A Rough Start

Well, it is finally here - my trip with Granny B. And let me tell you, it started out on the wrong foot.

First of all, I have termed this trip Baller Tour 2012 and will be tagging my Instagram pictures as such.

(If you are on Instagram and don't currently follow me - my name is Weesta.)

So, we had decided on Monday that I would pick Granny B up at her house on Friday morning at 6:45. Our flight was at 9:30 and that gave us plenty of time to check-in, park the car, catch the bus, and get through security.

As I often do, I showed up at her house about 10 minutes early. I tried the door because she usually unlocks it when she knows I am coming, but it was locked. So I knocked. After two minutes, she hadn't answered so I rang the doorbell.

I am fairly certain the neighbors and definitely the guys teeing off on the 1st hole heard the doorbell, but she didn't answer.

I thought to myself, she must be blowdrying her hair. So I waited a minute (she doesn't have that much hair) and rang it again. This went on two more times and no answer.

So I called the house. She didn't answer that one either so I started to get concerned.

Obviously when I'm concerned, I call Match - so that's I did. She said, let me call her.

Thinking back on it now, I'm not really sure how that would have changed any situation, but I said ok and hung up. Right about the time I heard the phone ring, she came to the door in her robe.

She had overslept - which was no problem at all considering the scenarios I had gone through in my mind.

Then she says to me, "I read the clock wrong. I'm so mad at myself I could cry."

I assured her that we were doing fine on time and that I would move my stuff to her car and load her things.

We were on the road about 10 minutes later than I had originally planned, but I wasn't too stressed.

As we drove, I was telling her a story that happened the day before when I went to Match's house and SisterSmalls was there screaming, but the moment she saw me she stopped crying and reached for me. I went on to tell her that Match said SisterSmalls was two hours late to take her nap so I bounced her around for a while and she fell asleep.

Her response?

"Oh, she knew she could sleep in those man arms."

WHAT?!?!

Had I really been paying attention to what she was saying I would have thanked her and let her know that I work hard at CrossFit four times a week for these man arms, but I wasn't really paying attention and it took me a while to realize what had just happened.

Fast forward and we are at the airport. We do curbside check in and I tell her to find a seat inside while I take the car to the long-term parking and ride the bus back. That goes smoothly.

In line for security there is a sign that reads something to the effect of, "If you were born before 1937, you do not have to remove your shoes to go through security."

The security line was kind of long, so Granny B found a chair and sat while she waited for it to be our turn. The TSA lady saw her and asked what she was doing - she explained, no problem.

Then it was our turn and I asked the lady if she could keep her shoes on, being that she was born before 1937. Well it turns out that only applies if you were born before 1937 and wear only velcro shoes. If you have any sense of style (read: any metal in your shoes) you must remove them.

We finally get through that and stop at Starbucks for some coffee and a blueberry muffin (her, not me). Three bites of muffin and two sips of coffee and she's done.

Then it is off to the little store where we have to go through every.single.granola bar while she asks me what they are like.

I don't know - I don't eat gluten.

She picks three and we're off.

I may have mentioned to you all before that her travel agent planned this trip and booked everything for us. (I know, right? Who knew travel agents still existed.) And I was Class A pissed at the b-word because she booked us on Southwest. With a connection. Like getting on and off the airport once each way wasn't stressful enough for me.

So, we sit down at the gate after I retrieve a blue pre-board sleeve and I have to explain to her the way Southwest works and why I was so angry at the travel agent for booking us. She says, "Well, I should have had you do it. Next time, you can make all of the arrangements."

Mission accomplished! Wait, what? Next time?

I will tell you that one of my favorite moments of the day came on the plane though, she is reading a book about the US Presidents (a whole story I may tell you about later), and there is a portion that discusses the Great Depression. So she puts the book down and starts to tell me about her life during that time. She tells me about how her brother had to work for practically slave wages for her uncle, building desks. And how he would bring his entire check, still in the envelope, to her Mom to buy food for the kids.

Then she tells me that when the depression hit, her dad had to declare bankruptcy so they had to move to a little house by the river. Then she smiled and said, "We called it the Riviera." Then she tells me, "While we were living at the Riviera, my mom would make beer and soda and sell it to the neighbors. And one day the FBI guys came to the house and they told her, 'Mrs. D, we are going to have to take to jail for making and selling beer.' And my mom said, (and right here she gets a thick Italian accent) 'You can take me to jail. I go. But you have to come back here and feed all these children.' And the FBI guys looked around and they knew she was only selling it to the neighbors so they said, 'Never mind, you can forget we were ever here.'"

The rest of the plane ride was pretty uneventful. We landed in Nashville a little early, but not really early enough to sit down and eat and I knew she was hungry. So I had her order some food while I got the blue sleeve so we could pre-board, then we ate sitting at the gate until it was time to get on.

When we landed in Boston, shit went downhill in a hurry.

I told her before we landed that we had to find the phone to call the Hilton to send the shuttle. She wouldn't let me find the phone. Then she wanted to get a cab, but when she told the guy where we wanted to go, he directed us to the curb where the shuttle would pick us up. So we stood there for like five minutes when she started to get antsy and walk around aimlessly. I was super frustrated and on the verge of tears.

We made it through that though and we are now safely tucked into our hotel. We have attended our welcome meeting. The age range of the other people on the tour isn't as bad as I thought, and I think we are going to have a good time from here on out.

And just in case, I have a bottle of anti-anxiety meds. What do you think happens if you take those with alcohol?