Once again I have high-tailed it out of New York for the Christmas season, popping down to Florida to spend this nog-soaked month with my parents and the greater Orlando area. This will actually mark the longest period I’ve spent in the Sunshine State since permanently departing in 2007. Hopefully I don’t pick up any of my old nasty habits (compulsive consumption of dill flavored potato chips, unnecessary hair dying, etc).
I was shocked last week to find a flight out of the Rotten Apple for mere double digits. I was even more shocked to find this plane offered upholstered seats and regular beverage service. I’m counting this as the first official 2011 Christmas Miracle. Alas, the only Coca-Cola they had to offer on this flight was Honky Coke. I was so enraged I fell asleep. I awoke shortly before landing to the sound of two British girls seated in front of me debating who’s the most famous Kardashian. Yeah, like there’s a question about that in any hemisphere.
Even though my mother converted my old bedroom into generic guest quarters long ago, the space itself still holds that certain power with me. Suddenly, I have no problem sawing a deep slumber until noonish no matter what time I retired the previous night. I also feel more emboldened to air guitar in front of the window, although this probably has more to do with the implied notion that the feral cats who like to relax in my parents’ backyard will be less judgmental than my neighbors in Brooklyn. I know you can see me, Girl Who Sits On Her Fire Escape With Her Laptop, but I’m judging you back twice as hard.
The only disappointing aspect of this trip so far has been the startling lack of old toys/trinkets in my closet left to sell for quick cash. If anyone’s interested in a Star Wars cork board that prominently features a cartoon rendering of the Millennium Falcon or various VHS tapes containing Ramones and Sex Pistols-related programming taped off mid-nineties television broadcasts, please message me immediately. These items will only depreciate in value. I also have a Chipper Jones bobble-head I got in a box of cereal. You can have that for free if you know where my parents live and show up at a reasonable hour.
Coming soon: A photographic tour of the incredibly somber paintings my parents insist on keeping up in this house. I don’t know why you’d want a picture of what looks like a mournful teenage Linda Ronstadt shedding two giant tears affixed to your wall, but it’s been a prized possession in this family for years. And people wonder why I struggle with depression.
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