Two Days on a Plane

My family decided to go on a tour of Scotland and Ireland.  My darling (extremely jealous) boyfriend tasked me with taking ALL THE PICTURES and keeping a travel journal, which I naturally interpreted as blogging.  Now I know that travel blogging isn't as saucy as  having an unhealthy obsession with my downstairs neighbor or  pondering the difficulties of adult friendships, so I promise to include a lot of pictures.

Look there's one now!

Glaswegian (yes, that is what Glasgow's citizens call themselves) street art.

I had big plans of writing as I went, but being technologically illiterate, I couldn't figure out how to get pics off my phone until now.  To be clear, I am firmly in California right now, but this post is from the first day of traveling:

Let's begin at what was apparently two days ago (b/c my phone insists that it's Monday already).  Saturday morning was pretty regular, wake up early, get on the airport shuttle, cruise down the freeway to the airport in about 30 minutes, wait in traffic for 40 minutes to get from Terminal 1 to Terminal 7, find out your flight has been delayed an hour and you can't find breakfast anywhere for under $13, curse LAX as being the most disgusting and poorly designed airport you have ever been in.  Anyone who has ever been to LAX will tell you the same story.

So somehow, with flight delays and time difference, I arrived in Virginia around 8:00 at night.  In case you were wondering, I left my apartment at 9:00 a.m.  Cross country travel's a bitch.

Knowing I didn't have time to see anyone gave me a weird antsy feeling.  As if I should be doing something; calling people, making plans, acknowledging that I was in town.   But I couldn't, so instead, I watched two episodes of The West Wing and played a dozen rounds of Frozen Free Fall, before falling asleep in my bed at home. My bed, by the way, is now in the middle of the room because the pipes burst and they had to cut a hole in my wall to access it.  Some hours later I was woken up by the rude reminder that I need to get on another plane.

The hole is under the pillow to the left.  It's covered up so my sister's cat wouldn't crawl in there, get stuck, and die in the walls of our house.

So a metro ride later, we are at Reagan, which I have decided is the second shittiest airport I have ever been to.  After LAX, of course.  But I did get to see some sexy D.C. sites, making me feel like I really was home after all.

If you squint the Capitol building is in there under scaffolding.

Then we made a connection to Newark.  Which all in all is a great airport full of ipads.  Oh and had this killer view of NYC when we took off.

Oh how I long to live somewhere with lights.

So it took us about 6 hours to get from Newark to Glasgow, which I'll have you know is the time it takes to get from D.C. to San Francisco. If only a red-eye from SF was as luxurious as an international flight (lots of food, unlimited movies).  It's not.  It's more like "shut up and go to sleep."

So after 2 days of traveling, we were in Glasgow, my body was 8 hours behind, it was drenched in an unfamiliar wet stuff called rain, and the average temperature had dropped about 30 degrees.  Needless to say I was kind of a mess.  We went straight to the hotel and fell asleep.

And since getting picture off my phone is still much more confusing than I realized, I'll (somewhat abruptly) stop this post here.

Next Time on MelMovesWest:  Glasgow, or the St. Louis of Scotland