As of 12:20 this morning, I have returned, safe and sound, to Boston and as of 1:20 (after waiting to get off the freaking plane, get my luggage, waiting in line at the taxi stand, and one cab ride), to the People’s Republic.

In order to get a decent time and price, I wasn’t able to fly direct buy had to connect through JFK. Which normally I would have loved – that JetBlue terminal is awesome. I want to move in (they have a store devoted to NY team merchandise; last time I was there I had a lengthy conversation with the attendant, about being a Yankees fan in exile in Boston). But this time I barely had enough time to get from one gate to the next…or so I thought, because we were probably close to 30 minutes late for boarding and again for take off.

And while it wasn’t the worst flight I’d ever experienced, it wasn’t anywhere near enjoyable – snack and beverage service was prevented by turbulence, and it felt like The Dad was at the controls – constant acceleration and deceleration.

I’m sure everyone has their quirks when they fly. I prefer to be on the aisle, and if it’s a 2-2 aircraft (2 seats, aisle, 2 seats), I prefer the C seat (or whichever puts the aisle on my left side). But I have another, weirder quirk – when I choose my seats, I always choose seat number 4, 8, 15, 16, or 23 (I’ve never been on a plane large enough to have 42 rows). I had 23C for both my flight to Buffalo on the 21st and my flight from JFK to Boston last night.  And as astute viewers/obsessed fans/people who read Lostpedia know, 23C was where Jack Shepard was sitting when Oceanic 815 crashed on The Island.

The other thing I always think of when I choose plane seats is the finale of Friends. And no, I have never sat in my bra size.

Did I have a point here? Eh, fuck it – it’s long gone now.

Well, okay, about this post’s title. Being back at my parents’ for ten days makes me really miss my apartment, first of all – I was walking around this afternoon, wanting to hug the rooms. But it also makes me realize stuff about me that are myths.

Now, the way I see it, there are two kinds of myths about people (okay, there may be more, but for my purposes right now, I’ve got two in mind). First, there is the myth that everyone else believes but you know it isn’t true. Such as that people tend to assume that I, a performer, am addicted to Glee (I’e never watched a single episode).

The other kind of myths are what I was really thinking about while I was away. The kind that get ingrained in you by other people – in this case, your parents. Although in my case, it seems to be really one parent in particular, and I’m not talking about the one who reads this blog (you’re off the hook, The Mom!).

Myth #1: Amanda takes forever to shower and get ready. When I was growing up, whenever we all had to get ready to go somewhere together, I was always forced to shower first, because I supposedly took so long and so they wouldn’t have to wait for me. Even now, when figuring out how much time I need to get ready for something, I tend to give myself at least two hours (that’s including shower, getting dressed, hair and makeup).

Truth: I discovered when I was working that I could get up, shower, dress, and be out the door in under an hour; 35-40 minutes if I didn’t blow dry my hair or put on makeup. When I can, I still factor in extra time, just so I don’t feel like I’m rushing. And I still end up with a fair amount of downtime (which I also like), because I’m nowhere near as slow as I’d been led to believe.  This finally hit me two days before Christmas – I had an hour and a half to get ready before picking up Blanche. I was shocked to realize how much time I had left, after I was completely ready. And I realized that this was really my norm.

Coming tomorrow (because I’m too sleepy right now to continue in a coherent fashion): Myth #2: Amanda is a slob. As well as some conclusions I’ve drawn.