Tripping

This is how I feel about my upcoming trip with David:

Part of me is thinking of that last scene in Say Anything when John Cusack and Ione Skye are on the plane together, and they're excited because they're in love and traveling to (I don't remember? London?) together. Which looks like a lot of fun.

But, still, Ione's a little nervous. John's a little nervous. We're all a little nervous, frankly, because we know what a big step this is for these two crazy kids. And it gets hairy there for a couple of minutes when the plane takes off. So, when that "No Smoking" sign finally goes off at the last second, everyone's relieved.

After that the movie ends, and, apparently, we're meant to understand that their happiness continues, and they land and live together in London--I guess--'til they die. Which is totally fine, because John Cusack has already been wearing that super-long trenchcoat through the whole movie, so he'll definitely be prepared for all the fog and rain.

But, anyway, by the time the credits start rolling, I think it's safe to say that we're feeling pretty excited about the whole darn thing.

So.

On the off chance that that beautiful Say Anything allusion or metaphor or onomonop...onomonip...whatever--if that didn't clarify it for you, what I'm trying to articulate is: part of me has a little normal trepidation about my whole David trip, which I'm sure will blow over as soon as we get going, the "No-Smoking" light comes on (do they even have those anymore?) and In Your Eyes starts playing.

Editorial Sidenote: Hot DAMN. Can I write a run-on sentence like a pro, or what? If there was an Olympic event for run-on sentences, I'd medal. Also for best hair. Also blow jobs.

Anyway.

Then there's the other part of me. The part of me that's a Psycho Worrier Who's Never Been On A Trip With A Boy Before And Is Thinking What If We Drive Each Other Crazy And Oh My GOD We'll Be Sharing A Bathroom For Twelve Days.

That part of me is f-r-e-a-k-e-d out.

Because this is going to bring our relationship to a whoooole new level. There'll be long, grouchy plane rides, followed by jet lag. There'll be a heck of a lot of dinners, breakfasts and lunches--so many, in fact, that I'm worried I'll cease to be interesting and run out of things to talk about. AND, since the menu of the wedding we're going to prominently features something called "goulash," I'm sure that at some point...there'll be farting. The farting, in fact, will probably start at the exact moment that I run out of things to talk about. Suck.

So, in the course of twelve days, my relationship is going to go from love letters to embarrassed farting. Double suck.

But, on the other hand, I'm pretty pumped about being able to hold his hand for twelve days straight.

And also about having sex in four different countries.