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Fording the River: Days 9 and 10 on a Plane

August 15, 2011

It was the last day with Al… for a year.  Ugh, it kills me every time.  There are tears every time.  Thank god for the internet and gchat.  Seriously, how did people not feel completely separate with just phones?  Technology can be great sometimes.

To fill up the last day, we didn’t have too much of a plan.  I needed to pack, we painted our nails, and we decided to hit up one last food cart before my departure.  Since Al had to get a wedding present for a couple of her friends, we went to an area with a Williams & Sonoma and a delectable food cart:  PBJ’s Grilled.

PBJ’s Grilled serves just what it sounds like:  different versions of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches that are grilled.  But it’s so much more than just peanut butter and jelly.  They have different types of butter, like peanut and almond, tons of different types of jelly, and tons of flavor combinations that range from sweet to savory to salty to spicy.  You want it?  They can probably do it.  I indulged in the “Joy” sandwich, which is basically like an Almond Joy in a sandwich form.  Al got the “Betty,” which treated her to a sandwich with raspberry jam, peanut butter, and Nutella.  Oooh, Nutella.  YUM.  Almost all of the jams and butters they use are handmade, so they can tell you exactly what is going into your food.  The people working there clearly have a passion for what they do, and they were incredibly charming.  The owner even made sure we had a good location to sit and enjoy our sandwiches.  When I visit Portland again, I am definitely stopping at this food cart.  It was so incredibly delicious!

The rest of the day was pretty loungy until it was time to drive back to Seattle.  We stopped at Taco Time for dinner (I guess it’s a west coast chain) and made it to the airport with time to spare.  We cried, and we parted ways, but not without coming up with a plan for next year:  a tropical cruise!  Heck yes!  I can totally get behind planning that baby!

Once in the airport, I had a unique experience going through security.  I’m no stranger to having my bags checked; I’ve been that person seated in the corner with a TSA agent pulling out her wallet and tampons from her purse because of some “suspicious” looking phone chargers.  But this time, I went through one of the body scanners everyone seems to be up in arms about.  I don’t think it’s that big of a deal.  Yes, I am modest, but if doing a full body scan means that no one will be bringing weapons on my plane, screw my modesty.  I want safety.  The person who views the scan isn’t even in the same room, so he/she never actually sees what you look like.  It’s not like it’s some creepy person giving you the once over once your scan pops up.

But apparently I did need a little more than just the scan.  The woman at the scanner told me that she needed to check something, and that something turned out to be my hair!  My hair was too thick for the scanner (how does that even work?!) so she legitimately had to give my hair a pat down.  It was in a basic side ponytail.  I knew my hair was thick, but that brought it to a whole new level.

I was disappointed to find that the airport did not carry marion berry jam, so I grabbed some chocolate covered cherries for my family and headed to my gate way out in the middle of east gish.  Yeah, I was in the weirdo concourse.  My flight left about a half hour late, thanks to not having enough room in the overhead bins, so my connection time in Atlanta was going to be tight.  It was a red eye flight, so I barely slept at all and had no real feeling of when I was supposed to be awake or asleep.

It was a mad rush through Atlanta’s airport, and I had a hard time finding my concourse.  Of course, I was put in the super far away one again, and when I finally got there after sprinting around, I found that the plane had been delayed by about 20 minutes.  Which was great, but couldn’t they have said something sooner?  Give a girl a break!  We were told, however, not to leave the gate because the plane could be “loading any minute.”  That meant no going to the bathroom.  I hadn’t done my business since Taco Time, which was about 7:30 PM PST.  It was now 7:30 AM EST.  It wouldn’t be until I landed in Boston that I actually got to go to the ladies room because of turbulence and falling asleep.  I have never been so happy to see that sexist restroom sign.  Seriously, not all girls wear dresses.  Can we come up with something different, please?  And no, it cannot be boobs.  Think about it.

I finally got into Boston, my forced-checked carry-on finally made its way down the shoot, I finally got on the bus to Maine, and I was finally back with my loving husband.  And now?  I am done with my West Coast tale.  Finally.  (And if you made it this far without pictures, good for you!)

Miss an Exit?

I land in Seattle and we go to Port Angeles.

We see the vampires and hike in the woods.

We exit the country.

We ride in the car… a lot.

We visit the “Porthole of the Pacific.”

We become a little cheesy.

We stop to smell the roses.

We have lunch with the Swedes.

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