Sleepless in Detroit

I'm sitting at my mom's computer (after having fixed the refresh rate of the monitor to a tolerable speed - i love being a geek) writing this at 3:48am, 22 November.

My trip was fairly uneventful, thank G-d. I always pray for non-exciting travels. In my experience, "exciting" and "travel" aren't usually good together.

Of course, I don't mean things like "Oh, we were there when the albino giraffe gave birth to quadruplets!" exciting. I mean more like "We have to turn around and go back to the gate, because of technical problems (and it being more like the wing of the plane is on fire)" type of exciting.

So uneventful is A Good Thing.

The highlights:

Getting to the airport and seeing a guy I interviewed a few days ago standing there. I can't get away from work, even when I'm away from work.

Being one of the few people who actually knew someone awake enough at 2:00 in the morning to be able to talk on the phone. (Which is ironic, actually, since I'm usually the one looking around at all the Israelis and wondering how, on earth, they have so many people to talk to that they're on the phone ALL the time.)

Walking through Ben-Gurion airport in a daze after 23 hours without sleep.

Laying on one of the chaise-lounge-for-business-travelers things in the Frankfurt airport while boarding announcements were made repeatedly, bilingually and loudly above my head.

Being checked by the large blonde woman (who actually appeared very sweet, and not intimidating in any way) at the airport:

While in line, I knew this was not, in fact, going to be a Good Thing. Nope. Not at all.

While hundreds of people are in line behind you, the process goes like this:

Walk up to the security belt. Put your things on to be x-rayed. Stand with your arms straight out. Try not to giggle when the woman runs her hands up and down your sides several times, both from the tickling and from the thought that you might actually have something there they should be worried about. Turn around. Stare at point in far-off space while she runs her hands over your chest, under your boobs, down your front, all over your butt, down the back of your legs to the ankles, back up them, over your butt again, your sides, your chest (and under it), your shoulders, your neck, your arms.

I really thought no one besides a doctor, a massage therapist or my future husband would be touching me in those places. And I certainly wasn't expecting it to be in public.

I'm so glad I took my Blistex out of my waistband.

Arriving in Detroit and seeing my baby (sibling) at the airport.

Having a cold Diet Pepsi waiting for me in the car. (I still love Diet Pepsi. Why can't we get it in Israel!?! That Pepsi Max stuph is crap.)

And that was it for the travels.

We ordered Jerusalem pizza for dinner, and sat around the table for a bit. I distributed chocolate and stuff, played online for a few minutes and went to bed.

And now I'm going to flip through my sister's dvd's to see which ones I would most want if either I had the money or I were going to, um, copy any.

I'm such a rebel.