It’s Christmas Eve, and while I would very much like to be lounging in my pajamas drinking adult egg nog and eating pie, I am instead brewing a pot of coffee to keep me awake long enough to get to the airport for my early morning flight. Because I live two hours away from the nearest airport and in a different time zone, I’ll be leaving at 2:30 am for my 7:00 am flight. I’m thrilled about the prospect, let me tell you. I just love loading up my suitcases in the trunk of the car in the dead of night like I’m some kind of fugitive. The long lonely drive (which I’ve described before) isn’t particularly fun either.
Oh, I think my coffee is ready. Hang on.
[COFFEE DIGRESSION! Man, something about drinking coffee this late at night makes me feel like I’m back in college. In those days I had the constitution and the wherewithal to stay up all night in a highly caffeinated state, studying for the next morning’s test or discussing music or mooning over some boy or whatever the hell it was I did. These days I’m much wimpier. The tiniest moment’s thought of fluffy down comforters or sweatpants has me whimpering. Mmmmpfff.]
I have finally managed to get all the errands done that I needed to get done, with one exception: I will be returning from California to a very dirty house. It’s not messy, just dirty. Like, I needed to vacuum and clean out the fridge and whatnot and I haven’t. In the end it seemed like a better idea to spend those hours napping. I think you’ll agree.
Between now and 2:30 am, though, I do still have to take a shower (passengers on the plane will thank me for this) and pack up the rest of my things. Which brings me to this, the most boring and mundane thing I have ever bitched about. I can’t help myself; I just have to get it out of my system:
You know what I hate? I really, really hate that you can never 100% finish packing for a trip until the second before you walk out the door. Even if you have some travel-sized toiletries, you still have to wait until the last minute to pack all the little things you are going to use first: make up, hair brush, tooth brush, hair products, deodorant, hair dryer, and on and on. Inevitably, I forget a crucial one of these. This infuriates me beyond reason. If I were rich enough to afford to own two of each of those items, I might consider it worth the expense. ALAS. Yet another way in which rich people have it better. Grumble, grumble. Well, there, now I feel better, having released my packing pain on you.
I hope you’re having a Merry Christmas, if it is in fact Christmas that you celebrate. Next time you hear from me, I’ll be in the lovely city by the bay! Pictures and updates to come.
UPDATE: You can follow my twitter if you are the sort of person who would like to have up-to-the-minute news of what is currently irritating/fascinating me.
UPDATE: I did vacuum after all. An entirely half-assed effort, but when my friend B. comes to pick up the dog tomorrow morning at least she won’t be confronted with a nasty carpet.
Raveling Out 
Have a safe trip! Merry Christmas.
Seeing you’re off to San Flan, I should tell you the Sad and Theologically Dubious Tale of Sand Crab and Mud Crab.
Once upon a time there were two little crabs: Mud Crab, who was a godly pillar of the crustacean community, superintended soup kitchens, and baked scones for the Methodist Ladies’ Auxiliary Committee, and Sand Crab, who had his appealing qualities but was otherwise a complete cad and bounder. Despite their differences, Mud Crab and Sand Crab had been friends since their earliest crabhood, and frequently met to discuss politics, the weather, the price of eggs, etc. One day, while Mud Crab was flicking through his prayerbook and Sand Crab was romancing a couple of abalone, they were suddenly killed by an industrial oil slick. Mud Crab was sucked up to heaven by a beam of golden light, but ol’ Sand Crab was hurled headlong into the pits of Hades, where he promptly opened a BDSM 24-hour dance club.
Mud Crab loved being in heaven, but there was one thing missing from his life: Sand Crab. When St Peter saw Mud Crab pining for his old friend, he gave him permission to visit the infernal depths of hell, on condition that he get himself back to the Pearly Gates by midnight, with his halo and his wings and his harp intact.
Mud Crab clicked his pincers with glee and scuttled sideways down into the rancorous cesspool of the underworld, thanking St Peter with all his little crabby heart. It took him a while, but finally he found Sand Crab, scuttling away behind the bar of his nightclub, all gussied up in a pair of red latex hotpants.
“Sand Crab!” said Mud Crab.
“Mud Crab!” said Sand Crab.
“Sand Crab!” said Mud Crab.
They had such a swingin’ night of it, sipping pina coladas and swaying along to the strains of the Satanic BDSM jazz band of doom, that wee little Mud Crab didn’t notice the time until three minutes to midnight.
“Ack!” he cried. “The pearly gates!” And he galloped as fast as his little leglets would carry him, sideways, up to the outer reaches of heaven.
“Ah, Mud Crab,” spake St Peter, from out the midst of his snowy beard. “I see you’ve returned in the Old Nick of time.”
“Ha ha ha agh agh cough,” said Mud Crab.
“Now. Have you got your halo?”
“Yes, St Peter. Yes, here it is on my head. Phew.”
“Good. Have you got your wings?”
“Yes, St Peter. They’re a bit grubby, but yes, here they are. Phew.”
“Good. Have you got your harp?”
“Ack! Aaaaaaacccccckkkkkkk! Oh no, St Peter! Oh dear, St Peter! I left my harp in Sand Crab’s Disco.”
The End.
Also: have a super time, and a happy rest o’ Christmas.
The best part of GiftFest for me is an excuse to drink beer before lunch. That, too, makes me feel like I’m back in college.
Happy GiftFest 2008!
ok, i totally got distracted by the “crab tales,” but here’s what i wanted to say:
i meant to vacuum my entire house before i left, but didn’t. because there just wasn’t time, what with packing my shampoo and making sure i had enough diapers for The Boy and . . . etc.
In my head: “I will be so happy to be home, I won’t notice I didn’t vacuum.”
Well, I was right.
After being gone a week, my house looked like heaven, and I didn’t even remember, until now, that I hadn’t vacuumed (how in the hell do you spell that word?) all that ridiculous dog hair.
I can’t wait to go pick up the dog that said hair came from tomorrow and continue my decadent, black-hair-laden life. That is all.
Enjoy San Fran. As I enjoyed CO. Can’t wait to compare notes.
And, oh, GET A JOB!
Merry Holidays!
I totally buy backups of our toiletries when we go on trips just so I don’t have to wait to pack them. This is easy for us since we use inexpensive items, but that’s how much having to wait stresses me out!
Also – coffee at night? Reminds me of those dreaded college days too!
Thanks for the well wishes, everybody!
Alexis, that crab story is brilliant! I was all, “where is this going?” and then “Ohhhhhhh!” Excellent.
Tim – Beer before lunch, coffee at night. Man, college students gots weird drinking schedules.
Clarabella, we will have to talk soon!
Zoot – If you buy the duplicates then I should to, end of story. I will put that in practice for my next trip! Also, thanks for stopping by!