Dudley Baptist Goes to New Mexico. Let the Fun Begin

As if this week weren’t already super stressful, trying to get our lives packed up, I now find myself on a Laurens County school bus barreling toward the Atlanta airport. Maybe “find myself” is an inaccurate word choice. I didn’t just wake up and think “where am I? This looks like a bus!” 

Over a year ago, I committed to a mission trip to New Mexico with my church. I really wanted to go, saved up money for it, prayed about it, threw myself into studying the Navajo people and their culture, prayed for them, learned to speak their code, bought a headdress, learned to make pottery and became an alcoholic.* I was psyched for an adventure, spreading the gospel to a group that’s starved for hope. 

    (This us our group. Of course it is!      What an unnecessary caption.) 

Unfortunately, this is the most inconvenient week since I’ve been out-utero to be away from my family. (But is there ever a really convenient time for a mom to be gone?) 
Last Night….
JACK’s FRIEND’s MOM: “New Mexico! That’s so exciting! You should get one of those Rastafarian multi-colored beanie caps with the long braids attached to it and rock the Bob Marley tunes.”
ME: “uh, we’re going to New Mexico.” I pronounce it slowly, exaggeratedly, as if I’ve suddenly become a preschool teacher.
JFM: “Oh, right. We’ll make sure you bring back lots of tequila.”
ME: “NEW Mexico,” pronounced super slowly and deliberately as if I’ve morphed from preschool teacher to Annie Sullivan speaking to Helen Keller. 
JFM: “oh….uh yeah…..well, ya know, tequila is never a bad idea, no matter where you are.”
I didn’t feel the need to tell her that tequila is always a bad idea. It has been since eleventh grade. 
So, here I sit, bumping toward the airport, along with 42 of my church brethren and sistren. We’re being chauffeured by the Dale Junior of bus drivers. Having gotten up at 4 am, we’re all still yawning, stretching, have coffee breath. I swear this bus is so bumpy, they should’ve handed out Depends along with our itineraries.
“Make sure you can carry all your belongings on your person, if necessary,” our leader announces for the forty-eighth time.
I think the term “on your person” is kind of amusing. It sounds like you should have your own “storage human” with lots of pockets, probably wearing cargo pants*** to pack all your junk in. “Hi, this is Jose** my storage person.” I think in golf, they call them caddies. 
“Oh my gosh, where’s my wallet?….oh that’s right. It’s on my person. Right, Jose?”
Among other goals, I plan to once-and-for-all settle the “do we call them Indians or Native Americans” question. And maybe get some insider tips on their Wheel of Fortune slot machines.
We’ve now made it to ATL. Let the TSA fun begin. TTFN.
*I’m kidding. It was an inappropriate reference to the unfortunate struggle with the bottle with which many Indians struggle.
**”Why’s she gotta name her fictional storage human ‘Jose?’ I always knew she was a racist.” 
***does anyone really use all the pockets on cargo pants? I mean, who buys cargo pants thinking “gosh, these mid calf pockets are gonna come in so handy! I can get rid of my storage person now.” 
It’s like pajamas with pockets. What the crap is the point in that? Did people used to have to go to bed holding stuff in their hands every night while they slept?
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About angelaweight

Awkward, imperfect, ADD wife to tightly wound financial planner, mom of two boys, and rescuer of lucky stray animals. I should probably see a therapist rather than write a blog. But hopefully I can offer a few laughs along the way.
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3 Responses to Dudley Baptist Goes to New Mexico. Let the Fun Begin

  1. Darlene Daniel says:

    Enjoy!!!! Bring back the tequila from NEW Mexico, lol!

    Like

  2. Rhonda W says:

    This comment has been removed by the author.

    Like

  3. Rhonda W says:

    Have a good time. I spent three months in Albuquerque in 2011. I enjoyed a trip to the reservation and appreciated their hospitality.

    Like

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