Packing It In

Published May 24, 2016 by WELCOME TO HEIDI

 

There is one thing that terrifies me more than anything – one thing that can send me over the edge into a cold sweat mixed with a hot headache – one thing that can literally stop me dead in my tracks and cause a full on panic attack so mind numbingly strong that I fear I may have to crawl under my bed until its all over and hope that I come out the other side unscathed and still capable of living breathing and communicating with the outside world.   And no – it’s not the idea that marijuana will become illegal or that cake will be linked to cancer or that my boobs will grow back to the size they remember most – although all of those things could happen and I would not be fine with any of it at all but this is so much worse that even the idea of cancer cake is more deal-able. What is it?

 

****************************PACKING******************************.

Have you ever noticed that the simple idea of planning for a trip and dressing your future self is one of the most difficult tasks known to womankind? My question: What will I want to wear in Bali? My answer: Probably this taffeta ball gown. Are you someone who shows up at your vacation destination with one pair of granny panties, no socks, tons or workout wear and an empty bottle of conditioner that you remembered to zip lock in so it doesn’t leak? Welcome to Heidi. I have never, ever, not once, not even close to once shown up on a trip with clothing that I actually wanted to wear or for that matter – even knew I owned. Opening my suitcase when I get to wherever I’m going is like cracking open King Tut’s tomb only with less usable things found inside. Even a chariot weapon would be a bonus over what I always decide to pack.

It takes me at least four or five times before I even get the suitcase together. I pack, unpack, pace, smoke, pack, unpack, panic, cry, pack, unpack, have a near beer, pack and then spend the last 24 hours shoving things into nooks and crannies the suitcase didn’t even know it had. Then I get to my destination and boom – nothing I need. Wow, thank God I decided to bring those pants that haven’t fit me in three years and the most uncomfortable shoes I own. I once went to Prague and packed as if it was going to be California weather only to realize it was winter there and I almost froze my ass off.

There is something so finite about a suitcase. You only have so much room and you have to know what you’ll feel like wearing when you get to a place you’ve never been. I’m not one of the Real Housewives so I don’t theme pack the way they do. Hey we’re going to Dubai so lets only bring Caftans so we stick out like sore thumbs. I mean do you wear a sombrero in mexico with chips and dip in the brim? Do you have to wear cowboy hats in Texas? I wouldn’t wear a wig in Israel.  I’m just not that on the nose. But I also don’t have a particular style so I never know what mood I’m going to be in and tend to pack my entire closet and that’s the other problem – I really want to pack light. All I want is a teensy suitcase with magical things packed in little balls that turn out to be wondrous outfits. My friend Chelsea is an excellent packer. She’ll roll up to the airport with a Barbie sized suitcase that when opened holds at least 23 different outfits. Chelsea says the secret is only bringing one pair of shoes. WHAT? ONE PAIR OF SHOES? ARE YOU INSANE? WHAT KIND OF TERRIBLE SUGGESTION IS THAT? WHY DON’T I JUST KILL MYSELF. WHAT IF SOMEONE SEES ME MORE THAN ONE DAY WHILE I’M THERE AND NOTICES I HAVE THE SAME SHOES ON? Obviously I can’t do the one shoe thing. It’s just not right.

The funny thing is – whenever I’m on vacation – I don’t give a shit what I’m wearing – but I can’t seem to remember that while I’m packing. For once I’d like to be a boy so I can pack underwear, t shirts, jeans, sneakers, and a zero fucks given attitude. I’ll try to shove that next to my blow dryer, curling iron, eyelash glue, old prom dress, and all of the jewelry I own.   Inevitably – the second I get on the plane I say – Oh shit I forgot “insert incredibly important thing here.” Now if I can just teach Tulip to pack and ship – all will be right with the world. Until then – I’ll be the girl on a hike in a tutu and a bra-let from when I had my old boobs.

2 comments on “Packing It In

  • Sing it. And, I wanna know what pair of shoes that Chelsea girl is packing (with a link to Amazon), because I have a minimum of three and, let me tell you, I can live outta my carry on for 6 weeks. But the packing part takes 3 months, tears and I’ll still forget underwear.

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