BW: Consider me gone.
 Return To The Prodigal Son As expected, Mom broke down crying as soon as she saw me, which was as soon as the doors from customs opened and she saw the tallest guy in the crowded airport lobby in his new fedora, bought for the occasion, towering above the 5 rows of limo drivers holding up signs with their rides names on them. She thinks Ive been curled up in the fetal position, shitting myself, dying, alone, in the third world for the past seven months. To their surprise, I look great. You look so thin! Eh. Navigated them to cash machines, through the airport and into a cab (after explaining to them to remain calm; though it might seem like a death trap with the lack of regard for lane lines and speed limits, the worst driver here is as good as our best) to their hotel, where, when their really nice room was finally ready [after a sidetrip over here to wait it out where we called my Godmother and other sister (wish her & the nieces could be here, too) to let them know that all arrived safe] they loaded me up with provisions. Hair trimmer part 3. Pomade (take THAT locals). Samoas. Chewy Chips Ahoy. A BOTTLE OF PIMMS!. A vicodin refill. A card from my nieces. Cough drops. That kind of thing. They were tired from the long over night travel. I was tired from having to get up early for a plane that arrived two hours later than I got up for. We parted company for a bit. Them to unpack and unwind, me to recover from the diabetic shock brought on by eating 17 Samoas in 8 minutes after no breakfast and neither mate not coffee. It was a hoot hosting them on their first trip out of the US. Pamela fascinated by garbage collection, Mom petrified to cross the streets made worse by a cab that almost emasculated me at a crosswalk as I took them to Plaza Serrano for lunch, having to assure mom, as she slathered herself in hand sanitizer, that, yes, you can drink the water, yes, you can eat anything on the menu, and this is not the place for white wine. Mom got a beef stir fry, which she loved, with a glass of white that she tolerated. Pamela drinks Sprite and I think got a chicken sandwich. Pizza and red for me as we fought of the marauding band of pigeons. Strolled them around the hood, into the really nice adjacent botanical gardens (it, too, surrounded by a big ugly fence) which is overrun with docile stray cats (RIP Abbey) that just kind of lounge about, curled up in fountains, sitting statuesque on benches next to tourists, like they are trained to play a certain non chalant, ornamental role. Showed them the nearby entrance to the zoo (it, too, surrounded by a big ugly fence), and then into Plaza Italia (it, too, surrounded by a big ugly fence), dropping them off at their hotel, me walking home, all in need of a nap. Dinner. Them hamburgers, me Bife De Chorizo. Mom hated her white, and was unsure of her burger until Pamela correctly pointed out that it was a steak burger more reminiscent of Steak and Shake than McDonalds. At the table next to us, a pretty curly haired girl from New England sat all the while sipping agua con gas while playing solitaire on her PC and talking to the same person about nothing for over an hour on Skype. It was a bittersweet day; My mothers arrival the day after I found out a good friend of mine lost hers made it all the more special. (RIP, Mrs. Boland. Molly and Will, my heart is with you; I am so sorry.)
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Diary Photos
| 12th Mar 2008 Mom's Pizza at Cafe Kentucky |
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| 12th Mar 2008 Serving The Family Drinks |
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