Always get the french fries

Date: 6 June

Location: somewhere over Kansas, US Airways flight from Atlanta, Georgia to Las Vegas, Nevada.

Notable sightings: storms, so many storms, buffeting our little plane about.

I’ve spent the last few hours trying not to think about the fact that we’re in a little tin can 20,000 feet in the air. The Stuff Mom Never Told You podcasts have been distracting me from the terrible turbulence and I’ve just listened to an interview with Jen Doll, a first time author whose autobiographical novel tells the story of her trials, tribulations and tipsyness of her last few years via describing the 17 weddings she’s attended. It’s a good interview and, when asked for her best wedding advice, she recommends that you always get the french fries — literally and metaphorically. I love that.

Intra-roadtrip-group relations have improved. During the Day Of a The Epic Fail last week, as it became apparent just how very hot and lost we were, the sisters started bickering at one another and I’d had enough. I like to think that I raised my issues with tact and respect, but in actual fact I think I had a mini hissy fit on the Midtown pavement while looking like a sweaty blue turtle with my giant pack on. However, the sisters both looked at me blankly, then nodded and responded with a ‘that’s fair’ to my out and out whinge about messy hotel rooms and lack of democracy. Sure, it still drives me up the wall mental that they get up at 6am and yet we never seen to be able to leave for the day until around 11am and that they see pre-arranged meeting times as ‘suggestions’, but it possibly drives them equally mental that it takes me fifteen minutes from waking until becoming annoyingly edgy to leave, and my military ruthlessness with departure times and bathroom breaks is hardly the epitome of laid back charm.

Back in the city of Atlanta, trendy Midtown separates business-centric Downtown from the shopping precient called Buckhead. Perhaps we’re unduly immature, but that name has been an endless source of amusement to us. Bunky is sitting directly behind me right now and she knows how terrified I am of flying so she keeps passing me messages on her phone trying to make me laugh/think of something of other than doom: ‘Buck you Kansas airspace’, ‘Let’s get off this Bucking plane’, ‘Buck I’m hungry for Pinkberry!’ It’s working, but the flashing lightning outside the plane windows is having a diametrically opposite effect.

I’m still fresh and raw from Nepal and India I don’t think I’m particularly well equipped to deal with the garishness, awful excess and chintzy fakery of Vegas but you never know.

I’m remarkably impressionable.




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