Previously, Gina and I went hot air ballooning and got judgey looks from a bunch of old people.
My flight out of Phoenix wasn't until 3.30 in the afternoon, so the morning was taken up with packing, eating tres leches cake, and concerned questions from Gina's kids about what things I would be putting in my suitcase. Example:
Kid #2: Are you going to take the balloons???
Me: No, kiddo. They wouldn't fit in my suitcase, for starters!
Kid #2: You can't take the balloons.
Me: They're your balloons, I'm not going to take them.
Kid #2: *suspicious look*
He checked on me at least three times to make sure I hadn't packed the balloons.
As it got closer to lunchtime, Gina decided it was a travesty that I'd never had biscuits in all the times I've visited the US, and decided that Red Lobster was the best way to fix the problem. But we weren't sure how they'd feel about us rocking up and being all "Hey, can we get a serve of biscuits and literally nothing else? And can we get that to take away?", on account of how the biscuits are usually free. So we phoned them. And they were a little confused at first, but apparently it was a slow day and it kept them busy for ten minutes, so they were all "Sure, whatever!".
And so we loaded the kids into the car and drove half way across Phoenix to get biscuits. They were pretty damned great.
|Mmm, biscuits. Also, source.|
From there, we headed to the airport where I bid a sad farewell to Gina, checked in without issue, and then spent the time until my flight perusing various bookstores. The flight to Los Angeles was pretty painless, and I took advantage of having a millionty hours to kill by walking from Terminal 6 to Terminal 3. Check in went smoothly, and I procured an aisle seat without any problems.
Then I sat outside and played Spot the American Who's Flying to Australia and Doesn't Know About Our Hand Luggage Limits while I waited for Sweeney. Fun fact? The longer you spend away from Australia, the more bogan the Australian accent sounds. After a month in the US, every single Aussie that walked past sounded like they'd just stepped off the set of Crocodile Dundee.
Luckily, Sweeney turned up before I went completely insane, and we headed off for dinner.
Sweeney: So when was the last time you saw anything other than the airport in Los Angeles?
Me: 1989? 1990? One of those.
Sweeney: Holy shit. Okay. I'm starving, so we're going to eat at In-n-Out Burger, and then I'm taking you to Santa Monica.
And that's what we did. Plus, you know, a good hour or so in LA traffic jams, because no visit to Los Angeles is complete without being stuck in traffic for a millionty years!
|If In-n-Out could bring their shakes to Australia, that'd be great.|
I neglected to take any proper photos on account of we were too busy catching up, but I was highly amused by the police ute at the end of the pier that had a surf board strapped to the roof. You know, for all those times when you have to chase a criminal down while catching a wave...
|I didn't want to use the flash in case I got arrested...|
Alas, all too quickly it was time to head back to the airport, but I'm eternally grateful to Sweeney for driving across LA in crazy traffic to save me from spending six hours at LAX on my own. I MISS YOUR FACE, SWEENS. COME VISIT ME <3
Luckily for all concerned, my flight home was rather less eventful than last time. The plane was nowhere near full, the food didn't suck, and I got about seven hours of sleep. And from a 14.5 hour flight, that's about all you can ask, really!