It wouldn't be the holidays without a crazy travel post... and anyway I realized this morning that I've done a lot of traveling in the past few months without a single bizarre story or photo of weinerschnitzel, and for that, my friends, I apologize.
One way I amuse myself during long trips, and particularly international ones, is by pretending I'm an international superspy, cruising around wearing a leather jacket and dark glasses, jetting off to strange and intriguing foreign locations like... Ft. Myers. Okay well that one doesn't work so much. But Lapland next week certainly will. Anyway, I notice that my senses seem to be heightened when I'm in airports and I really do feel like an intelligence officer. Or a counterintelligence officer. Or a pseudocounterintelligence officer. Or maybe just a counter officer. Maybe it's that weird cabin pressure, or maybe it's my overactive imagination. Either way, it keeps me entertained during those fleeting moments when I'm not passed out and drooling in my seat.
But I'm way ahead of myself already. Wednesday night brought the annual Christmas Ball and with it this year's theme: The Roaring 20s. While I can't say I wore anything particularly timely (do fishnets count?), some people really did go all out.
And as always, there's nothing like the end of exams, an open bar, and a dance floor to really get people to let loose. And let loose we did. Somewhere along the way a tiara was put on my head (wow thanks everyone!) and, next thing I knew and against my better judgment, I was belting out "Danke Schoen" while dancing with King Tammy. (Which brings me to a very important point. Far too few people outside of the U.S. and A. have ever seen Ferris Bueller's Day Off and this needs to be remedied, starting with a January screening at IESE.) When the lights came on at 3am, we all paraded down the block to Ribelino's in our ridiculous get-ups and partied like it was 1929.
With Monica, Ian, Cornelia, Nani, Juan, Sara, and a banana
All girls like tiaras. Even Francis!
But all good things must end and that includes Christmas Balls, unfortunately. I still had packing to do, which I proceeded to finish between getting home (whenever THAT was) and hopping into a taxi at 8. Mercifully for those who would sit near me on the plane, I managed a shower as well.
I slept in the taxi. Then I slept at the airport. Then I slept the entire 9 hours to Newark. We were an hour late so I ran through customs, rechecked my bags, ran to my next gate, got on the plane, and fell asleep again, all the way to Florida, despite being literally surrounded by screaming babies. I hung out with my family for a bit and then fell asleep again. I guess even superspies get tired.