Let me help you with that....

I made it! 13 hours of travel time and two connections put me into Salt Lake City. My first flight was a 15 minute puddle-jump. I flew from St Eustatius to St Maarten for only 60 dollars and all I had to do was sit with a 400 pound man on my lap! What a deal. I spent two hours in the St Maarten airport before boarding my first-class flight to Atlanta. I don't think I realized ahead of time how serious first class is - like, I'd only get more leg room and a hot meal. I definitely underestimated the level of service. I swear the flight attendant would have dangled grapes over my head while I nibbled at them if I'd asked her to. And I'm pretty sure she took it personally that I declined wine each of the seven-thousand times she offered it to me. Everything about first class was just how it's portrayed in movies. The hot towel, the free-flowing alcohol. And an actual curtain separating the cabins so we didn't even have to look at the jerks sitting back in coach. Everything was also more complicated. Like the tray tables for instance - crazy contraptions that hid inside the armrest. I needed help both getting it out AND putting it away. It was like I was five all over again, and for what? I mean, as far as tray tables go, they were just alright. Definitely no more functional than a regular tray table, but a million times more complex.

As a general rule, I don't use airplane bathrooms, so by the time we landed in Atlanta I had to pee so bad I felt nauseous. But there was no time - I had only an hour to get through customs AND security AND take the tram from one side of the airport to the other. Luckily there were no lines and I made it to my gate with time to spare for a bathroom break, and also to check the upgrade screen. Jon tried to get me on first-class again for the rest of the trip, but I was like number 31 or 32 on the list of priority so needless to say I rode from Atlanta to Salt Lake with the plebeians. And somehow I ended up in the only window seat without a window. It's a long fall down.

I always feel close to home when I'm amongst the group flying into Salt Lake. They're not always the most attractive bunch, but they're familiar. The college-aged girl with skunky hair wearing Uggs and five camisoles. That older guy that looks like an apostle. Some kid with an extreme side-part, obviously fresh off the mish. The "hot mom" in platform flip flops with an orange tan and hair teased so much it's see-through. And that interesting-looking young couple in front of me - they must be just visiting. HAhahaHA I kill me. No really, I love Utah. It's home. Sort of.

I was supposed to meet my mom out on the curb when I landed, but Annie ended up taking a day off of work and surprised me by showing up with her, bearing a homemade cheeseburger. You all would have been disgusted to watch me devour it. Then came the joyous reunion of owner and dog. Penny gave a little start when she first sniffed me, then continued to be a little stand-offish for about five seconds until she pieced together our happy memories (I'm only assuming here) and pretty soon was wiggling and jumping all over the place. On the drive from the airport to my grandparents' house, she sat on my lap and leaned as hard as she possibly could into my chest. All that worrying for nothing.

After a couple of days in Salt Lake and Heber, we made the trip up North to St Anthony (or Satanthony, as Jon calls it). It started snowing yesterday morning and it's been piling up ever since. Christmas Christmas Christmas. I'll put up pictures sometime soon, but this post has already gotten out of hand.