The clock struck 7:00am and I was already awake. I rolled out of Nicci’s bed, dressed, packed my dirty clothes and gathered my belongings before waking her up and leaving for the airport. It was 8am when we hopped in her car. The traffic between Echo Park and LAX was very manageable, and we actually arrived there in less than thirty minutes. This left me way too much time alone at the gate, reading the book Ilya got me for my birthday. At some point a voice came over the loud speaker announcing that anyone who printed their boarding pass online needed to re-check-in because they changed planes and the seating arrangement had been altered. My new seat was way in the back of the plane, which I didn’t mind. If watching an obscene amount of LOST this year has taught me anything, it’s that the rear of the plane isn’t exactly a bad place to be. Sure most of your peers get kidnapped as soon as you swim ashore, but then someone like Ana Lucia steps up and kills one of the Others during a raid, and smokes out Goodwin before killing him, too….
Anyway, the flight took off and our ETA was actually thirty minutes early. The first ten or fifteen minutes were bumpy, but the majority of our air-time was smooth and easy. I fell asleep listening to Neil Young’s Harvest, and then again to Nick Drake’s Pink Moon. An hour before landing I had to take a piss, and some fucking Asian woman was in the restroom applying makeup or something. I stood outside the lavatory for what felt like years waiting for her to finish. I couldn’t reach another bathroom because the flight attendants were doling out soda and booze. When the bitch finally exited the restroom she said, “Oh, you were waiting this whole time? I’m sorry I took my time!” Then laughed like a bastard. Fuck that dumb bitch. I think she puked during our landing — which was incredibly turbulent — but I wasn’t peering over my shoulder in an attempt to figure out just who was throwing up. I think I just wish it was her.
Upon landing, the first thing I required was another trip to the bathroom. I had to piss again. I strolled up to the first police officer I saw and said, “Excuse me…”
“I can’t help you right now,” came the response. Then he turned and walked away.
Ah, insincerity. I was officially back on the East Coast.
My mother arrived at the airport maybe fifteen minutes after landing. She has a new car, apparently. She was shocked that I’d never seen it. I guess she bought it shortly after I left. We talked all the way home, taking a short detour off the Interstate in order to pass the golf range, which is now the hollow shell of a Best Buy and a Target. That was a weird site. Upon arriving home, the first thing I had to do was greet my puppy. He seemed somewhat excited to see me, but probably no more excited than he would be to see any new visitor to my mom’s condominium. I spent a few minutes playing with him, then attempted to fix a problem with the laptop my sister inherited from me when I left. I broke it even more than it was when I found it. I walked upstairs to my old bedroom and found a small present waiting for me on the bed. It’s a stress doll intended to be beaten and abused during Mets games. I can’t wait to put it to good use this season. After a few minutes of chatting with my mom, we decided to call my father and ask if he was prepared to meet us and my sister for dinner.
We had a reservation at a local steakhouse, the setting of several previous birthdays and a college graduation dinner. My father looked very emotional upon seeing me for the first time, which is something I’m not exactly used to. He looked pretty good, and definitely happy to see me. I know how hard it is for him to live with me being 3,000 miles away when he cannot travel, so I was glad to see him.
Dinner was great. I had a Ceasar Salad, Fillet Mignon, and a side of goose fat potatoes. Absolutely delicious. My father and sister spent most of the meal antagonizing one another, and it seemed that at any minute they would erupt into a shouting match. It was a bit surreal to be sitting there and thinking about how dumb and embarrassing that was, but I guess it’s a somewhat normal occurrence for them these days. Oh well.
I drove home with my father to his house, and not even five minutes after entering his home there was a knock on the door. It was Jack and Ken with two packs of Dogfish Head beers (Raison D’etre and 90 Minute IPA) and two bottles of wine. It was like I’d never left. We had great laughs, joked around about my “acting so L.A.”, and made plans to do some Podcast work this week. There will also be music recorded in the near future, so stay tuned for those sweet, succulent surprises if you have ever considered yourself a fan of The Best Podcast You Have or Obscure References.
I’m pretty drunk now, catching up on Top Chef. I have to make a phone call and then I’m going to pass the fuck out. I have a very busy first day tomorrow, but you’ll hear all about it once it’s over.
I’m home. It’s fucking weird, man.
