DC. New York. Grease.

Yes, I’m blogging from Farmville, VA.   I told myself that I was going to wait until I returned to Alabama to share my experiences, but there is already way, way too much to tell.  Get ready, readers.  This really is my life. 

I woke up yesterday morning to a text from the airline telling me that one of my connecting flights had been canceled. Of course.

Taking a deep breath, I convinced myself that everything would be just fine. 

Turns out, US Airways thought that the best way to solve the problem and still get me from Alabama to Virginia was as follows: Huntsville to DC.  DC to New York City.  New York City to Richmond Virginia.

In one day, I saw the Washington Monument and the New York City skyline.

Long story short… none of my layovers were more than 40 minutes.  All of my flights took off late.  I almost got stranded in New York. I was the absolute last person to board the plane, and I ran up right as the airline employee was starting to shut the door.  I would have fit right in with my thick Alabama accent, torn up jeans, beat up cowboy boots, and Auburn shirt… right?

My whole day was like a movie. I just wanted to get to Farmville, Virginia.  That’s all.  Who unintentionally goes to New York City?

This girl.  That’s who.

But now, I’m here.  I’m finally here.  I’m sitting on Alyssa’s couch and all is right in the world. 

Kind of. 

This morning, we decided to get up and cook breakfast.  Sausage, bacon, and eggs.  Pretty simple, right?

I was banished from the kitchen after about 10 minutes, because I was told that I’m too controlling.  That’s totally not the case.  Just because I tell you that you’re doing something wrong, take the spatula out of your hand, and move you out of the way… that doesn’t mean I’m controlling.  It just means I know a better way to do what you’re doing, and you need to move over and let me do things the right way.  Nothing controlling about that. 

Not five minutes after I escaped the hostile environment of the kitchen, I heard a very distraught sounding “Grady!?” resound throughout the apartment.  It was followed by hysterical laughter and the sounds of chaos.

I walked into the kitchen to find Brooke doubled over with laughter and Alyssa staring dejectedly at the hugest pool of grease I have ever seen, spreading quickly over her kitchen floor.  In Alyssa’s hand, there was a plastic Tupperware container with the bottom completely melted out. 

Yup.

I give her props for not trying to pour the grease down the drain.  Really. 

But pouring scalding hot grease into a piece of thin plastic?  I’m not completely sure what she thought the end result would be.  Evidently, Brooke encouraged the idea.  Sigh.

Bless their hearts. 

(I'm choosing to live with these two girls in Florida. Bless my heart.)