First Class Mistake

When last I left you, I was not going to be a sky pirate captain because my husband is a quitter—a died-in-the-wool giver-upper who never supports my dreams.

Angelina Jolie (Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow) in her black uniform and eyepatch, on the deck of her skyship, against a background of clouds and skyscrapers

I’d have had a better hat, though.

I am, as it happens, still not a sky pirate captain.
I am, however, a person who has literally paid for a hotel by the hour, (though I’m sure the good people at Ramada don’t advertise this service) upgraded herself out of the best flight ever, and—because I love you—snapped a photo of the most mockable woman in all of Georgia.
Here’s what happened:

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Delta Ruins EVERYTHING

 

Here is how fucked up and disorganized I am:

screenshot from previous blog post with sentence circled in pink: "In the meantime, we're off to visit Offspring for a quick weekend, as he's graduating from AIT.

 

I wrote that Monday night and published it on Tuesday.  My actual flight was Tuesday afternoon.

 

Cut to me frantically throwing whatever’s reasonably clean into a carryon, because I have a feeling about this trip and I do not want to check any bags.

Text: "Foreshadowing" (white on grey background)

 

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Ich bin ein Berliner – A Greek Saga, Pt III (Story Time!)

 

And now for the thrilling conclusion of our Greek saga.  It is Wednesday, October 4, 1995. 

 

Husband, you will recall, is in Frankfurt, Germany (where he is not supposed to be) on his way back from Bangor, Maine, USA (where he was not supposed to be).  He is supposed to be getting his ass back to Skopje, Macedonia, but the borders have been closed until further notice.

 

map of Macedonia, pin in Skopje

 

He is, for those of you who cannot be arsed to read the previous two stories(1 & 2), utterly fucked.  And we haven’t even gotten to the part where he negotiates with shady characters, gets bartered away like a Rölexx watch, and bluffs his way past certain death under bright lights and the watchful eye of a half-dozen itchy trigger fingers.

 

I am so excited to see how this turns out!

We’re Bad In Restaurants

 

As many of you have noted, my husband and I have a great rapport, and are able to strike up a meaningful, loving, or silly conversation (my favorites combine all three) with little to no provocation. 

 

I love to talk, he loves to make me laugh: it’s a recipe for nonstop chatter and it’s no wonder that we are, conversationally, so good together. 

 awwww

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