As I’ve said before, I’m not a big fan of traveling. In fact, the only time I’ve traveled the past 10 years it has been for work; never for a vacation. Expenses aside, I like my routines and any disruption annoys me.
With that said, I have to travel for work a few times a year and Saturday I will be leaving for New York until Wednesday.
I always want to get the Cash Cab, but then I realize that unless the questions revolve around food, sports or things that go on in my house, I’m kind of screwed.
Before you get all, “Oh my gosh! New York is wonderful and you’ll have a great time!” on me, let me refer you back 10 seconds to “I have to travel for work.” It’s work—like 13-hour days full of work—and there is little to no time for myself. No shows, no great culinary adventures, no acting like an idiot in an effort to get on the Today Show.
I’ve been to New York—for work—and it’s lovely, but that’s not the point.
The point is that I am trying to ration out my recently delivered magazine issues for something to read on the plane. It’s not going so well.
But my other point is that I go through the same mental marathon each time I have to travel. While most of it revolves around finding vegetables to shove in my mouth and dealing with other people dictating my (meal and sleep) schedule without saying something that will get me fired, most of it is angst at an importance level comparable to accidentally swallowing a bug.
Not fun, but not detrimental.
Unless this is the bug. How creepy are those commercials?
Anyway, things that the news people tell me I should worry about aside—terrorism, plane crashes, getting felt up by a TSA agent—these are the things that run through my mind:
- Damn. I will miss at least three of the 162 baseball games that the Tigers play each season, along with a handful of hockey games. At least three games!
- The new weekly grocery ad will come out on Sunday and I won’t be able to rush out that day and buy things I’m convinced they will run out of by mid-week (crazy exotic things like chickpeas, broccoli and butter.)
- I will read about local events happening this weekend and be disappointed that I won’t be able to attend, even though I wouldn’t have attended them anyway. (I would most likely be watching one of those 162 baseball games.)
- The local weatherman will piss me off, as I will not be here to experience whatever weather it is that he is so enthusiastically predicting. (By the way, rain is predicted in New York every day of my trip. Of course it is.)
- Even though I basically eat the same things every day, I will miss the delightfulness of eating the same things every day instead of searching for semi-healthy things in NY like a squirrel seeks a nut. (No asparagus? The madness continues…)
- If I’m not able to blog for a few days, all 12 of my readers will give up on me and vow never to return again to my aesthetically disabled little corner of the Interwebs.
- I won’t be able to sit in my pajamas on the couch with no makeup on and watch “Fashion Police” while eating an organic pesto pizza (The irony of that situation is not lost on me.)
Plus, everything I do before I leave will inevitably be classified as “the last time” I do something before I leave and given great importance.
I have to eat up that last banana “before I leave” because, sigh, I won’t be here for four days to consume it. I have to take the dog for one last walk “before I leave” because, sigh, I won’t be here for four days to do it.
You get the idea.
But I’ll be home before I know it, right back to not attending social functions, eating my usual foods and doing yoga in my underwear.
I bet you all can’t wait for future rants, but just curb your enthusiasm (that’s what we call a segue so you can enjoy one of my favorite scenes.)
I love Larry.