My sister is visiting Los Angeles this week. She flew in from New Jersey this morning. I feel it’s worth keeping a journal while she is in town because it’s sure to be a completely surreal experience. In fact, it’s already reached a point of bizarreness that I didn’t think we would reach until at least the Monday or Tuesday. Maybe it’s because she and I have absolutely nothing in common, but there’s just something that happens when we get together that ensures utter fucking weirdness will ensue.
It started somewhere between 5:00 and 6:00am with a series of text messages. I was asleep at the time, but I’m pretty sure one of them said, “Oh my God there are terrorists on the plane, I’m so fucking scared.” I didn’t feel the need to respond, as my sister has an uncanny ability to assume an otherwise peaceful flight will turn into a crash so spectacular, her fiery doom will make Cast Away and LOST look like carnival rides.
Unfortunately for me, I didn’t believe her. Apparently two people were detained this morning before she could take off from Newark. According to her, a passenger requested to de-board the plane before leaving the terminal. A few minutes later, a second person (both were of Middle-Eastern descent) requested to de-board. While crew members spoke with the two passengers, the man sitting next to my sister called a stewardess to tell her that he had witnessed those two passengers filming something while they were waiting at the terminal. The flight was delayed indefinitely while they searched the cabin and luggage compartment for any unusual bags that might have been left behind. Once they were sure things were safe, they took off. Later, a stewardess came by to tell the man that thanks to him, the two people had been detained by Homeland Security or the Port Authority Police shortly after exiting the plane.
I picked her up at LAX and listened as she regaled me with this story. We stopped home briefly so she could unpack and change out of her sweat-suit (what is this, elementary school?). Then we had brunch at Fred 62 and walked up and down Vermont for a few minutes. She wanted to find someplace to shop, so I reluctantly drove down Melrose looking for some high-end boutique. She first wanted to stop at a vintage t-shirt store, and spent $40 on a ratty-looking football shirt. She almost bought a vintage concert shirt but I reminded her there were more stores on the street. Then she found some place called Ed Hardy, whose cheapest article of clothing cost eighty-two dollars. She picked up three shirts and a handbag. Luckily, our mother called to ask what we were doing, and the moment I told her the name of the store, she had hung up and began calling my sister’s phone. My sister, who was in the changing room trying on one of her shirts, ignored the call. Our mother called back on my phone, and I handed it over to my sister. The two began yelling at each other (how embarrassing), before my sister hung up on her, announcing aloud that she “hated [me]” and never wanted to speak to me again.
All this, and she’d been in LA for about three hours.
She eventually decided that all she wanted was one t-shirt, which I gladly paid for, since she obviously never has any money. She said she was happy she didn’t spend $500, because that would have been bad, but she also sort-of looked like she was about to cry over not being able to buy what she wanted. It was a delicate car ride home, but I think things have smoothed over by now.
She’s been in town five hours now. She’s downstairs showering and blow-drying her hair. There’s a party here tonight, in her honor, but she’s embarrassed because Pat decided to theme the party “Smurfs” and she’s pretty sure that a) no one is going to actually dress like a Smurf, and b) due to the transitive property of mathematics, everyone is going to assume that she came up with the Smurf idea, and it will be held against her when it comes to pass that no one is dressed as a Smurf.
Whatever.
Day two will definitely prove to be much more interesting. She hasn’t even been here a full day yet.
