Planes, Ports, and Lost Hours. The Travel Hangover.

You know that moment when vacation ends and reality slaps you across the face with a boarding pass? Yeah, that was today.

First stop: the cruise ship. Sounds glamorous until you realize you’ve got to lug your overpacked gay-as-hell luggage through customs, onto a bus, and straight into the chaos that is LAX. Nothing says “welcome home” like TSA side-eye and a $9 bottle of airport water.

Then came the real party: the body scanner. For reasons known only to Homeland Security, my package always lights up red like it’s on a watchlist of its own. Cue the “enhanced pat down” from TSA. Translation: I got groped in the name of national security. Sir, at least buy me a drink first.

After that humiliation came the waiting. Two hours of sitting in the terminal, scrolling through TikTok, pretending my posture didn’t scream “I just survived a buffet at sea.” Honestly, the airport could at least pipe in some steel drum music to soften the trauma.

Finally, six hours on a plane. Six. Whole. Hours. Trapped in a recycled air tin can, losing circulation in my legs and my will to live. I watched three movies, ate two sad pretzels, and judged everyone who thought Crocs without socks were “travel chic.”

And just when I thought freedom was near—nope. Another hour drive home. My bed was practically sexting me at this point.

Oh, and let’s not forget the final insult: the time difference. Lost three hours. Just—poof—gone. Stolen by time zones. I left the West Coast a semi-functional human and landed on the East Coast a zombie in sweatpants.

Moral of the story? Vacations are fun, but the return trip is a hazing ritual no one warned me about. Next time I’m hiring a helicopter. Or maybe just moving onto the cruise ship permanently.

🐾 Roxi & Xena’s Dog Spa Dispatch:

“While Dad was out here fighting TSA and time zones, we were having cucumber facials and paw massages. He calls it ‘travel exhaustion’; we call it ‘room service delivered on a silver bone-shaped tray.’ Also, FYI, our vacation isn’t even over—we’ve got one more day at the spa. So while Dad’s crying into his pillow, we’ll be getting blueberry facials and deciding which staff member we’ll emotionally manipulate for snacks next. Cheers.” 🐾