My one and only brother Dominic flew into town on Thursday night. Here’s a warning: if the occassion ever arrises that either my brother or I fly with you, ask for a ride to or from the airport, or casually discuss flight plans, you should disregard any details we provide you. We suck at that stuff.

I went to the Oakland airport at 11:00 pm on Thursday night to pick up Nic. He was supposed to fly in on Air Faganone, OAK 11:00 pm. I circled around pick up, his phone wasn’t ringing, I couldn’t find him. No big deal, I just hung out in a park and call lot for a while. Then a while turned into two and half hours . . . I needed to take a nap in my car. I decided to call it a night, I just can’t get ahold of him. So I start driving home, he’d have to fend for himself, and of course that’s when he calls. “Where have you been!” I was pretty livid and completely exhausted. His flight didn’t actually get in until 1:00 am, plus it was delayed an hour, and guess what? Turns out he was flying into SFO and Air Faganone doesn’t really exist. Ooops! He was willing to take the BART, but I told him he’d have to wait until 4:00 am to hop on the next train. So being the phenomenal little sis that I am, I drove over the bay bridge to pick him up. LIES. I mean Roman drove me over the bay bridge to pick him up. I was very tired from circling the OAK pick up, so I decided it would be safer for all bay area residents if I slept in the passenger seat.

One time I showed up at the Philly airport, tried to check in and failed. Turns out I was there on the wrong day and at the wrong airline desk. Details are for suckers!

Now Nic and I drove home to my mom and dad’s house for a sleep over. Me, Nic, and my mom are watching the Discovery on the couch together on a wild Saturday night in Medford, Or.