and the grand finale

I woke up on my last day in Iceland and gingerly eased myself out of bed. Trudging to the bathroom, I stripped down for my shower and noticed that my ass looked like a Rorshach test. Lovely! I was also so sore I felt like I’d been beaten around the hips and buttocks with a sock full of quarters, so I was really looking forward to a six-hour plane flight.

After a large continental breakfast, R and I packed our bags and took the Flybus to the airport. We had some time to kill, so we bought snacks and reading material (two British tabloids for me, since I’d already read all of the American magazines), exchanged our money, and walked about five feet to our terminal.

The flight was full, with about three Icelanders to every American. I don’t know if everyone in Iceland knows everyone else (wouldn’t be too hard with less than 300,000 people in the country), but they sure as hell seemed to. They kept jumping up and standing in the aisles, chatting to each other and taking pictures, and the frazzled stewardesses kept having to come over and say “Please, if you are not waiting for the toilet, you must sit in your seat!”

When we finally arrived at the Minneapolis-St. Paul airport, R and I drove to Daddy-O’s house. I was really tired, since it was too noisy to sleep on the flight and I had jet lag, plus Daddy-O was in an unusually pissy mood for some reason, so I went to bed fairly early.

On Thursday morning, I woke up and found a note which did much to explain Daddy-O’s foul mood: he wasn’t able to get any time off work due to an impromptu management conference at which he had to give a speech. I had a nice long soak in the whirlpool tub, followed by a hot shower, and then I walked over to the ritzy spa about a mile from my dad’s house and treated myself to an hour-long, full body massage. Oh god, the sheer bliss! My eyes rolled back in my head and I drooled through the facehole as the masseuse worked out every kink and knot in my body. Afterwards, I was led to the quiet room, where I sat in a leather armchair with a heated wrap around my neck, flipping through magazines, nibbling shortbread cookies, and marveling at the fact that every time I put my empty water glass down, a svelte brunette appeared from nowhere to refill it.

Yeah, I could get used to the lifestyle of a spoiled [affluent Minnesota town] trophy wife, that’s for sure.

Later on, Daddy-O, R, and I went to Campiello’s in Minneapolis, where we met up with his girlfriend M and had a lovely dinner---grilled skirt steak with roasted garlic au jus, rosemary pan-fried potatoes, a glass of pinot noir, and chocolate crème brulee for me. I really like her; I hope things work out between her and Daddy-O. After two breakups in one year, he’s due for a good woman.

Friday was pretty uneventful, since I did nothing but sleep, luxuriate in the whirlpool tub, and read.

And on Saturday, we went to a local nature preserve for a long walk, followed by a trip to the cemetery to visit Mom’s marker and then out for ice cream. To my astonishment, they had blue moon! Blue moon!





As you may recall, I was stymied in my search for blue moon last time I was in Minnesota, so I was especially thrilled to find it this time around. I’ve never been able to find out what it’s supposed to taste like (the description card at the counter helpfully said, “It’s blue!!”), but damn, is it some tasty shit.

At any rate, all good things must come to an end, and after giving Daddy-O and R big hugs, I was off on yet another plane. The flight was half-empty, which meant I had a whole row to myself and could sprawl out and sleep. When we arrived at LAX, I brushed my hair, spritzed on some perfume, quickly chomped a piece of gum, and raced down the escalator and into G’s arms.

---

Random stuff:

Fuck you, Stavros Niarchos, you waste of sperm and egg. I don’t know what you’d call it in Greece, but in the US we call offering a homeless man money to dump soda all over himself demeaning and assholish. Use that billion dollar trust fund and buy some fucking class with it.

And great, now I’m going to feel guilty shopping at Target:

“There were two disturbing developments in the battle over straight rights last week. First, we know that Target fills its ads with dancing, multi-culti hipsters giving off a tolerant, urbanist vibe, and runs hipster-heavy ad campaigns positioning Target as a slightly more expensive, more progressive alternative to Wal-Mart. Well, as John Aravosis revealed on America Blog last week, Target's politics are as red as their bulls-eye logo. The chain allows its pharmacists to refuse to dispense birth control and emergency contraception to female customers if the pharmacist objects on religious grounds. What's worse, the company claims that any of its employees have a right to discriminate against any of its customers provided the discrimination is motivated by an employee's religious beliefs. Read all about it at americablog.org and plannedparenthood.org.” [Dan Savage, Savage Love]

But hey, on the plus side, it’s almost Friday, which means it’s almost Saturday, which means G Time!