We made it to the airport with plenty of time to spare – on the 23rd. I got all kinds of shit from my traveling buddies…”Linda’s got airport phobia!”

*edit* And I got all kinds of shit for stating ‘plenty of time to spare’. They were ribbing me because we were three hours early and insisted that I write it here. They forgot to add that my son woke up in the middle of his night to give us a ride and he picked up all of us – in my vehicle – so no cost to them except their lazy butts didn’t want to hang out for an extra hour…wooooooo…bad beat! *end edit*

Yup! Can’t stand the thought of being late and having to run to catch a flight, let alone missing it altogether. And did I forget to add that I just plain hate the plane facts? Like getting to the airport, millions of miles of ropes that cordon us off into little trails that lead to a luggage check-in and boarding pass counter, people jostling and bumping each other, leave your luggage over there – “Is it locked?”, then off to the Security check point and more millions of miles of ropes and little switch back turns to more little trails, then take off your shoes, get your laptops out of the case, take off everything that may beep as you pass through the metal detectors…but be sure to have your boarding pass and ID in your hand as you go through, then slam your shoes back on and your laptop into its case and try to collect all your belongings as other people’s belonging filled trays are already slamming into you and yours, move off to find a thousand people trying to do the same thing you are – board the tram to your gate. Good God! There’s no reason to feel any stress about this type of thing. And then I know when I board the plane, I have NO space that’s my own for the length of the flight…that really hurts. I like my own space.

While we waited for an hour or so to pass, we played Big Deuce, ate, and said ‘hi’ and visited with other dealers that were on the same flight we were waiting for. BTW the buddies owe me a couple of pennies but they failed to narrow down what we were playing for. Not to worry, I’ll get them…the pennies that is.

When we finally boarded, the flight was full. It was the flight from hell. Bumpy, rough, stuffy and overly warm, miserable because the guy next to me was totally rude and had the center seat, he wasn’t a petite little ballerina and he made sure he sprawled out on the arm rests. Ugh! There went my space. David, the dealer/player behind me kept pushing his knees into my seat which hit me just a little lower than lumbar support. It would’ve been ok if he’d just held still. No go! I finally reached back and smacked his knee. He stopped after I explained. The beer was shitty, they had two choices, shitty and shittier. I had one and gave up. Tried to sleep but it was miserable as I had the worst case of Alien Legs I’ve ever had on a plane. What the hell are Alien Legs? Restless Leg Syndrome. My sis and I refer to it as Alien Legs because your legs feel as if they don’t belong to you and they keep trying to drift off somewhere into outer space. It’s the angle of the seats and their shortness that bothers me, they hit me right in the middle of the thigh.

The flight from Miami into Aruba was pretty easy to take. Lots of empty seats and I had three to myself. I managed to stretch out and snooze. One downside to the whole damn flying thing, we were on American Airlines and they give nothing away. Well let me change that to they give away a crappy granola bar, water, and soft drinks. If you want food, you must pay for it. She-it! The shitty beer was $5. Why pay $5 or more for a shitty sandwich?

We made it through customs, found a cab…after the self appointed taxi concierge (a local) tried to flag down a van for us that didn’t stop so he flipped it off and did the fuck thing. We were laughing at how universal sign language is.

We ended up with a female driver. This was a first for me on the island. She explained that it was election day and most of the cab drivers were already home. Also that drinks would only be served in casinos, due to election day all the party joints and stores were closed. It didn’t slow us down too much. We got checked in and hit the beach side of the hotels, drinking all the way. We had to attend a dealer meeting that was scheduled for 8:30 p.m. on Saturday but it was Friday…so-o-o-o….

Our first stop was the beachside bar behind the Wyndham. The Buddies had blended drinks, I went for Ultra…they didn’t have any so I picked another one. We stopped at a beachside bar at the Radisson, jumped up onto the barstools, prepared to order, and the guy behind the bar asked if we were staying there. We said, “No. We’re at the Wyndham.”

“We can’t serve you then.”

“What???”

Another gent behind the bar came over and showed good sense when he asked what we wanted, kind of shooing the first guy away. We thought it must have been because of the election but we didn’t ask. We got one to go (yes, they had Ultra…yoo hoo) and headed for the Holiday. We went into the Excelsior Casino (inside the Holiday) headed for the Poker Room, and I visited with Marta for a moment. I dealt an hour or so for her last year and then played with her at the Wyndham. Nice to touch bases again.

Then we went back down to the beach. We stopped at one point to watch sand crabs or geckos or something and Lisa W. caught up to us. No grouchiness between us this year. We did a hug and make-up thang. She told us everyone was back at the Radisson, to come back and join them. Suzie had just got there with a group of other dealers and players. So we went back. More drinks. Somehow, our first night on the island ended. More later.