Panda Watch, SC-Style

Favorite thing about the Atlanta airport = Chic-Fil-A, Gate A11.

Went home last week for my grandmother’s funeral – very sad, very tough (and yes, the mood was tense). What made it slightly easier was the absolute absurdity I found myself running into each day I was in the Homeland, and the random “Anchorman” quotes that kept being appropriate. (If you’ve never seen “Anchorman” you may not think this is funny. If you have seen “Anchorman” you may not think this is funny.)

For example, on my final flight of the otherwise arduous trip to Georgia I found myself being hit on by my seat mate: a divorced man who loved to hunt and fish and was hopeful to “one day meet a woman like me, or maybe he and I would run into each other in the future one day.” I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know what my face actually looks like because he spent the entire flight looking at/for my breasts. I called my boyfriend as I deplaned and explained to him that we had gotten “married” on the flight (ie: I pretended the ring on my left hand was a wedding band – this did not deter my new friend, he wanted to be on me).

I then hurriedly walked towards my mother who had come to pick me up only to see her smile at me and notice that she was missing a tooth. You know a good way to go from “normal-looking” to “redneck”? Lose a tooth. It’s amazing really. I was actually sort of impressed. Mom had gotten a tooth pulled for some surgery she had and had forgotten to put in her retainer (that has a fake tooth) before driving to the airport.

The next morning I awoke to the scary sounds of Fox News anchors arguing over something pressing, I’m sure (“This is pathetic.” “No you’re pathetic.” “I miss your scent.” “Great story. Compelling and rich.”). After several hours of nonstop Fox News I asked if we could maybe change the TV to another news station. To this my mother scoffed and explained to me that “Fox News is the only news station that tells the truth.” Rrrrrright. She then accused me of being a crazy Liberal since I moved out west. (Side note: I am on the Executive Committee of the Teton County Republican Party.)

Later in the week I had someone (to whom I am related) ask me to help them dig a hole so that they could bury some silver in it. Wait… what? I honestly looked around for the TV cameras, assuming I’d found myself in some sort of prank show. There were no cameras. (Oh, well, when in Rome.)

Before the funeral I was asked if I was going to “do something to my face and change out of my Jesus shoes” (aka – Chaco’s) and if I wanted to get a pedicure. At the funeral I was asked why I “walked like that” in my heels (my little cousin asked that – I explained to her that it was because the shoes were tricky – she explained to me that everyone else can walk in them just fine and that I looked silly. When I told her that I was in a glass case of emotion she rolled her eyes).

To all of this I found myself laughing, being thankful for where I came from – 100% humidity, Chic-Fil-A and a blind love for Fox News included – and feeling lucky for where I now live and the path that got me here. And when I saw Alex waiting for me at the airport and asked him to take me to Pleasure Town, he did:  10 minutes later we were sitting on bar stools at the Brew Pub, saying a cheers for my Granny, and enjoying 5 straight hours of beer. (We are laughing and we are very good friends and someday we’ll look back on this with much fondness.)