Hurricane I

(India’s warning: This is an absurdly long post.)

And thus it came to pass. I am sitting on the airplane that is transporting me to Nashville for Vanderbilt’s Homecoming. (How do I write my blog on an airplane you ask? The magic of Word. And actually, this might be better anyway because blogger can’t eat my post.) I sort of feel like a hypocrite calling this “moving out” because it’s only sort of moving out. I’m going to be home for Thanksgiving for a week…in about two and a half weeks. Part of that is financial – it’s cheaper to fly in and out on Tuesdays, I’ve discovered – and part of it is because I want to be there for real working days so I can harass the medical people to do things for me before I go off of my dad’s insurance. So moving out today was less stressful because if I forgot something important, I only have to deal for a short time. It’s a mental thing. Yes, I did think about just moving out after Thanksgiving, but I wanted to go to Homecoming, and I did the math, and this really is the best way to go, even if it means more schlepping. And actually, now that I think about it, it’s not more schlepping. I still have the same amount of stuff…

On a related note, I managed to get all of my suitcases to through the baggage claim successfully, which I consider a great accomplishment, because I had to do the first leg by myself. I’m depending on the kindness of strangers and friends to help me schlep them around from here on out. Have I mentioned recently how awesome my friends are?

And there are five of them – suitcases, that is: three to check, my one carry-on and my one “personal item,” and they are all heavy. Two of them, while not bulging, are pushing the 50 lb weight limit. (And before you start thinking, “India, what the hell? Why do you need all that stuff?” I want you to take a look around your room and mentally pack all of it into suitcases. How many would you need? Yeah, that’s what I thought.) And I carried all five of them all by myself. Well, if by “carry” you mean “pay $3 and push a cart around, then I carried them. And then when I got to the desk, I was so afraid the check-in lady was going to weight them and charge me the extra weight fee, but she didn’t even weight them. But, that’s a good thing because even after the morning with the scales, I know they’re riiiiiight at the limit (fwhagads), and I’d like to not pay that fee.

A quick comment on the flight attendant, and then I’m going back to talking about me. He set off the early warning signal on my Gaydar when he told us to wear our seatbelts like Britney Spears – low and tight across our slender hips – and he just did the wrist thing. I am highly amused.

Oh, and I ran into two more Vandy alums on this flight. And that’s after the DoDec was my waiter at PF Chang’s in Santa Monica. I’m waiting for this alumni thing to really give me an awesome job…

I am so excited to get back to Nashville for a bit. Friday, I’m having breakfast with The Whitley at the Pancake Pantry (woo!), and then I’m going to have the Med Plate at Rand, and then more of my alumni friends will be in town and food will not be the most exciting thing going on. Saturday, I think there’s some football and more fun times, and then Sunday I schlep to DC. Yay DC!

Election aside – Yes, I am still horribly disappointed by what happened on Tuesday, but at least we weren’t robbed, and we weren’t beaten that badly. Yes, we were beaten, but it many ways, it’s our own damn fault. It’s time to hold a real Democratic Convention so we can figure out what it means to be a Democrat. Does the Michael Moore wing have more people, or does the Bill Clinton/New Democrat wing have more people? What does it mean to be a Democrat? It’s time for us to figure this out so that in two-four years, we’re in a position to kick ass. And if the party doesn’t get it together, I’m really not kidding about starting my own. And that’s really all I want to say about the election right now.

First order of business in DC is finding permanent living arrangements. I mean, I’m already naming my first-born child after Emma and Whitley, I don’t want to have to hand it over outright. I suppose the naming thing could be bad if it’s a boy, but hey, a rash promise is a rash promise.

Mommy, the kids at school said that “Emma” is a girl’s name, but I’m a boy.”

“Well, see, Mommy was really grateful to her friends when she first moved to DC because they helped Mommy not be a Hobo, That’s also why you have 15 middle names.”

(Clearly, my Baby Daddy has no say over the naming procedure.) So, yeah, apartment. And job.

So stay tuned to the Hobo Diaries, your guide to how I’m Not Living On the Street.