Trains v. Planes

I've been traveling a decent amount in the past couple of weeks, at least for me, a self possessed homebody. In general, I'm not a big travel girl. Still, like most people, I've learned to deal with the joy of air travel. However, this last time around I took the train to NYC and back, followed by the plane down to OK. If I hadn't loved the train so much, I would almost detest it for making the subsequent plane raid seem that much more intolerable. Allow me to elaborate.

Plane

Pack very carefully to avoid any security snafus. Show up several hours early. Remember what to take out of carefully packed bags. Mess up, and get glared at by security guards. Board plane. Sit there while they mess with the engine. Sit there some more. Just 15 more minutes they promise. Ok, more like 1 hour. Connecting flight officially missed. Still stuck on plane for a total of three hours. Finally start to go down the runway. Ha! Just an elaborate plot, as the plane turns around for yet another problem. And finally, after three hours in a metal tube, and probably only thanks to federal law, they finally let us off. Where we get to wait in a giant line with everyone else on our flight to get everything rebooked. Go home. 

Try again the next day. Come back. Go through security, again. Note that they have changed the rules since yesterday and now insist on shoes being in bins, instead of on the track. Not that it matters, because my shoes have been randomly selected for extra screening, so I get to wait around on skeevy floor for five minutes. No wait, make that ten. The exact same bad that went through the day before without issue has apparently been flagged and gets to be rummaged through. But they let me through and 4 hours in the air and one layover later I'm done. Well, at least until the return trip.

Train

Buy ticket. Board train, no security, shoes and bags intact. Sit on nice, big seat, stretch legs, enjoy. 

Granted, going to Oklahoma by train probably wouldn't have felt as nice after 12+ hours in those nice, big seats. Still, it was a cruel contrast. 

The Shoebox missed us

Back home again, this time to actually stick around for a while. Apparently the shoebox missed us so much, that it disintegrated in grief. Gee, it's so nice to be welcomed back home...

Random holes and bits of scattered ceiling aside, there is always something nice about stepping through the door and being home again. Anyways, I'm going to go wash off the sicky sweet airport smell and cuddle up in my bed. Bye.

The airlines are out to get us all

Well, with just enough time to do a load of laundry (why do I buy so many hand wash only clothes? WHY?) I'm packing again. I hate packing. I'm not really a plan out outfits kind of a girl. I just wake up, look outside (or to be honest, check the weather online) and then throw on whatever feels right that day that isn't totally impractical. Preferably something clean, but I'm willing to compromise on that. So the idea of limiting myself to just a few things is horrible. What if I wake up and I really want to wear the cute green shirt, but I didn't pack it, so now I'm stuck wearing the only semi-cute blue shirt and the whole day just feels wrong? Trust me, for the rest of the trip I will obsess over that green shirt. Anything that goes remotely wrong will be directly traceable to its absence. (If only I had the green shirt I would have been more confident, thus resulting in my confidence scarring off the ninjas who have now kidnapped me and are holding me hostage in their volcano laboratory, running biological experiments on me, turning me into a dinosaur/human super soldier hybrid. Great, now I've been shot by James Bond. Stupid green shirt.)

In the past this wasn't that big of a problem. I would just throw 50lbs of whatever into my giant suitcase, check it and luxuriate in the joy of having half of my closet at my disposal. Sure, I was always paranoid about the bag being lost, along with all my wearable clothes, but it was worth it.

But now? Now we live in the days of $25 each way checked bag fees. And somehow $50 just doesn't seem worth that freedom. So, I just try to smush as much as humanly possible into a carry on and deal. It's probably been good for me.

I've learned to deal with the lack of wardrobe options, but I'm still flummoxed by how to deal with the no liquid thing. You see, I have ridiculously sensitive skin. As in, the one time I was out of deodorant so I used Zach's once, I ended up with a rash for a week from my elbow to my belly button. This last week in NYC I forgot to pack my normal lotion, and now have eczema all over my legs. They look like raw hamburger. I'm somewhat dependent on all my nice little products to continue looking and feeling like a normal human being.

Unfortunately, the TSA is apparently is concerned that my humanizing lotion could kill us all, so, that kind of sucks. On one hand, I really would like to make efforts to not me covered in itchy red splotches. On the other hand, $50. (On the third hand, planning ahead and getting travel sizes of what I need, or at least empty containers to put stuff in. But in this instance, as in life for most people, there is no third hand.)

Sometimes I think making airtravel horrible is some sort of super secret anti-terrorism plan. Most of the time, it's just not worth the hassle.