Sweet Home Chicago.

I ordered a Coke on the plane because Dana ordered a Coke on her plane because I was craving one back in January.

And then I had coffee and then landed and saw my brother and then ran up and down the stairs in my house laughing like a crazy woman. I ate Haribo in my kitchen and belly flopped onto my bed. I talked to friends on the phone who are in my time zone and sent texts to friends from my beloved mint green phone and got instant responses.

I even get to see the beautiful faces of my girls (with no pixels distorting them or time differences cutting us off) but not before I enjoy a classy meal of take-out Thai food with the Hindi's.

Reverse culture shock shmeverse culture shock. The customs line smelled like shampoo and deodorant, and the only thing that's brought me down all day is getting Chris McKim's voicemail recording. (Fix it, Chris, fix it!)

I woke up in Paris this morning, but now it is over as is this silly blog.

This hyperactive bubbly note is a horrible one to end on, however, so check back for the epilogue.

Now if you'll excuse me I must go shower with two free hands.

Come on, baby don't you wanna goooo... back to that same ol' place...