Deep in the Heart of Texas, Part I: The Packing

Rum and Coke is an old drink, very retro, but it certainly does the job. Little tip from a bartender: Carbonated beverages make you drunk faster. And you know that old Bill Cosby skit about different drinks making different kinds of drunks? I believe it's true. (And if you don't, shame on you. Don't you know a classic comedian when you see one?) So anyhow, tonight it was rum and Coke.

I went on a little vacation after my professional success. Was gone most of the week this week. Took my sisters to San Antonio. I went to San Antonio in the winter of 2005 because my senile Grandma C. wanted to visit her long-lost brother one last time before she died but couldn't go on her own so I was nominated to bring her down but I said I would not do so alone, so my mother came along. It was a decent time once we dropped my grandma and Maiden Aunt Etta (a pair I must describe in a posting dedicated to them alone one day) off at her brother's, but one thing I noticed right away was that there was this gorgeous Riverwalk that clearly could not be enjoyed fully unless you were in the company of fellow young-uns. I mean, there were bars and late-night restaurants and clubs and such.

So my sisters and I made a drunken pact last Christmas to take a trip together to San Antonio, and after we won, excuse me, did what we did at my job, I finally had an opportunity to fulfill the promise. Of course, this involved travelling after Homeland Security imposed the no liquids and gels rule for carry-ons, but we forged on regardless.

It did force us to check a piece of luggage, something to which I am vehemently opposed since I suspect the luggage most often lost is that with a small transfer time at the hub airport, and we had only a 45 minute transfer time on the way down (which, when you add in the 30 minute early boarding time means only 15, isn't very long). I was personally not going to check my luggage but rather buy all liquid and gel products when I arrived in Texas, but once Kristy decided to check a duffle bag, I horned in with my hair products, which are the most expensive of my liquids and gels.

And since I'm on the subject of packing, on the way back(which's [and I know that's not a real word (like my use of double and now triple parentheses)] layover was only an hour [at Atlanta, no less, which is the worst airport to have to get around in]), I decided to check a piece of luggage myself, despite my golden rule. I figured if it got lost, I'd already be home so I'd have enough supplies to make do until it turned up.

Also, I bought too much stuff while I was there, a fatal flaw I have in which I think that anything I buy on vacation is free so long as I charge it. I even had to buy a new piece of luggage in which to put all the new stuff I bought (skip the rest of this paragraph if you're a man): 2 new t shirts, one green saying "Texas" with a retro star in a square, the other brown and punk rockish saying, Hard Rock Cafe San Antonio (I know, cheesy to buy a Hard Rock t shirt but the brown with yellow crabby-looking writing convinced me it was almost cool); a tank top with the artwork of Rosie the Riveter emblazoned on the front and back (hence my new profile pic); 3 bracelets--one cuff-style with inlaid Mexican mother of pearl and onyx in a rose patter, one brass saying, "live, love, rock," and one a collection of small layered brown beaded bracelets and indigo beaded bracelets; a shot glass in the shape of a cowboy boot stating, "Don't mess with Texas"; a necklace with two strands of multi-sized emerald, turquoise, garnet, and clear beats; two boxes of Mexican jumping beans (for my niece); a small barette of onyx and mother of pearl; a box of Alamo shortbread cookies for my dad; a purple Mexican skirt for my niece; a pottery dish with a frog's head and feet at either end (I heart frogs) and another that is very artsy with purple and green coloring; two matchingly distressed posters to be framed and put on opposite sides of my couch in my future apartment of Calamity Jane and Annie Oakley; an owl magnet for my mom's birthday (she loves owls); 5 hand-crafted glass swizzle-sticks (I collect them but only glass ones); a woven pink, olive, and black blanket; a tortoise from a local San Antonio glass-blower (for myself; turtles represent feminine power and longevity); and several pairs of earrings--four black freshwater pearls on each dangling clip of silver (I only do silver, white gold, or if I were rich, platinum; not ever yellow gold), two pair handcrafted by Mexican artisans, one containing a blue sapphire-colored piece of oval glass above four separate cylanders of wood above diamond-shaped silver pieces all hung from long isosceles triangles well below the lobe; and two pieces by Jody Coyote, my favorite earring artist--one with a long silver strand curling in on itself in a snail-like fashion with two turquoise and two bronse beads along the outermost coil, and the other two inch-long chains of silver (one hanging behind and one in front of the lobe), one ending with a daisy shape centered by an onyx and the other with a long cylander of silver.

Wow, I feel dirty after actually writing all that out.

Anyway, as I was packing up my return luggage that I would check, I pondered. See, on the way down, both my sisters' luggage had gotten notices that they had been searched by the TSA. So as I packed the bag I would check on the way back, I thought about something: I bet myself that not one of our three bags would receive that TSA notice, and here's why--on the return trip, you are much, much less likely to get searched and here's why: 1. A suicide bomber wouldn't do it on the return from a trip but on the first leg; 2. (And most importantly) If I were a TSA/HS agent, I would NOT want to go through someone's dirty underwear to see if there were a bomb I was unable to pick up upon x-ray and chemical inspection.

I was spot on. None of us was searched. Though Kristy's duffle had broken straps anyway, which the airline refused to reimburse.