It is official- I am back in California.
It was not an easy process.
Firstly, my flight connected through Heathrow but due to weather conditions we were delayed and I missed my connecting flight to San Francisco. After waiting for four hours in line at the British Airways help desk, I found out that there were no flights until the next day and I'd have to stay at the Crown Plaza at the airport. The one interesting thing about waiting in the line is that I was standing behind a group of guys who clearly looked like they were in a band together. You know, dressed in black, heavy eyeliner, liberal smattering of tattoos. After the first hour or so in line, someone finally asked them which band they were in and it turned out to be Papa Roach. I almost said "I remember hearing you on the radio when I was in high school" but then realized that that was 10 years ago and it might be impolite to point out that that was the last I'd ever heard of them.
Anyway, I somehow dragged myself to the hotel, feeling deeply sorry for myself. I hadn't eaten anything all day and I had no clothes to change into, all of my bags having been checked through to SFO. I sat at the hotel bar and ate dinner and drank an enormous goblet of wine and sulked while some sort of party went on around me. Which you would think would have made me feel worse, given that I was stranded and all alone, but actually made me feel better because it gave me the mean pleasure of judging the people who would get dressed in formal attire for party at an airport hotel.
Sometimes I am not very nice.
But after a fitful sleep, I headed to the airport and actually got on the plane to San Francisco. So I made it, and miraculously, all of my luggage made it as well.
It's sort of strange and wonderful, to be in California again. I almost swooned yesterday when i ate a Gordo's burrito for lunch. It's good to be home.