More states than days

“We’ve visited more states than there are days in the year!”

The Brit cheerfully, albeit gingerly, brought this to my attention last night from across the room where he sat, out of striking distance, on an unfamiliar bed in Mr. Poopie’s pajamas. I turned my congested head towards him, snot clogging nearly every orifice of it, and gazed upon my well-intentioned boyfriend. He peered back at me with cautiously uplifted eyebrows, not knowing whether this eureka moment of his would cheer me up or annoy me. (I can be grumpy when snot-filled and feverish.) My mental faculties slowed by a particularly effective virus, it took me a while to do the simple calculation. Right he was.

New York
Brooklyn & Manhattan. This is where we spent our post-Christmas days. Catching up with cousins of mine and mutual friends of ours. Subway hopping. Bundling up in scarves, hats and gloves against what was cold for us but unseasonably warm for New Yorkers (or as they say in Brooklyn, Noo Yawkuhhs). Museuming. Drinking. Eating. (Chocolate.) (Pizza.) Central parking. Shopping. For jeans. (As previously mentioned, the bane of my existence…but since one of my cousins manages a jeans boutique, I allowed her to guide me through an only-slightly-less-painful jeans shopping experience.) Meeting up with my brother who Fung Wah’d it up to NYC from Boston. Ringing in the year 2007 with my cousins, brother, and The Brit. Genuinely good fun. (Except for the catching this cold part. Happy viral new year to me!)

New Jersey
West NY. This is where we went to visit my Abuelito’s sister, Tia Coño Carajo (named as such because those two words seem to fly most frequently out of her mouth). (We swear like drunken Cuban sailors in my family.) She made a killer Cuban meal complete with pernil (roasted pork), potaje (red bean stew), papas con mojo (potatoes with garlic and citrus juices), white rice, ropa vieja (shredded beef) and flan for dessert. All hopes of eating sensible portions after Thanksgiving and Christmas went right out over the railing of her 20 story balcony overlooking the Manhattan skyline. Right along with any hopes of being able to fit into the jeans I just purchased. Oh well…at least those goals had something nice to look at as they plummeted to their deaths. And we did, afterall, have a lovely visit with Tia Coño Carajo.

Virginia
Manassas. (Or as I like to affectionately refer to it, Man’s Asses.) This is where we spent an unplanned night after missing our connecting flight at the Dulles Airport last night. Ironically, though The Brit and I missed our connection, our luggage (complete with our own pajamas and toiletries) somehow managed to make it. Explain that one to me! Whatever the ridiculous explanation, it explains how The Brit and I ended up crashing at Mr. Poopie’s house in Man's Asses. And also explains why The Brit, while donning pajama pants that were meant for a man nearly two feet taller, was trying to cheer me up with a bit of our own travel trivia. Thanks, my dear Brit for the earnest attempts to keep me happy despite clogged nasal passages, a scratchy throat, barking cough and itchy ears. And thanks, Mr. Poopie, for the short-noticed hospitality! Much, much appreciated!

California
San Francisco. Home sweet foggy home. This is where we finally arrived today. Where our luggage, thankfully, arrived the night before and awaited us, untouched, behind nothing but a single easily penetrated partition. (I would have had to beat someone unconsious if my ceramic hair straightening iron had gotten stolen in my airline-induced absence.)

And this is how we came to visit four states within three days. Hope everyone’s 2007 is off to as adventurous a start as ours. (Though without the virus part. This mucous plugging is no joke…)