You Can Hate On Me

Now or later, it doesn't matter because the next few posts are going to turn you green with envy.  So hang on for the story. 

Pre-flight:

That's right, boys and girls, Sistah Girl was getting ready to get the hell out of  Dodge.  The impending inclement weather had nothing to do with it...SF and I just wanted to get away.  Preferably somewhere warm.  Alpha Male was begging staff to take time off, unpaid naturally, to save his budget.  You and I both know that I could care less about his budget but if he was willing to give the time....  So the plan was set; marching orders given: find a relatively inexpensive trip to a warm locale.  The only sticking point was: where?  Jamaica is always a favorite choice.  Love that country; love the people.  The Bahamas were definitely out.  Didn't like a damned thing about that trip.  Mexico?  N-O-T!  Too much killing going on down there and...we'd been there before.  To Mexico City; not the resorts.  Aruba, Curacao, Barbados?  All interesting.  Spent a lot of time on the computer.  Finally made the choice.

Tickets ordered; clothing purchased; bags packed; lights on timers (didn't work); and police notified.  Phone call to SF. "Are you sure that you'll be able to get out?"  "No problem."  Well, now, we really can't go on a trip without getting the naps fried, can we?  So, off to the beauty salon.  The young lady who had done the hair previously was backed up and another young lady stepped in to save time.  Explained that I really didn't care for the flat iron and that, since I was going to a warm, humid area, whatever she did would have to last because I didn't intend to spend a lot of time trying to maintain a hairdo.  "Gotcha!"  What a disaster!  I looked like a clipped poodle when she finished or better yet, as though she'd recreated the shag look.  You know...a mixture of curls around the crown of the head and straight hair at the bottom?  I grinned and agreed that it looked great!  I couldn't wait to get back home and try to get a hairstyle that I could live with.  At least it smelled good and was clean.

Phone calls flying back and forth.  The plane has been delayed.  Meaning that the connecting flight to Memphis would be missed.  Meaning that the next flight into Memphis would be well after we were scheduled to fly out the next morning.  Time to call the travel agent and see what magic he could work.  Baby brother couldn't do much with what he had to work with but his advice was sound.  Nothing to do but to take the flight into Atlanta and book another flight from there to Miami in the morning.  I would be flying in from Memphis and, hopefully, we would find each other in the airport.  All righty, then.  I'm off to Memphis to take advantage of the hotel room that had been booked so that we would not have to leave the Big Rip at an ungodly hour to make the 6 a.m., flight.

Last check around the house.  Refrigerator emptied?  Check.  Nothing burning; i.e., cigarettes?  Check.  Trash emptied?  Check.  Everything turned off?  Check.  Damn...leaving the house is a big hassle.  Car loaded. 

Checked into the Regency Inn (formerly The Radisson), right on the airport grounds.  The room is waiting (nice digs) and I can leave the car until we return.  Shuttle runs 24/7.  More phone calls.  SF is in Atlanta and will be on  American Airline's doorstep, at 5 a.m., to ensure that he makes the flight in to Miami before 10 a.m.  We're scheduled to fly out at noon.  I'm setting the clock for 4 a.m., to make sure that I am at the airport on time.  I do have a history, remember? 

I was up before the clock thought about going off.  Dressed and ready just in case they have to find a shuttle driver.  No problem.  He's ready and so am I.  Checked in.  Snow on the way and I'm off to blue skies.