So dear readers, here I am, shamefacedly posting pictures two months later. I promised myself when I began this blog that I wouldn't guilt trip myself if I fell behind, because LIFE amiright? But I do feel guilty. I can't help it.
Now on to bigger and better things...story times.
* * *Part One
On August 9th, Jenners and I headed out to Europe for a few slammin' weeks of island hopping, kayaks, castles, backpacks, and schnitzel. And seeing my family. We packed our bags, had airplane snax on the ready, and suffered minor heart attacks when Seattle traffic had us at the airport an hour late. We made it though, and we looked like this:
If you've seen anything more put-together than this, call me, I'll give you a prize.
Half an hour later, with my passport stamped and my backpack already plane bound, disaster struck, finally having made it through the traffic also. Jenni handed her passport in, we were told to wait, and with 30 minutes left to get through customs, find our gate, and board a plane, Jenni was told she wasn't going to be allowed out of the country. We were entering the EU in Amsterdam, and apparently Amsterdam mandates that you need 6 months left on your passport from your last day in Europe before it expires - and Jenni's missed that deadline by a grand total of 8 days. Honestly, I didn't believe them. Any minute they were going to follow up with "Next time, make sure you have at least a year to be safe." or do the thing where they look at each other, sigh, and say "Ok, ladies, we cannot make this exception again, but off you go." No can do, folks.
Jenni was rebooked onto a flight for the following Monday (two days later), a hefty fine and emergency passport renewal thrown in the mix for good measure. We made our tearful, dramatic farewells...
(Embracing, with gusto)
"I can't leave you...."
"You can't stay..."
"But I would be such a bad friend..."
"I would be such a bad friend if I made you stay..."
"Go....just go....you're going to miss the flight...I'll see you soon..."
The dutch airline official was probably gagging into her peppy little scarf.
Jenni went home and with about 15 minutes left to spare, I raced through customs and made the flight just in time.
* * *
I walked onto the plane, nodding flustered hellos to the the stewardesses, and looking for my seat. It was dead pan. An uncomfortable silence filled cabin, broken by the wail of a woman rocking back and forth in her seat, frantically being hushed and soothed by a stewardess in the seat beside her. Yep. I'm going to be in that seat, I just know it.
There it was. 42 B. Smack dab next to our crying lady sitting in what should have been Jenni's seat. I will give it to her though, she looked kind of how I felt, so we would be in good company. I was quickly ushered to the galley space at the back (you know, the weird little backroom where all the trays of food live) where they explained to me that since there was an empty seat (THANKS GUYS) they would be flying a deportee back to her country and she was a leeeettle bit upset about it.
The next 4 hours were a little weird...Shar and I would chat a little and she would burst into tears...she was from the Philippines and was getting sent back to Germany...and was coming to the states to get married...(?!?)...she would fall asleep and awake in a fit of anger.
"YOU LIKE GUMMY BEARS?"
"Take them. Take them all. I don't need them now..."
"No really, it's fine...someone at home will want th-"
*Cue 5 bags of gummy candy on my lap in a variety of flavors.*
"Can I hold your hand?"
"I'm afraid...can I hold your hand?"
Aaaaand why not. So we did. We held hands for hours, I listened to the Mama Mia sound track, and ate my way through an entire bag of gummy bears. Easily one of the most bizarre moments of my life.
* * *
And then I was there, tired, blurry, and a little disoriented, but alive and well. And Jo was there with a Swedish licorice pop. Hi family!