I never get lost, I just take the scenic route

Oh, what a time we had at the Bigun's graduation.

On the flight to Atlanta, I realized that JJ and I had never flown anywhere together, despite 10 years of marriage, and 15 years of togetherness. Note to self: take vacation with JJ sans kiddos SOON. At the airport we met my parents and sister and niece, all of whom were waiting around forever because they believe the media warnings saying "Arrive 2 hours before your flight for security." Ha, Fish has learned not to do this, at least not to go past security until Fish is darn good and ready, because though Fish will get through the first pass at security with flying colors, Fish will be wanded and X rayed and practically strip-searched (EWWWWW!) if she tries to go out and then go through again. And really, who wants to see that?

And here's another question; no matter if I book my flight solo, with my child and hubby, whatever, I ALWAYS sit on the wing. What up with that?

Anyway, we arrive in Atlanta and find our bus to Enterprise ("We pick you up!" - hot damn, and all my luggage too) and after 45 minutes of Dad trying unsuccessfully to get the Enterprise people to rent him a Cadillac, we're on our way to Fort Jackson. How hard can this be? Columbia is rightthehell down I-20, just a few hours. This becomes 5 hours as we have wee traffic coming from Atlanta, a few stops here and there to stretch, and a much needed refueling at Cracker Barrel. God Himself put Cracker Barrel on this earth, I am telling you, and that's all I'll say about that.

Closer to Columbia, Sis calls the hotel we're going to, and asks directions, then calls them in to me since she's riding with Dad. Note to self: get the damned directions yourself. Dad, who is driving behind me, is tired of me driving like a granny at 78 mph (just kidding, SC State Troopers! Fish? Speed? Unthinkable!) and so he passes us. Fine, I think, I'll let them get lost and we'll get there on our own.

Ha.

We miss the major turn we needed, and didn't feel like turning around and trying to hit the interchange from the other direction, so we kept going in the general vicinity of the base. After fifteen minutes of creative driving in the correct direction, if somewhat meanderingly, my sister calls and says "Do you know where you're going?" "Why?" I ask. "Where are you?" "RIGHT BEHIND YOU, DUMBASS!"

So they had passed me up, got skeered, fell in behind me again without my knowledge (shut up, it was getting dark,) missed the same turn I did because they were following me, and then blamed me for getting them lost.

Note to self: do not travel with parents and sister again. Ever. Not even in a hurricane.

We finally get to the hotel, check in, and discover that the "suite" my parents booked is a room with a jacuzzi tub out in the room, and the carpet is wet everywhere. And their iron doesn't work. And their bathroom light doesn't work. It never fails; they always manage to get the room with everything wrong. And my dad is a First Class Complainer. This is the man who sends restaurant silverware back for water spots. Ugh.

My brain is flashing "This Does Not Bode Well." Whatever boding is.

But the next day is Family Day, where we can finally lay eyes, and hands, on the Bigun, and that's all I care about at that point. That and the fact that Waffle House is Right Next Door to the hotel.

Priorities, people, priorities!