Don't Get Too Excited

This is hardly a real post.  But, if you like to live vicariously, you can get really excited with me.  One week from today, we will step off the an airplane into a dingy, foul-smelling terminal at Philadelphia International Airport.  We will be surrounded by people as apathetic and undesirous of small talk as I, people who might be asking their travel companions something like, "Jeet yet?"  "Nah, 'jew?"  "Nah, let's get hoagies."  And it will be a thing of beauty.  And then we will get in my mom's car, and she will drive us over the bridge, over the filthy Delaware River (a river that isn't dammed to hell and back for the sake of federally subsidized hydroelectric power, and that isn't teeming with any sort of life except the DNA traces on the dirty syringes) and I will roll down the window no matter the temperature so I can fill my lungs with that dank, polluted, sweet New Jersey air. 

I cannot wait.  So excited.  My suitcase is already 80% packed, which is a strong indicator of how excited I am about a trip.  If I'm totally stoked, I make my list of outfits weeks in advance.  If I'm only moderately excited, I give myself 3-4 days, and pack a night or two ahead.  But this time, I'm taking no chances.  Also, I did a monster pile of laundry yesterday and don't want to do more before we leave, so I'm taking precautions against accidentally wearing anything I plan to take with me.

Leave the window unlocked for me, New Jersey, 'cause I'm sneaking back in.