World Tour: Part 2, Day 3

The World Tour Saga continued today, and after a workout and a few more hours of wandering around Los Angeles we drove to the airport to catch a cab to the pier.

Don't laugh at us for this next part, especially considering that neither of us have ever been on a cruise before and we have no idea how to get around Orange County. Also keep in mind who I'm dealing with, the type of husband who gets frazzled if we don't straighten the house before we have over maid service and usually has a cup of coffee or two in him while I'm still mostly unconscious. And he likes to be to a theater early enough to see the previews. ALL OF THEM.

Basically, he's insane.

Anyway, we're waiting in line for the taxi and he asks what the tab will look like, you know, so we can have our money ready and gauge if we have enough time for a 7-Eleven stop and maybe even a chance to take some pictures. Not at the 7-Eleven, at the pier. Because no one needs to see me sucking down a Slurpee between a beer cooler and a chili dog machine.

The taxi guy explains to Andrew that we're about forty five minutes away, provided there's not traffic, and then he just stood there remaining incredibly calm as our eyeballs popped right out of our heads and onto the pavement.

Do you know what we planned for???

Twenty minutes... thanks to Google Maps, who are now personally responsible for ripping that Slurpee right out of the clutches of my brain freeze.

I wanted to cry after double checking our paperwork which said that if we were not there in thirty something minutes we would not be allowed to board and our tickets would be non-refundable.

I wanted to throw up after getting into the cab and realizing our driver had no idea how to get to the pier. NONE. And could barely speak English.

Eff. This was bad. But our only hope was that driver, Anom Anan, who was now on the phone with some guy named George who seemed to understand approximately three out of every ten words in Anom's frantic quest to figure out where in the heck we were going. At ninety miles an hour.

No directions. No translator. No time left.

Once he got off the phone he flew over a hundred miles an hour like a crazed race car driver, cutting off other vehicles and breaking the speed limit without abandon. He was dangerous and manic with his driving, swerving around sports cars, pressing against mini vans, flooring the gas to slide us around semi's. In other words, he was a rock star. Scratch that. HE WAS A TOTAL ROCK GOD.

Andrew held my hand calmly as I cursed under my breathe watching the minutes tick away, and here's where I share with you just how adorable he is under pressure.

To set the scene, he was uncomfortable. Like tap dancing naked in public uncomfortable.

But do you know what he did?

He leaned over and whispered, "It'll be okay."

Again and again. And he winked.

I whispered back, "Effeffeffeffeffeffeff."



It was only a half an hour, but luckily we survived what seemed like the longest, riskiest cab ride of all time. It was sort of like seeing your life flash before your eyes except in front of scenes of Los Angeles and Andrew piping up about The Hills because apparently I'm married to one of the six straight adult men on the planet who actually like that show. YOU DIDN'T EVER WATCH THE HILLS? No, Andrew, I have taste. I watched Rob + Big.

Obviously, we somehow made it in time, and we tipped the superhuman, and now super sweaty, Anom Anan fifty bucks. He was so grateful, he just stood there and blinked, though I'm not sure if it was because of the money or the fact that none of us had been turned into roadkill. Or it might have been because I hugged him. A little too hard.

So. We'd gotten to the pier. AND THEN.

As we're walking into security an older man wearing a white uniform and a nametag that said Al came up to us and said, "You know, you should probably check those bags?"

We had to check bags, too???

OH.MY.GOD. We were never going to make it. We were already past the deadline time. We were never going to make it!!!

As I flew into a full out panic Al glanced at his watch, waved me off with his hand, and said, "Nah, they just say that. You have a few more hours 'til the boat leaves. Plenty of time."

"We do?"

"Uh huh. You could take some pictures or something if you want to."

Moral of the story?

There is nothing wrong with taking your time, because if you're a little late, they'll hold the boat. Also, no matter how well you think you know someone, it's entirely possible that they have crappier taste in movies and television than you ever imagined, which is yet another reason to arrive late enough to the theater to miss the previews.








World Tour: Part 2, Day 2
World Tour: Part 2, Day 1
World Tour: Part 1