Mama, I'm Coming Home. . .Sort of

After The Boy’s meeting with the self-proclaimed Bishop of Baltimore ran late (what? Pentecostal preachers have their own, unique sense of time? You don’t say!), we missed our flight to Hartford. We didn’t, as Brother’s Middle Eastern drivers’ improvement teacher would say, “get sweaty,” because Southwest usually has flights there every 45 minutes or so. Not on this Tuesday afternoon. We were delayed two and a half hours.

We arrived at Bradley International at 4:47. Doors opened at the Meadows at 5:00 and Rock Star Brother was set to go on at 6:00. Somehow, we made it to our $100 rental Hyundai (no, really—there are drawbacks to being under 25) and to the hotel where everyone else had already checked in. The guy at the desk looked concerned when we told him we planned on walking to the concert.

“Uhh, is it just going to be the two of you?” He asked. “Just be careful around the bookstore. I mean, it’s safe and everything, but you’ll probably get hustled.”

We were glad to find free parking at the Meadows. We met up with the siblings and assorted friends and made it into the arena just in time. Just in time for me to have it out with three separate “staff members” because they would not allow us access in front of the stage. Even though, because they were the first act, there were hundreds of empty seats. And even though I offered to allow them to escort us back to our real seats after Rock Star Brother finished. And even though I volunteered to show them The Boy’s ID to prove his relationship. The Sister and Other Brother managed to get down there with a couple of self-important friends. Hope they enjoyed the show. But RSB and friends did wonderfully, and it was really exciting to see him in such a big venue.

We were back in the area by 9:30 yesterday morning, so a full day at the office and a 7:30 meeting today and I feel (and, honestly, look) like a zombie. I had planned on leaving for Carolina after work today, but something came up, so it’ll be another early morning for this tired soul.

Tomorrow, if we ever get there (I’ll see you when I get there), marks the beginning of The Search. Mom and I (and maybe Best Friend from college and The Roommate) will scour racks of discount wedding dresses in Burlington. As we sat to discuss wedding budgeting and planning with the parents last weekend, BigJohn, without a hint of sarcasm, said, “Why don’t you take that other one down with you and see if you can make a trade?” This, only a week after, loading groceries into The Boy’s trunk, I noticed a familiar balled up plastic garment bag. Emblazoned with the words, and I am not making this up, “All the Right Choices.” My skeleton found a new, if temporary, home. The Boy said, “I ride around all day with irony in my trunk.” For those who may remember The Marital False Start of 2002, I feel like I need to qualify every wedding planning statement with “No, really!” or, “For real this time!”

It’s like those chicken sandwich ads, “Try it again, for the first time.” Oy.

This weekend Dwayne Johnson and I will also descend upon my old stomping grounds for Homecoming. I always have mixed feelings about this, as it usually resorts in my feeling out of place, heading for the hills and wondering why I wanted to visit in the first place. Hopefully, it will be more pleasant than I anticipate.

If you're going to be there too, hit me up.