Learning to Fly

There’s so much I want to write about, talk about and think about, like the delightful Vietnemese nail salon employee who held me down against my will today and waxed my eyebrows at no charge (“You eyebrow HORRIBLE! Need wax! Much wax! YOU LOVE IT! WAX! FREE WAX! YOU NEED! EYEBROW HORRIBLE!”). I want to respond to all of your comments and emails, and most of all, I want to read what’s happening with all of you.

Except, I can’t. I’m leaving tomorrow on another adventure, this time to sunny Syracuse to visit my family in beautiful Union Dale, Pennsylvania. I will feel right at home, as half the population of Union Dale, where my parents have a second home, lost their teeth around the turn of the last decade, and think that the Internet is something dangerous that brings nothing but evil porn and angry credit card thieves.

I’m flying again, of course, this time with a layover in La Guardia, and I’ll get in to Syracuse sometime in the wee hours of morning, Sunny trapped in her bag like an angry mule, dreaming of a nice soft piece of grass she can finally relieve herself on after snoring loud enough to rise above the hum of the engines.

No updates again until Tuesday, where I will have many stories of babies! Babies that belong to my younger sibling! YOUNGER! SIBLING! Toothless townies! People who still spend an hour each morning curling their bangs! Pegged pants! Double socks! Def Leppard!

*Tom Petty. Pink Floyd. Probably a hundred other people.

Mama, don’t make me fly again. Please. I’m so tired.

7 comments June 28th, 2006