Now that all of the college-picking kerfuffle has died down, I can share with minimal pain the delightful happenings surrounding my fantastic trip to the East Coast.

It started out simply enough. My mom and I packed up our bags, swigged some coffee and headed off to the airport at some ungodly hour with a spring in our step. We ate matching veggie burgers at the airport and stationed ourselves neatly in the aircraft, excitedly anticipating the anything-but-boring safety presentation that comes complimentary with every trip. After fine cuisine and several pleasurable hours on the plane, we arrived in Boston.

“Nice place!” we said to ourselves. It was indeed. We toured a college there, then headed south a few days later for Rhode Island and one more tour. We perused the mall after poking about the campus, and true to my nerdly core, I bought a sly looking calculator/pen combo. If my mom and I had been characters on the Oregon Trail, we definitely would have “morale: high” by our names.

Yet vacations, like everything else, must come to an end. After all, I had to get back home to get to my friend’s 18th birthday party -- and schoolwork was still calling my name (though I have gotten continually more adept at ignoring The Call).

But fate (or more accurately, United Airways) had different plans. On our return flight from Boston, we boarded the plane super late, and then were told that we could not leave because the plane was heavy and would require more fueling up. I stroked my goatee and said to myself, “Sounds reasonable.”

What was slightly less reasonable was the announcement shortly thereafter. After the addition of fuel, our plane was now far too heavy and we would definitely need to burn off some gas before our departure. I paused for a moment and left my goatee alone. “Slightly less reasonable,” I admitted.

So around and around we went, like some oversized Nascar racer, burning gas for at least a couple of hours. Now, while I ordinarily adore being cramped on planes next to attractive businessmen with stomachs wider than the Amazon River, things were getting ridiculous. We had, after all, a connecting flight to make in Phoenix before returning to San Jose.

We finally arrived in Phoenix some (long) time later, and to our dismay, we found that the connecting flight to San Jose had left a mere five minutes earlier.

So my lucky mother and I experienced Phoenix. Our jolly good time was only slightly hindered by the absence of any luggage, edible food at the hotel or previous knowledge of this little jaunt.

When we finally got to San Jose, I was insanely late for the (formal) party and wearing the same clothes I had worn during the two-day plane ride/Phoenix vacation. I made it to the restaurant a mere half hour late, but I’m pretty sure I put a damper on the evening by being the best-dressed girl there and making everyone else very jealous. Out of respect for my friends, I spent the evening dodging pictures and apologizing for my bedraggled state.

Only two days late! Not bad at all, United Airways. That’s less than half a week! But there’s something I meant to tell you before I left you so hastily at the San Jose airport: Thank you for the amazing vacation. I’m sure I’ll miss you a lot, because heaven knows I won’t be seeing you again.

Tarah Knaresboro is a senior at Leland High in San Jose.