Family time fail.

Chip is in town only until Friday when he goes back down to San Diego for school so I’ve been cognizant of the passing time and trying to book as much sibling/family time as possible. Hence, paintballing last Saturday and a homemade dinner at my apartment on Monday night.

I thought we were supposed to have a family dinner night tonight at Hakka Restaurant in the Outer Richmond. We’ve been there a few times and it’s always had delicious Chinese food. Chip asked whether I was free Wednesday night a few days ago and I thought plans were set.

So when I texted him this afternoon confirming that he was still going to pick me up, I was surprised when he texted back,

Chip: “Nope, not coming to pick you up. Dad bailed on dinner tonight.”

“Why?! I’m going to have to have dinner all by myself because Michael is at Spanish class! Tonight was perfect.”

Chip: “Well, Dad said we should go only when Michael is free.”

“I thought it was a family dinner. Michael isn’t family. I want to go to dinner.” *Giant pout*

M loved it when I told him of this exchange. I’m not quite sure whether I’ve ever covered on this blog that horrendous night when M “met the parents” at my house Fall of 2009. It really was just “meet the dad,” but wow, it was bad. Won’t go into it now, I think M has earned the privilege of that story. Anyway, suffice it to say that having my dad include M as part of the family is quite something.

Anyway, to cut the rambling, since I wasn’t being treated out to dinner, I had to come home and cook for myself. Question: why do all of my “scrambles” turn out looking like barf? I put peas in my half tofu/egg scramble to brighten it up, but the peas just ended up looking like little troll eyes. Meh. I ate it anyway.

Sure wasn’t yummy Chinese food though.

Maybe I’ll go bounce on my exercise ball now.

xoxo,

Jenn

Angry at O’Hare airport.

It is now 5:15 a.m. Chicago time and 3:15 a.m. San Francisco time. Both of which equals me being super grumpy.

Not to mentiom the fact that I hate United airlines more than I can ever put to words. We were forced to check our carry-ons at the plane door “because there’s no more room in the overhead bins.” Funny because as soon as we got in, we most definitely saw lots of overhead space.

Strike one.

The plane door manager also told us that “yes, yes, your bags will meet you in Indianapolis, don’t worry.”

Of course. Guess where I’m at right now? The baggage claim waiting for our bags because a different United person told us as we landed in Chicago that “unfortunately, your bags didn’t get transfered and they are downstairs twirling at the baggage claim.”

Strike two.

Now we’ve been downstairs for 25 minutes watching the baggage claim and have seen the same suitcases come round 10 times. M is about to explode and we still have to go through security again to catch our connection at 7 a.m. Looks like our suitcases were transferred to Indiana? Who knows? Guess we’ll have to wait and find out.

Strike three.

Fail United. Super, huge fail.

I hate you.

xoxo,
Jenn

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