), use mixed fabrics (Lev. 19:19), or harvest the edges of fields for some reason (Lev. 19:9). So how’s it going in that cotton blend you’re wearing? Comfy? Wanna throw on a polyester blend and go get some shrimp at the Red Lobster? I’ve totally seem you eat a lobster, BTW. It’s not worth all that effort.
“Not all of Leviticus is written to everyone. There were abominations that applied only to the Jews such as eating shellfish, rabbit, and pork, etc., which were things that typologically represented purity before the Lord. We know this because God says, “Speak to the sons of Israel saying…” He gives instructions to the Israelites, not to the rest of the nations.”
Before we leave Leviticus, lets discuss the word tattoo — which, ya know, didn’t even exist. For this, lets hop over to BibleStudyTools.com:
“Leviticus 19:28 literally translates, “And a cutting for the dead you will not make in your flesh, and writing marks you will not make on you; I am the Lord.” [….] The background of this law was that Israel, after being rescued from slavery, was between Egypt and Canaan. […] In Canaan, evidence indicates that instead of marking the body with ink, more extreme scarification measures, like branding, slashing, or gashing the skin were used. Archeology, backed by biblical texts, indicates the Canaanites would customarily slash their bodies for ritualistic purposes (1 Kings 18:28), especially to mourn their dead and honor their gods. Leviticus 19:28 seems to imply this when it says, “you will not make cuttings in your flesh, for the dead, nor print marks on you.” In light of this information from Egypt and Canaan, it would seem God was forbidding scarification, not tattooing as we know it.””
Even with out all that, I think we can agree that Leviticus is a little out of date. Especially, being that it’s the Old Testament which was overcome by the New Testament when Jesus came because everyone was too inept to follow the rules. God threw us a bone (206 of them in the form of Jesus) and rewrote everything. So yeah, enjoy your cotton blend PJs.
(B) Bible says body is a temple:
Ok, for real — this is laughable. A CATHOLIC saying I can’t give my temple a paint job? Have you ever been in a Catholic church? For real? All that gold paint and gaudiness? Yall love gold paint and marble almost as much as Donald Trump. So don’t talk to my Lutheran ass about decorating a temple. Period.
(C) The Coptic Christian Cross
The Coptic Christians almost require a tattoo of the Coptic Cross. It’s usually on the inside of your wrist. This dates back to them being ostracized and marked when everyone was forced to convert to Islam. They refused to convert and were marked for it. This way they could be easily ostracized. In some churches, they would check for the tattoo before you could even come in to make sure you were a Christian. Coptic Christians make pilgrimages to this day to get this tattoo. It’s a religious experience and part of who they are. And yeah, it’s a TATTOO.
I’m writing this from the airport. Where we have been all day. We left the cottage at 8:30 for a 12:20 fight. It’s now 2:15. Our connection flight was canceled. They wanted us to stay overnight and all day tomorrow in the airport and leave for home at 9:30 tomorrow night. So we had to reroute and deal with customer service. Now were flying out at 5:30 and arriving home at midnight – HOPEFULLY. This trip has been a travel nightmare. And American Airlines is, of course, blaming all the delays and cancellations on weather. That way they don’t have to reimburse you or pay for food and hotels. Such fucking bullshit. It’s the lies that really piss me off.
Our vacation was great though. I usually don’t like this trip much because the cottage is far too small and unairconditioned and has a single bathroom for 6 grown adults. However, with just the 4 of us siblings, it was great. I mean, we all feel bad that it was great. Of course, it’s sad we didn’t get to see Mr C’s parents. However, it was really nice just being the siblings. It was so much more chill. And so much more roomy.
We went to the beach almost every day. I got in the ocean a lot. I lost my mountain toppers on the second ocean adventure. I managed to hang onto my glasses when an unexpected wave nailed me but the toppers slipped from my grasp. They were my favorites too. After that, I just didn’t wear toppers in the ocean. I’m learning. Slowly.
We played a lot of games. I even joined in the family tradition of pinochle which I’ve refused for a decade. Mr C’s family is SERIOUS about pinochle. They even buried his grandma with a perfect pinochle hand. So we played 3 games. Mr C and I lost the tie breaker last night. This pinochle participation shall never be spoken of outside of the group.
We also played a ton of Splendor. I brought the fancy glass gems and metal doubloons set I got for Christmas. The gem set costs more than the actual game. But playing a game with really nice pieces makes such a huge difference. It’s so much more fun to really hold the gems and gold and feel fancy. We played Five Crowns too. I won last night!
So vacation was really good. Now, if we can just get home, we’ll be solid.
UPDATE: It’s now Sunday morning. After I wrote the above post, we got delayed and canceled again. We rerouted and arrived home after a late connection in Miami. I was getting into bed at 3:00am. Oh, and they lost our luggage. Fucking American Airlines. We really enjoyed the trip but this was the trip travel from travel hell:
1 Saturday flight out, canceled.
2 Sunday we arrived at the airport, got a pat down at security and it was canceled after we sat there two hours.
3 Monday we finally made it out on a delayed flight. We made our connection because it was also delayed. Arrived at the cottage at 3:00 AM
4 We arrive to fly home at 9:30am. First Saturday flight gets pushed back further and further and further. We spend hours at Gate 8.
5 Find out the connection we are about to fly to is canceled.
6 Reroute through a different airport that has a connection to home. Also going to leave from Gate 8. Decide that Gate 8 is really just the “fuck you” gate. Flight gets pushed back so many times that we are in jeopardy of missing the home connection.
7 Rebook on a flight that leaves a little sooner to make the connection.
8 Leave Boston around 6:00pm. Arrive to find the connection has been pushed back.
9 Home connection gets pushed back, like five times. We were supposed to arrive home at midnight with the new flights (was going to be 630pm with the original booking). We got home at 2am.
10 Our luggage apparently never even left Boston. Still waiting to hear from them on that.
Yesterday, I dove into the icy waters off the coast of Maine. I’m not traveling to a beach and not getting in the water. Even if it is really fucking cold. Painfully so. I got half-way and decided to fully commit. And the best way to fully commit is to dive in. I swim with my glasses all the time at home so I know the toppers fall off in the water a lot. So I took my sunglasses topper off to hold onto. Then I waited for a big wave and dove right in!
My glasses went with the wave. Yep, right over my head.
I kinda just wrote them off as gone. I could easily order a new pair from “Pair” for under a hundred dollars. It would suck going the rest of the week without glasses, but not cripple me. I’m like -3 in my prescription. So everything would just be blurry. But we’re not sight seeing here.
Thankfully, my Brother-In-Law and Sister-In-Law were with me to help me frantically search the waves. Somehow BIL found them. It felt like five minutes of searching but maybe it was closer to two. We were panicking. I tried to communicate to husband back on the beach what had happened, but he didn’t realize. I guess I was still holding my twenty five dollar topper so he probably assumed I was holding my glasses.
Anyway, lesson learned. Don’t dive in the ocean with your glasses on. Its funny, I’ve worn my glasses in the gulf many times and never had them fall off. However, they fall off in the pool sometimes while I’m falling off a float or something. They’re just really easy to retrieve in a pool. Not so much in the Atlantic.
After three days of attempted travel, we have arrived. We were supposed to fly out on Saturday. Then on Sunday. Then third time was a charm with an overnight Monday night. But it was not without its battles. I tested positive for bomb residue.
So I go through the human scanner, and OF COURSE, I light up bright red in my crotch again. I had plenty of time to ask why I always trigger the damn thing and apparently my clothes (especially my crotch) are too baggy. The machine isn’t looking for metal, I’m told — just unusual shapes. Good to know! She recommend traveling in jeans or leggings next time. Side note: I wonder if you can see breast implants on that thing? I totally bet you can see them. But yeah, back to bombs.
Now I gotta get the feel up again. So we go through the dance and she tests my hands for bomb residue. BAM! False positive. Okay, though, this person isn’t a bomber — lets do this right. So now I get the fully monty pat down with a fresh set of gloves. She makes sure to touch every area of my person. Then she screens my hands again AND her gloves. Fucking false positive. Now they’re taking my bag (that had already passed the scanner successfully) away.
My bag gets a deep dive but there’s nothing interesting in it. Now there’s a policeman and a new TSA agent for me. She explains everything shes gonna do. Again, I don’t speed hear so I’m like whatever, do what you gotta do lady. I didn’t ask for privacy either because fuck that. So I look over to my husband and tell him that I think if I test positive a third time, I’ll probably go to TSA jail. Not like, they’ll arrest me, but I bet Id get taken to another location for further testing, ya know? We already brought a cop over.
So new TSA lady puts on fresh gloves and does the full monty pat down again. I offer up my hands but she’s like “oh no, we’re not testing your hands again.” She then just tests her gloves (which had been all over me). Green light! Woot! Bomb free! Third time a charm, baby! Thats when I knew this flight would work and not get delayed a fucking third time. We’re totally rolling on third times a charm luck.
So, apparently, some lotions and soaps can make you false positive on those things. But the only lotion I use is on my tattoo. I KNOW, I’m a horrible person. Plus I had passed the extra screening on Sunday night with no problem. So *shrug.* I guess we, thankfully, won’t find out where a third positive leads you. There’s always the trip home though.
I’ll take the time to point out, the TSA agents were super polite and lovely to work with. No one was an asshole. It was only women that felt me up and we were in view of everyone (by my own choice). I was watching the bag search. I wasn’t in some detained area, I was just a rock in the TSA river that everyone else had to flow around. Like my husband, who passed without problem. As always.
Mr C’s sister picked us up from the airport and we arrived at the cottage around 3am. That would be 2am in our home time-zone. And now it’s 6am and I’m awake. Not sure if it’s the anxiousness or the humidity or what. I mean, it is super fucking humid with NO AC. At least we are here and the ocean is lovely. Maybe I shall go lay back down?
OH WAIT! I forgot another great tid-bit. K is cat sitting for me. You know my precious Jack (cat) requires medication twice a day. Well, K went over to give him his evening doses and triggered our alarm system. Since we were traveling, we missed the calls. So the security company called the cops. Who then went to visit K. I have to get the full play by play from her soon, but she said she was in her pjs and the cops were cute. I regret not having that Ring Camera anymore.
So yesterday our flight was canceled. But not before we made it through security and waited almost 2 hours at the gate. For some reason, I always flag at the human-being scanner. This time I flagged a lot of yellows and bright red on my crotch. Nice. So I got felt up. The lady sped through all the ways she was gonna feel me up and asked me if I understood and I was like “No, but do what you gotta do.” She asked me if I wanted to move somewhere, private but I don’t care. So I got felt up. I also got the bomb residue screening.
Then I’m waiting on my husband and my bag. Husband goes through with a bright green window. So lame. I told him I just got felt up and he just breezes through! WTF? So now I’m grabbing my bag after it went through the scanner and my husbands bag gets taken. So I laugh and say “I got felt up but they took you shit!”
This made at least two agents laugh. You’re welcome.
Also, another passenger said at least the feel up was free. So there’s that. We’ll try again tonight. But I need to remind husband to take the scissors out of his backpack.
We should be on vacation right now, but our flight last night was canceled 3 hours before we were to board. So the soonest flight we could get out is now tonight. Yay travel! I hate flying with a passion. So many people. So much cramped space. So much chewing and smacking. UGH.
This years family trip will be very different from normal. It’s not my favorite destination. Too many bugs, too much walking, no air conditioning. I grew up on beach trips. You go get hot as hell by the ocean and then come up and cool off in the frigid AC. Its nice. Mr C doesn’t like the beach much though, so we alternate family vacations.
This year unfortunately, his father came down with Covid. While he’s much improved and doing great, we still don’t wanna travel to stay with someone who’s probably still contagious. I believe in following the CDC guidelines because I think they’re like the lowest expectations they could legally set. Bare minimum rules. And they say don’t travel for 10 days. So we had the EXTREMELY uncomfortable situation of discussing with his parents, who paid for the cabin — who’s going, us or you? They decided it would be better used on us. Us being my husband and his brother and sister. So it’s a sibling trip now.
It is a huge change in plans, but I think maybe it’ll be nice. The cabin is far too small for everyone and always has been. So there’s now enough beds for us all. And less of us sharing a single bathroom. And we can all fit at the dining table.
I hope it will be good bonding time with the in-law siblings. Hopefully we’ll get to relax. And be cool enough to sleep well.
Wish me luck on the flights. I hate flying so so so so much.
UPDATE: Tonight’s flight got canceled too! WHAT THE FUCK, PEOPLE? We’re gonna give it another try tomorrow. Third times a charm right? And if tomorrow fails us, we’re gonna have to cancel. Cross your fingers we make it tomorrow.
