Sorry for the tease and then the delay. Jetlag has a funny way of making you curl up in bed and not come out. I started half this post yesterday and then passed out on the keyboard like thisssfhjgkjhlhkj;lkjkj.
I wish I had something more exciting to blog about but I don't. I mean, I do...but I like to (feel I have to) blog chronologicaly, even though all I want to do is TELL YOU WHAT I GOT FOR XMAS! That will have to wait, though, for a later time, even though IT WAS THE BEST XMAS EVER...yeah, well it was, but that doesn't matter, I'll get to that eventually and the fact that my present from Ross came in THIS BOX:
But that's neither here nor there...and doesn't have anything to do with New Year's Eve on the Champs Elysee which was so freaking cool (and slightly scary) that I just have to tell- no. I'll have to save that for later too. And the Moulin Rouge.
Where was I? Oh yes, not having anything exciting to blog about. Well, there is of course Lyon and the journey there which wasn't so exciting per say as it was annoying and exhausting. The journey, not Lyon. It is tempting to blog that the flight to Paris crash landed on a desert island and now I'm running around, torn between a spinal surgeon with lots of tatooes and a southern bad-ass with nice hair. But sadly, if this story were the case, I would lack the internet reception to blog about it. So I must do with the truth.
On December 19th and Ross and I were set to drive down to Seattle to catch our flight the next day. As you may have read before, the previous day I experienced a meltdown of sorts as I thought I lost my passport (again). Thankfully that disaster was averted, although there was one thing that didn't help. Ross and I ordered his sister's Xmas presents from Sephora on two different orders (the more orders I make, the more samples I get mwahaha). Anyway, despite me choosing the express shipping for $15 extra, the package, which was due to arrive on the 19th mind you, did not in fact arrive at all. Not only did this mean that we didn't have presents for one of his sisters but that when the package finally did arrive, I wouldn't be home to recieve it and the post office isn't too generous with holding on for packages for a lengthy amount of time.
So our drive to Seattle late that night was peppered with bits of anxiety about getting Joanne (his sister) a gift (we did a quick run into Bath and Body Works at a roadside mall, where Ross picked up a MP3 player for $25...and yes this was a real electronic device and wasn't made of soap), and me thinking that I lost Ross's bankcard at a gas station. But I didn't.
The next morning (early), after a comfortable stay at the Seatac Super 8 motel and after Ross had a hurried morning cigarette, we checked into our flight. This is when the fun began.
In the airport Ross went to go buy a pack of cigarettes from the magazine store. He got his pack of Camels, purchased a pack lof lighters (had to throw out the lighter I gave him from Mexico, the one with women's taught and bare bottoms on it, at airport security...something that would become a running theme throughout the trip) and got ready to have a smoke.
Only you can't smoke in the Seatac airport, which had Ross gritting his teeth about the impending 5 hour flight to New York (where we were to connect to our flight to Paris). I know that this whole anti-smoking thing is good, but what ever happened to the smoking lounges? And why the hell do they sell cigarettes in the airport, for that matter? Anyway, I then realized what I was up against. Early morning wake-up, plus lack of sleep (due to trip excitement) plus no smoking was not going to make Ross the most cheerful person to be around. And I had to sit next to him.
Luckily Ross handled the flight with ease and you couldn't tell that he was suffering from nicotine withdrawal (except for the nail biting). He was also preoccupied with the fact that we were sitting next to J. David Markham who was annoyed he was unable to get first class and was due to give a speech on Napolean in NYC. Ross was convinced that this J. David Markham person was famous and spent most of the flight trying to suss him out (without staring at him like a creepy stalker). A quick trip to Google when I got home proved that he actually is someone mildly famous (and probably very famous for history buffs). You can read about him here.
Once the plane landed in JFK (wonderful view of Manhattan as we flew over it...sigh, I must go to New York next) we were pretty much boarding our next flight. Thankfully the gate was right next door so we got there on time, even though this meant that Ross still couldn't have a cigarette (there was no time and this airport didn't allow smoking anyway).
At this point Ross had gone 9 hours without a cigarette. We lucked out that we had two seats next to each other, so I had window and he had the aisle. What we didn't luck out on was the fact that there were two brats sitting in front of us, preventing us from getting any sleep. If the boy wasn't hacking up a lung in a pnemonia-induced frenzy, the girl was playing Disney movies on her portable DVD player. Loud. And not using headphones.
Despite my earplugs in and Ross with his MP3 player on at full blast, we could still hear the damn thing. And it wasn't just us, other people were giving the kids dirty looks. I was reserving my dirty looks to the stuck-up parents who kept glancing over at their kids, ignoring the sound and averting his eyes from my wrathful ones. Even the flight attendents were starting to take notice and hinted many times to the stupid father by saying "Do you not have earphones for that?" He dismissed them as if to say, "Earphones? What are we, barbarians?"
Regardless, a combined annoyed look from me and a French guy sitting across the aisle resulted in a different steward bringing over earphones and make the kids wear them. Relief, but by then I had missed out on getting any sleep and Paris was only two hours away.
So, as you can imagine, it was more than a relief to finally touch down in Paris. Even though our journey was far from over yet.
To be continued shortly....
Voila, in Paris and without a night's sleep