Tomorrow morning I am climbing out of bed, driving down the mountain, and then flying to Los Angeles.
I fucking hate LA.
But I am sure this trip will be TONS of fun, if only because I am traveling with a roving band of roller girls and god help me, we're all staying in one room.
All nine of us.
I have rammed as many layers as possible into a carry-on bag, which was already filled after I packed my skates and knee pads. I am forgoing the elbow pads, wrist guards and helmets because I know better than to get on a track with the caliber of skaters I will be watching this weekend.
I want to make it home in one piece, with my worst complaint being the terrible hangover I am expecting.
Packing was interesting. The list on my phone included "pills" and "razor" and "power cord" but I assure you these are not for anything other than their intended use. I have to bring so many things now......I miss the days of throwing a tank top, a swim suit, and a few pairs of underpants in a ziplock and jumping on a plane.
I really used to do that, you know.
Now I have to carefully make a list and check it three times to make sure I have all of my prescriptions, pillows, teabags, power cords, and the insurance cards, drivers licence and printed out boarding passes.
I also have my trusty GPS Glenda2
The last time I drove in LA I was almost in tears before I got to my exit. The highways near downtown do not have breakdown lanes, so if you get confused, or want to re-read the directions, you cannot pull over - you have to get off.
And in LA, you do not just "get off the highway" unless you are 100% sure where you are.
And in LA, I never know where the hell I am.
So I am going to sit back, and let Glenda tell me what to do. I will pop a Xanax and let her take the lead.
Because I'm on vacation, dammit, and I dont want to have to think about anything except where the closest In-N-Out burger is, and how many milkshakes I have had so far today.
12 hours ago