Moving and Memories

So as I'm packing to move YET AGAIN (I had sworn up and down that I wasn't moving again in Boston for at least several years, and yet, here I am moving after only one year in my fabulously cute little apartment, thus failing to break my record of one year and three months as the longest I've lived in one place as an adult). I keep finding things that are rarely used, but still have so many memories attached (which, in some cases, is why I can't get rid of things, in spite of the fact that they have sat unused, unpacked, unnoticed for two years). One such item was my creme brulee torch, which made me laugh immediately, remembering my drunken meltdown over my attempt to use it for the first time. Because of course, it's best to caramelize the sugar right before it's served. Well, at our dinner parties, that means after several bottles of wine. (No judgement, there were about six of us there). And THAT is when I'm trying to figure out how to use this thing for the first time. It just wasn't working. It would light, then go out. And I was becoming unreasonably upset over this. And I was about the just chuck the thing in the trash, but one of my wonderful roommates gently reminded me that I would probably regret that when I was sober. And then it took another friend to discover the problem: I had no clue how to fill the damn thing, so it was essentially trying to run on fumes. No wonder I couldn't keep it lit. Well, by that time, most of the creme brulee had already been consumed sans sugar. And I haven't gotten around to using it since. So it gets moved from apartment to apartment, waiting for that day when I will make another valiant (and hopefully successful) attempt at creme brulee. And mocking me with my drunken meltdown every time I see it. When am I going to learn that making dessert whilst intoxicated is NEVER a good idea? (Anyone else remember the drunken cake? No? Good...)

I love my Boston friends!

And all my other friends too, of course. But today was the first day I REALLY felt back in the Boston I know and love. First off, it was finally a cooler, rather dry day, with a slight breeze, but still sunny and bright. So perfect! Almost Flagstaff weather... So I spent the morning slowly getting into my day (I've had this horrific sleep schedule since I've been back when I'm up until 2-4am and sleep till 10am), then met a good friend for a movie downtown. By the way, "Julia and Julia" is an amazing movie, you should go see it! Then we got a late lunch at this little market that I've noticed before and was always curious about. Again, a good choice! It was such a beautiful day, being down at the commons, people watching (we saw a woman dressed head to toe in gold, and realized she was one of the living statue performers, and also randomly saw our former LF walk by...even a big city is still part of a small world!), and just enjoying the sun and the bustle of downtown Boston. We parted to get on our respective trains just in time to miss rush hour, and on the way home, I suddenly feel a tap on my shoulder. And of all coincidences, it's my friend, soon to be roommate, heading home from her law school. So I go with her, spend the late afternoon at her place, and then her boyfriend/my other roommate comes home and we have a fabulous evening together, grabbing drinks and appetizers for dinner at a local restaurant. I've missed this part of Boston... It really is so nice to spend time with good friends in a great city. Ahhh, it's good to be home!

P.S.~ Quick update on the getting home: After trying unsuccessfully to get on two flights from Seattle to Boston, I considered going to Portland Tuesday night, spending the night in the airport (well, six hours really), and getting the Portland to Boston flight, which looked much more promising. However, as the day wore on, not only did the PDX/BOS flight fill up, but so did the SEA/PDX flight. WTF??? So I caved and just bought a ticket for Tuesday night. Which took me through Portland AND San Francisco, before finally on a red-eye flight to Boston (which got in late). And my lovely new roommates were so very, very kind as to pick me up from the airport (thankfully all my luggage was there!), and the one who had to work wasn't even late! It was a long journey, but I finally made it!

P.P.S~ I wrote this after the kick-ass Mai Thais from Golden Temple, and managed to write the entire post without a spelling mistake (I make no claims regarding grammatical mistakes, this program doesn't check for those)... Is it wrong to be proud of myself?

Travel (the continuing saga)

So, in spite of all my optimism about being able to make it onto the Sunday night flight to Boston, I did not. The flight, which was oversold by five, went completely full. I almost thought I would get on, because there was one passenger who hadn't boarded when they were about to close the doors, but she came running up at the last minute. So I spent the night in Seattle with my sister, and we went back to try again in the morning. That flight was only oversold by three, and yet EVERYONE actually showed up, and so they had to ask for volunteers for a later flights, as well as offering another flight through Houston (which, my sister informed me, costs the airlines quite a bit of money, so props to them for being willing to lose money rather than piss off customers by forcefully bumping them). So by this time, I had slept about nine hours total the last two nights together, and was rather delirious. And felt rather dirty, still wearing the same clothes. Because the bag with all my clothing went on the flight the night before, and my bag with all my makeup and toiletries was somewhere between Flagstaff, AZ and Seattle, WA. Did I mention that a bag had gotten lost? I actually just found it quite funny, because that bag has gotten lost several times. It's my only piece of luggage that has ever gotten lost. It began when I was coming back from Thailand, and it made it with me as far as LAX, and then it went to Beirut while I went to Phoenix. Really? How does that happen? And how did it get lost on a direct flight from Phoenix to Seattle, with no transfers? I don't know why I even try checking it any more. But I do. At first I was a little worried that maybe someone else had picked it up (it had come to Seattle three flights before me), but then I realized that wouldn't have happened because that would mean it would have been scanned in at Seattle, which it wasn't. So I knew they would find it eventually, and I just laughed about the fact that my bag seems to be cursed. Figures.
So wait, where was I? Oh yes, just got shot down for another flight, and told that the flight that evening was oversold by seven. Yikes. But all I cared about at the moment was sleeping. But first with a quick stop at Ross so that I could have some clean clothing.
After a fabulous nap, I began considering my options. Well, there's a direct Portland-Boston flight. But the leaves at 7:20am. Which is before the earliest Seattle-Portland flight gets in. So I decided that I would show up to try to get on the Seattle-Boston flight that night, and if not, then I would get on the last flight to Portland and spend the night in the airport (I know that Bridgete lives there, but with coming in at midnight and having to be back at the airport at 6am, it would be more trouble than it would be worth to leave). But then, as the evening goes on, the numbers get worse and worse. It begins looking doubtful whether I would get on the Boston flight, and then doubtful whether I would get on the Portland flight. And the flights out of Seattle didn't show any possibility until Thursday, and who knows what would happen between now and then. So I decided to just buy a one way ticket. Which goes through Portland and San Fransisco, getting into Boston about 7:15 the next morning. Oh joy. But I was sick of the standby game. First time ever I've had this hard of a time. I wonder if that's a sign of the improving economy that so many people are buying last minute tickets, which are in the $1,000 range. I mean really? Well, sucks for me, but good for Alaska Airlines and my sister. Job security.
So another thing I've realized during all of this is just how rude and self-centered many travellers are. I mean, I understand that flying these days generally sucks, but that's no surprise. Quit acting like you were expecting to be treated like royalty. And don't be an ass about it when you realized that the airport does not revolve around you. If you would chill out, everyone would be much nicer and all would be happier. Some simple things to remember:
1) You are told to arrive outrageously early for your flight for a reason. Security is a bitch. Again, this is no surprise. So don't get there 45 minutes before your flight leaves (leaves, not boards), and then complain when they didn't hold the plane even though you were checked in but stuck in security. It's called planning. The airlines does it. You should to.
2) Another airline's delay does not mean that your next flight is going to be held for you. Time tables are tight for airlines. If they wait for you, they throw off the rest of the day. Blame the other airline that got you in late and made you miss the connection, not the flight that didn't wait. Especially when they have another flight to put you on in an hour.
3) If you're flying stand-by, don't bitch at the gate agents when you don't get on the flight. It's the nature of stand-by. The gate agents have no control over it. If you want a guaranteed seat, pay for one. (Yes, I know I complain, but I don't do it to the agents, and I do it with the understanding that my ability to fly standby is a privilege I don't have to be granted).
4) Wait at the gate for the 45 minutes before your flight. It's a pain in the ass for everyone involved when they have to page you over and over again to show up and get on the plane because you're too intent on getting your Burger King to pay attention. You are told exactly when you're able to board, so you should be at the gate. When you're not, you're holding everyone up.
5) Finally, be understanding that things happen. Planes are late, flights get overbooked, luggage gets lost, but life goes on. Luggage is found, you'll eventually get where you're going, and bitching at the people who are not responsible is not going to do anyone any good. (And for those of you who take issue with flights regularly being overbooked, it's because people generally don't show up. The flight Sunday night was overbooked by five seats, but five people didn't show up. I bet those last five tickets sold were glad they did overbook, because that means they got seats that ended up being available. It's a small percentage of overbooked flights that actually need to ask for volunteers to take another flight.)
Okay, done ranting now. And finally going to get back to Boston! Yay! Just hoping my bag (yes, I had to check it AGAIN) gets there...

Oy...

Okay, have I mentioned before how much I HATE travelling? Yes, I realize it wouldn't be quite so bad if I didn't fly stand-by, but really, when my choice s having flexible options (it took me to the end of July to decide when my last day at work was going to be) and flying for free, with the chance I will get bumped, or having to plan well in advance and pay $600-700, what choice is there? Do you know how much other fun I can have with that money? Or more realistically, what other bills I can pay... So needless to say, it's standby for me. And this is how my day has gone so far:
4:30am - Wake up
5:00am - Leave for the airport
6:00am - Leave Flagstaff
8:10am - Arrive at LAX
12:10pm - Learn that there's no room on the 12:30 flight to Seattle (the flight my luggage was going on, with or without me... I hope it's here waiting)
1:10pm - Find out there is no room on the 1:30 flight
3:10pm - Find out there is no room on the 3:30 flight
4:20pm - Manage to get one of the last two seats on the 4:30 flight
7:20pm - Arrive in Seattle
7:30pm - Get an overpriced cocktail and sandwich, and debate whether to try to make the overnight flight to Boston (which is currently oversold by 5) at 10:20pm, or staying in Seattle, which would require waiting for my sister to get off work at 11:00pm, only to be back here tomorrow to try to catch that overnight flight.

Okay, not really much of a debate there. I have to be here either way. I'm going to try it. However, that nearly guarantees a nearly $50 cab ride home in Boston, and no certainty whether I can even get into my apartment because the friend who has my keys hasn't been returning my phone calls... I hate travelling. I just want to be home. In my own bed. In my own space. Sigh...

Rain

THIS is how rain is supposed to be. A nice cool drizzle, flashes of lighting, rolling thunder, and a nice cool, gentle breeze bringing the fresh air into the house. Its a lovely monsoon storm tonight. It's so peaceful. Even if Moby is rather frightened... It's just such a lovely night, and, I must confess, it's wonderful having the house to myself for a bit. I was able to clean up the kitchen, and keep it clean as I cooked (something my roommates don't seem to believe in). So now I'm just able to relax and watch the storm as I wait for the aloo gobi to finish cooking.
On a side note, this is only the second time I've tried making Indian food. Like many people, I'm rather intimidated by Indian cooking, but I think that there's no real reason for that. I had some cauliflower waiting to be used, and a bunch of potatoes, so I decided to give it a go... I'll let you know how it turns out!

Ouch...

So day two of pain, which I'm told may still get worse yet. What, may you ask, has caused this pain? A very long hike on Sunday, resulting in sore legs and even more sore back, thanks to a lovely sunburn I obtained on the hike down. My very dear friend suggested that we hike up Mt. Eldon, something I had never done before. We had been standing in the parking lot of Salsa Brava when she suggested it, and I looked up at the mountain and said, "Sure! Sounds like fun!" So we agreed to meet up about 7am on Sunday morning with snacks and water and I would borrow some hiking boots from her and we would be on our way. Clearly, I did not fully think this through. Which is perhaps a good thing, because I had I done so, I may not have been so quick to agree. But in spite of it all, I am glad I did it. So Sunday comes, we find ourselves running a little late, but by 7:45 we're ready to start out. It wasn't supposed to be too hot that day, and it began as a rather cool morning. We start the hike with her dog, who guilted her into being brought along, and found the first mile went rather quickly. Only at that time did I think to ask how long it was. I found out it was a five mile hike total, if we made it all the way to the very top. Even then, I didn't think much of it. After all, walking five miles isn't bad. What I failed to take into consideration, however, was the incline. It turns out that the two and a half miles up the mountain include gaining nearly 3,000 feet in elevation. And about 2/3 of the way up, I began realizing what exactly I had gotten myself into. As we turn another corner and see yet another steep switch-back, the only things that kept me going were stubbornness (I had come more than half-way, damn it, I wasn't giving up!) and, when that failed, the knowledge that by that point, it was closer to go up than back down. And every time my friend pointed out the top as we got closer and said, "See? It's not that much further," I countered with, "That still looks like a long way away..." Which it was. In spite of the people we passed who said we weren't far from the top. And who said, "Once you get to the saddle, it's pretty gentle grade the rest of the way up." Gentle my ass! (Yes, there was also a lot of swearing to get me up to the top as well... I had read an article that said a scientific study found that swearing helps you deal with pain, and I certainly believe it). I had never before done a hike that intense. I've hiked before, even fairly long distances before, but never anything that far up. And I haven't done any hiking of any kind in the past two years. Boston is pretty much flat, and I hadn't been out of the city much. So needless to say, convincing my legs to keep climbing became a bit of a challenge. It wasn't so much that they hurt then, or even necessarily felt tired. It just felt as if they were refusing to move. My slight consolation is that as we met people on the way up, they did admit that it was a difficult hike. But somehow I had it in my head that it was supposed to be no big deal. Now, however, I know better. Once we reached the top (okay, so once I reached the top, as my friend was already up there waiting for me), I was so thankful to be able to sit and recover a bit. However, the view of the city from there is actually pretty ugly. Oh well, at least on the other side we had a nice view of other mountains. The way down was better, but going down a steep, narrow path with loose dirt and rocks in many places presented its own set of challenges. And by that time, we were already into the hottest part of the day (which turned out hotter than anticipated), with most of the trail in the direct sun. And I hadn't brought the sunscreen with to re-apply. Somehow I forgot that it doesn't last forever. So now I have a lovely burn line in the shape of the Camelback I had on. Oh, and we ran out of water on the way down. Needless to say, I was thankful to finally see the car. We all were. Probably the dog most of all. He was panting so hard the entire car shook. When I got home, I was only able to stagger in, wash the thick layer of dirt off my face, and fall into bed, not to move for about an hour. That evening, I was pleasantly surprised by the lack of pain, and thought it may have been more just an energy draining hike than an ass-kicking hike. Yesterday morning I found out how wrong I was. Ouch. And it's hard to say which was a worse pain, the legs or the sunburn. (For those of you who don't know, I'm normally extremely pale, so I burn quickly and badly.) Even having the burn covered, it still hurts to have the heat of the sun on it, which makes going outside during the day difficult. It hurts to even have it covered, because that means something is touching it. It hurts to lay down, which makes sleeping rather difficult. It hurts to move my arms because that means the burnt skin is being stretched and it rubs against the fabric covering it. But I suppose it wouldn't be a summer spent in Arizona without at least one burn...
Okay, I think I'm done whining about this now.

Ah, summer...

Okay, so that didn't take too long before I was willing to re-write...

So for those of you who were unaware, I have spent my summer in beautiful Flagstaff, Arizona, working for a private defense attorney and living with my occasionally crazy, though always fun, friend and three giant dogs. I had a few misgivings about being away from Boston for so long, but soon learned to readjust to the completely different pace of life in Flag. I've learned to come to terms with doing defense work, mainly by the comforting realization that most of these people are complete idiots and have voluntarily confessed so they're going to jail (and before anyone who does defense work takes issue with this, I'm talking about specific cases here, not defendants in general, and these guys have done some pretty heinous things). I've enjoyed working in downtown Flagstaff, where I make the daily mid-morning trip to Late for the Train for some tasty caffeine concoction or another (totally hooked on Retro-Metros and Mate Lattes). I've enjoyed being able to have lunch out on the patio on Heritage Square, where I see a myriad of entertaining people pass, and listen in to the mayor talk about her birthday party, playing Monopoly, and Twittering about something they laughed at on the square but making it sound very official. I've enjoyed wandering downtown after work or on the weekends, stopping in for a drink at the Wine Loft or with a bunch of attorneys at Rendezvous, finding random music festivals down on the Square, and of course, trying on nearly every hat at the Theatrikos rummage sale before parading around downtown with friends on a Saturday night wearing hats and very odd other costume pieces (which, by the way, we only received about two odd looks for and one question...did we really not stand out? Scary...). I've enjoyed taking the doggies on a walk up on the mesa. I've enjoyed taking the yoga classes in the morning before work (in spite of all my internal swearing by the last sun salutation and my hands are slipping off my mat during downward dog, which is not yet a "restful" pose for me) and in the evenings for deep-stretching yin. I've enjoyed the Sunday morning Farmer's Market, with the fresh, local vegetables, bread, cheese, and yummy breakfast sandwiches from NJ Pizza. I've enjoyed the mountains, the sunshine, the trees, the monsoons, the slower pace. I've enjoyed seeing friends that I haven't seen in years. I've enjoyed the summer dinner parties on the patio with amazing friends, amazing food, and amazing wine. I've enjoyed taking Argentine Tango lessons, even if I never could quite get the hang of the motion. I've enjoyed the serenity of not living right on Comm Ave, even if the stillness of the night is often interrupted by the train. In short, I've enjoyed my summer. But now it is coming to an end. In less than a week, I will be leaving Flagstaff, heading back to Boston and classes and the crazy pace of life in the city. Back to waiting for the T, walking to school, studying... But also back to the good part of Boston, the friends there, the fun we have, the city I've come to love. I'll miss Flagstaff summer, but I'm looking forward to being back!

Really freakin long time...

But as I was half-way through a really long update, this computer (which I have determined hates me) decided to, of it's own volition, erase it all and reload the page. I so don't want to re-write all that now, since this is basically for my own need to write rather than anyone to read, and I've already written it once (even if it was lost). Another time then. Hopefully when the computer is being less of a pain in the ass.