Wait… you mean someone didn’t move the house?

My husband is so many shades of awesome.

Flowers?  For ME?

He came to pick me up at the airport at bumfuck a.m., looking exhausted and sleep-touseled.  First there was the kiss, then there was the hug, then there was the…

Standing in line while I went to see what in the fuck happened to my luggage.

See, the thing is, I ended up on the wrong flight.  On Monday, I split a cab with the lovely (and delightfully snarky) Julianne, and we got to visit before her flight took off, and then I was there.  At the airport.  Balancing my laptop on my carry-on and writing like the frickin’ wind.

Anyway, after doing that for a while, I hauled ass to the other side of the airport (in O’Hare, this involves going underground and walking a football field or two) and found my gate.

Kat, Nessa, and Ariel, and the really bad waitress.

Except it wasn’t really my gate, because my plane was going to be an hour and a half late.  Now, after the supreme fucked-upped-edness of incoming and outgoing flights during the big storms and the heightened security, this may seem like no big deal, except my connecting flight from LAX to Sacramento only had a thirty-eight minute layover.  Which meant that I’d be stuck in LAX with no way to get home.  (Oh the HORROR.  The only good thing about that would be calling up Rhys Ford and whining to have her come get me so I could visit Chicken.  If I hadn’t just spent two weeks away from home, it would have been tempting.)  So, after a little bit of whining, I managed to get a non-stop to Sacramento.

Please don’t kill me for this pic, Julianne!

My luggage, however, was bound and determined to visit L.A., take in a show, and do some morning surfing.

So, Mate waited while I did that, and then we got in the car and he took me home.

“It’s not clean,” he apologized, and I wanted to kiss him some more.  Man, who cares if it’s clean.  It’s got my kids and my cats and my booby hamster–it’s perfect!

But he lied a little.  He DID clean.  I didn’t really notice it until the next morning, after my three hour nap (three hours– I spent thirteen hours in travel the day before, three hours about did it!)  but he’d seriously cleaned off the table.

And brought me flowers.

And I wanted to cry, because even if it’s just for a week, baby, I’m home!

Yesterday was all about the sleep and a little about the dance lessons and very much about wearing the dog like another shirt.  Somebody did not get to sleep on people’s chests for two weeks, and apparently I’m going to be paying for that.  (He’s curled up in a little embryonic ball as I type.  Which is inconvenient–I need to pee.)

*hugs*

Today is all about the laundry and the visiting the post office to mail swag and tomorrow I’ll be back in the pool, oh baby!

And then, hopefully a trip to get my nails fixed (oi!  Long story. Accidental acrylic tips that I finally just clipped off in pique–I swear, they slowed my writing down in immeasurable ways.)  And maybe, if I’m really good, a trip shopping.  I hate packing.  Especially for these trips.  There is a whole “change for dinner” thing.  I woke up this morning, put on knit shorts, a holey T-shirt (and not the blessed kind), and a sweater with holes and a Chiwhowhat in the bosom.  If I decide not to shower (always a possibility when you don’t see real people all day long) I may wear this outfit to bed.  At conventions and conferences?  I have to pick not just one, but two outfits for any given day that do not make me look like a fat housewife doing laundry.  Can you hear me whine about the injustice?  *whine*

Anyway, in the middle of that?  Well, I finally finished my Christmas story for Riptide, and now, thanks to Shannon, Julyssa, Camille, Katriona, Tammy, Lynn, and Elizabeth, I think it’s finally time for some of this travel to pay off in literary ways.  Now that Rusty and Oliver have their happy ever after in Christmas Kitsch, I think it’s time for me to get to know Carson and Dale–two waiters, whose real life counterparts have enlivened my travel in recent months, and who deserve a story of their own.  “Carson”, in fact, is based on the sweet young man who waited our table on our last day in Chicago.  When he found out that our entire table was crushing on him, and that everybody wanted me to put him  in my story, he actually helped us come up with his name.  He was tickled!   Shannon gave him some cards and told him to keep a look out for an Amy Lane story over the summer.  I guess that means I have to haul ass and write it, right?

And anyway– Friday, I’ll be totally pimping Racing for the Sun and, well, Tuesday I’ll be on the road again.  *sigh*  The good news is that I’m going to have a guest blogger while I’m gone– I’m so excited.  Someone WANTED to guest blog for me!  And I know you’ll all be nice to her– it’ll be awesome!

But in the meantime?  Baby, I’m home!

ETA– okay– the winners of the impromptu contest that got started on Twitter are #23 and #3– so Jaymi and Jayden, e-mail me with your addies, and I’ll send you a signed copy of either Bolt-Hole or Under the Rushes (first responder gets to call dibs!)  Thanks everyone for commenting– my faith in humanity is restored.