And Then I Flew To Charlotte

You know how I keep saying that this is the most wonderful time of the year? Well, I certainly wasn't lying. I'm just filled with so many happies at the current moment that I could probably sing to strangers. I actively choose not to do that since I'd probably break a few eardrums along the way, but hey, at least you now have some sort of representation as to how warm and fuzzy I'm feeling.

Part of that reason being that Christmas is knocking on the back door, obviously. I mean I've only been talking about it since the Fourth of July for Christ's sake. How it's finally here I'm not sure, but I'm definitely not complaining. I wasn't home for Thanksgiving this year so to say that I'm excited to see family, drink wine and stuff my face with all the foods is the understatement of my entire life. Presents who?

But the other reason life is pretty splendid right now is because of Charlotte. Charlotte, North Carolina that is. This is my last night here before flying home tomorrow and I'm already way too sad about it.

I flew down from the city Friday night after having the absolute worst airport experience possible. I was supposed to leave work a little before 4:00 but I didn't end up getting out until close to 4:30. Panic mode set it right then and there. I had planned on taking the subway but since I was running late I chose to cab it. WRONG MOVE ERIN. It took about twenty minutes standing on the street before I finally found a cab. Usually it takes a little less than an hour to get to JFK from Manhattan. But that's not nearly the case on the weekend before Christmas. Try twice as long with traffic backed up so much that traveling an inch a mile would have even been better than what was actually going on. 

So there I was, sitting in the cab refreshing my Google Maps trip every seven seconds to see if I'd get there on time. My flight was at 6:30 and it looked like I was set to arrive at the airport at about 6:10. Aka "you're fucked o'clock". And that I was because the cab didn't pull up to the terminal until about 6:15, yet I decided there was still a slightly small chance that maybe just maybe they were delayed or something, so I booked it. I got through security within three minutes flat, sprinted through JFK without my shoes on, sweat my ass off, cried, sprinted some more, wanted to pass out from lugging a suitcase up the escalators, pushed anyone in my way right out of my way, and arrived at my gate at 6:26 only to find the door shut. I was too late and had missed a flight for the very first time in my life.

Tears.

Some more tears.

And then some more.

Because I had only been over the moon excited about getting to Charlotte for the past week and I probably would have chosen "get on the plane" over "collect $5,000" at that point.

The dude at the ticket counter finally handed me a standby ticket for the next flight which was set to take off two hours later and I calmed down. But only because airports have bars made specifically for people like me in moments just like those. I ended up meeting some guy at the bar who had also missed the same flight because traffic was an effing shit show. It was all fine until he decided that it was a great idea to tell me his life story. I honestly couldn't have cared less about the 'K' initialed on his ring finger, or that he was flying south to see a different chick than the one that was tattooed on his body. But then he also decided it was a great idea to purchase my $12 beer pints so I stopped complaining.

That is until the standby flight decided to get delayed an entire hour and I still had no idea if I was even going to get on it. I was sixth in line for standby and numbers 1 - 5 were called and given seats. This is the exact moment in time I diagnosed myself with anxiety issues. All hope was lost at that point. The plane started boarding and I started texting my mom freaking out asking her what the fuck I was supposed to do next. I kept walking up to the counter every other minute pleading with them to let me on board and all the dude kept saying was to not have a melt down.

Riiiiight. You so funny ticket counter dude. I'll just go find the closest butter knife and call it a day.

But then, it was if God himself opened up the clouds above U.S. Airways Gate 38 and "Gray. Miss Erin Gray. Please proceed to the ticket counter." was spoken over the loud speaker. AND THEN I CRIED TEARS OF HAPPINESS BECAUSE I WAS HANDED AN OFFICIAL TICKET FOR A SEAT. And then I got on the plane and cracked open my mini bottle of Captain and sneakily poured it into my complimentary Coke beverage. Because there was nothing quite as stressful as those previous eight hours and momma needed it.

But all that craziness completely melted away as soon as I left the airport and began my long weekend in the Queen City. 

Because it was the best long weekend ever. Ever. And now that I've finally gotten to the point of blogging about the whole point of this trip, I've realized I'm just not sure I'm ready to share it all with the world of bloglandia quite yet. A) Because I was soaking up all of the goodness so much that I kind of forgot to take any pictures and B) Because I'm selfish and like to keep some things to myself. Muahaha. Maybe hopefully someday soon I'll let you all in on my adventures as of late. But for right now I'm just going to keep on loving it all to myself.