Packed. Really?

Surprisingly, I'm packed for my trip to Stockholm, leaving Tuesday evening, save for a few last minute items. I'm a bit shocked at this fact considering how far I've come. I recall my first trip overseas when I packed two suitcases to London, a trip that lasted only 5 days. I cringe at this. Over the years, I've been able to pair it down, but not without the anxiety that comes with such a chore.

This will be my third trip overseas having carry-on only. Although I doubt it coming back. I'm sure I'll pick a few things up, which is why I'm bringing my Match shopping bag for the occasion.

Still, I've come a long way.

Crashed

Last week, my computer, overheated by Microsoft updates, somewhat crashed. The updates kept freezing up my computer, causing me to shut down. Apparently, when you do this, it leaves behind some components that ruin your operating system.

Thankfully, the IT department at work are a great group of people, and helpful to situations outside of the realm of work. I purchased a 500gb external hard drive, turned everything over to them, and they returned my laptop the next day - saving all of my precious files on the external drive. I then had the task of rebooting my laptop and erasing every single thing off my hard drive. I think I would've had a nervous breakdown had I lost all my photos and the various documents I had been saving for years.

The only drawback, and it's very annoying, is that in addition to all my favorites disappearing from both Firefox and IE, is that all the tags and collections in my Adobe Photo Album have disappeared too. All my hard work down the drain. Still, there's always the alternative, and that's to have no photos to go with those no tags and no collections. I'm starting from scratch in more ways than one.

So, this has postponed the online album creation for my Paris, Brussels, and Antwerp trip as all my tags fell off and I have to reselect and tag all over again. Again, I'm trying to look at the bright side and be grateful that I even have all my photos, but it still stings like a bitch.

I'm Off To Taiwan...

And I'm so NOT looking forward to the plane ride.

I'll be twelve hours ahead of NYC, and I don't know how my body will handle it. The most I've had to endure was six.

I'm trying to do the plane ride naturally, no Tylenol PM, no alcohol and no caffeine. I even went so far as to try the anti-jet lag diet my doctor suggested for me. It wasn't a major departure from what I was used to, no starving or anything drastic like that, but I had to abstain from caffeine all day, except between the hours of 3-5pm. Keeping this up for a mere four days was hell enough, and I'll be disappointed if this diet doesn't work!

Wish me luck.

C Ya!

After waiting anxiously all Sunday night and all Monday morning, I finally received the e-mail that contained my grade for the semester. It's a C. Don't get me wrong, I'm actually happy with this grade. It's exactly what I anticipated. I worked very hard for this grade and I knew going in that an A was out of the question, and that a B was asking too much. A nice little C.

I'm praying this will be the end of attending my current college, and I'll be able to graduate with my Associates degree. But I'm not hopeful. I am currently in the process of dealing with the college appeals committee to move my entry year back to its original date so that I don't have to take two more classes. You see, I was away from my school for a year due to a situation I am convinced was the college's fault. It's long and complicated and I can't explain without tears welling up in my eyes. I just never expected my school to act in a way that would bring me to this level of frustration.

It's. Just. So. Hot.

The city is currently in the midst of a raging, humidity filled heat wave, and it won't subside for several days now. Me? I've been staying low and keeping my movements to a minimum lest I break even more of a sweat than I already have. I did get out yesterday. First for school, which wasn't too bad because it was morning, then early in the evening, to capture any night breezes I could to keep my body heat down. Today, was the worst of it, as I had to get laundry done. There is nothing worse then entering a laundromat on a day like today. Curses!

It's the beginning of June and this is what we have to face? I don't know what I'll do come August.

Unsettlement

Received some news this afternoon that left a feeling of disquiet over me for the rest of the day. Not in a bad way. More like an impending happiness that can't be confirmed until sometime next week. Until then, I won't know all of the details. This puts knots in my stomach. Knots that want to unravel, break free, and celebrate. But can't. Not until affirmation is granted.

If it's what I think it is, and comes to fruition, the prospect will be exciting while adding a level of stress to my life at the same time. It may even interfere with the other plan of action.

Yin and Yang.

Done and Posted - Part Two

You can file this one under - "Holy Crap!"

Just last week I posted my sob story about getting my first passport and how this past experience was causing me anxiety through the renewal process.

Yesterday, I received an e-mail from the passport center. A lump quickly formed in my throat, along with a huge knot in my stomach. It's only been a short time, I thought, something must have gone wrong. Right? After saving that e-mail for last, what should my wondrous eyes be met with when I finally did open it up?

"We have finished processing your passport, and it has been mailed to you."

Even better, both my new and (now) expired passports (each sent separately) were waiting for me when I came home today.

Done and Posted

It was inevitable. It had to be done. There simply was no way out. With much trepidation, I tediously filled out the form, making sure to dot every single "I" and cross every single "T" and made the pilgrimage to the US Postal Office to renew my passport. Right now as we speak, my lifeline is in the hands of the U.S. Post Office to be sent off, invalidated, and returned along with a brand new replacement. Perish the thought!

I remember it as if it were yesterday. I had fallen in love with the man whom I thought I would marry and have 2.3 kids with. Little did I know, after years of hassle and cruel cold feet on his part, it would never come to be. Anyway. Since we had met (by accident) on my turf, it only made sense for our next meeting to be on his. In England. I had always wanted to visit the UK and this was my chance. Since my father was born and spent his childhood there, I was always curious about the land of my heritage. That I was in love with someone who lived there only helped intensified the feelings more. The trip was less than two months away, and I would need a passport. The events that occurred after submitting my paperwork still boggle my mind to this day. I am always one to fall between the bureaucratic cracks. This time would be no different.

The problem, which would haunt me from the beginning to the end of the process was that I had been in NYC for a little over a year and had only acquired my photo identification card a few months prior to submitting my passport application. That I had a brand spankin' new ID card and no other official photo identification from my state to prove who I was, raised a red flag with the passport people. Had I submitted everything in my home state (where I had many forms of photo identification), I wouldn't be writing this today. But since I had been resident in my current state at the time for fifteen months already, I was afraid of any possible legal implications. It was a Catch 22.

Pleading with the employees at the post office and tearful phone calls to the passport hotline (on my dime) did nothing for my case. I was screwed. Time was ticking and two months turned into one. One month turned into mere weeks. Thankfully, in my favor, they went ahead with the processing, but I would have to come up with another form of acceptable ID to retrieve it. With my trip a little more than one week away, my mother express mailed my high school yearbook for me to bring down to the expediting office. It was touch and go considering the person behind the counter could easily declare my evidence as not worthy. On a wing and a prayer, it worked. In my hands, all navy blue and brand new, was my first U.S. passport.

So, one can imagine how nail biting this renewal process is going for me. I sent everything out via certified mail, but that still doesn't do much for the nerves. I'm never settled from past experiences. Come to think of it, to this day I wonder why I had to show them my high school yearbook and why they wouldn't allow, as evidence, the various forms of picture ID that I still kept (and were still valid) from my home state. The government continues to boggle my mind.

Solid C

Today, the professor presented the class with our grades for the quiz we took two weeks ago. I got a C. Not a plus or a minus. A solid C.

Oh well, better luck next time.

Did I tell you how much I absolutely hate the chemistry segment of biology?

Bostonia, Again...

I swear I'm hanging around family too much. The last few trips to Boston were with my mother which, trying as it may have been at times, managed to be enjoyable. This past Easter weekend was no different, only there were two additions, my cousins. Because they hadn't been before, Friday, we took them into Boston, hopped the Red line, and situated them both on the Freedom Trail. Meanwhile, my mother and I headed to a cemetery in Roxbury to find a grave for her genealogy project. After we accomplished all that was needed, we headed back into Boston proper and met up with the others to finish out the remainder of the trail.

Leaving the North End, I was left with a feeling inside. It felt different, not tiring or frustrating, just a kinda sorta empty and longing feeling. More longing, actually. Then it all came full circle; Boston hasn't been explored on my own in well over ten years. It was all clear now. Each and every time I have visited it has been either with other travelers or for exclusive visits to people.

It's not like I have never had a great time. That's just the opposite. In fact, my impression of this city is only of fun and happiness, not to mention the youthful transgressions that still make my friends and I laugh reminiscing about them. What happened was I haven't, in a long time, given myself a mini solo trip, a chance to spread my wings again and be as unfettered and independent in what I believe to be, the second greatest city in the country.

The next and last day of our quick city jaunt, the group split up. My mother and cousins went to Fenway Park and I, all by my little lonesome, went to explore the campus of the university I will start attending this summer. Although I am a distant student and won't be campus bound for my education, I still have all the privileges afforded to me as if I were studying brick and mortar style. While there, it felt so good to relax, walk around, and take everything in stride. Aside from the excitement of seeing the campus, it confirmed the need for some Boston alone time. It also gave me a chance to breath and plot my next trip to the city, alone. Without a travel companion.

Hopefully, the next trip will be to come back, get my student ID, maybe purchase textbooks if classes happen to be starting then. That will be the business side of things. The rest will be a nice meal, some meandering around, maybe a T ride to some random destination. If she's available, perhaps I could meet up with H for some fun and always enjoyable times together. Something, anything, to return that piece of Bostonian freedom back inside my soul again.

Done and Dusted

I have made my decision. I've applied to school number one's online history degree. I'm sure this comes as no surprise considering all the previous gushing of said school!

The transcripts have been requested and are in the process of being sent to the school's admissions office. Then, I'll have to wait on their decision. The waiting is the hardest part.

I'm not fretting. The school has rolling admissions and a pretty liberal acceptance policy. I'm just worried and full of wonder for what's ahead.

Now to find the dosh to pay for this damn degree.

Madrid Madness

I've returned, albeit two days after my scheduled return date. Sunday evening, when I went to check in for my flight home, the airline informed me that the flight to JFK was seriously overbooked. I wasn't leaving that day.

Due to a stupid mistake I would rather not get into on here, I had no protection. None. Nada. Zilch. I guess hindsight is 20-20. So, lesson learned. The people going to NYC had to wait it out in Madrid until Tuesday. The people going to Boston flew to London for an overnight layover before proceeding onto Logan. How I wished I was going to Boston right then and there!

You would think the extra time in Madrid would have proved to be bonus days, right? Wrong! I had to schlep to the airport Monday afternoon to get on the waiting list. Afterwards, an airline representative informed me that it would be in my best interest to just take the Tuesday flight but check my luggage right then and there in order to secure my seat. I kicked myself realizing that I should have done this in the first place. Saturday night, instead of checking my luggage in storage, I could have simply checked in as my flight was less than 24 hours away. Again, lesson learned. I did manage to find some satisfaction during my short time in Spain, even if most of it was hellish.

I arrived in Madrid Saturday night, placed my luggage in a storage locker at the airport, and hopped on the Metro with my overnight bag to the hostel. Thankfully, I had read up on street crime in Spain, because the combination of this knowledge and being a skeptical New Yorker prepared me for the man who tried to pick pocket me shortly after transferring at the Neuvos Ministerios Metro stop.

Being aware of my surroundings, I saw him try and open my purse, which was crossed over my chest. Thankfully, I didn't keep any money there, instead it was in the chest pouch under my coat. However, my camera was in there, in the compartment closest to my stomach and buried under maps. I immediately yelped, put my elbow up to his face, and quietly but firmly told him to get away from me. He obviously was a pro because he stared straight ahead as if nothing just happened and got off at the next stop. Shaken but resolute in my street smarts, I couldn't help but think that I have lived in NYC for ten years without any incidents, and here I am in Spain for an hour and I'm having problems. This colored the way I was to experience the city. Always suspicious and looking for troublemakers.

I arrived at MuchoMadrid hostel, which was really a great place. Small and intimate, it was the two-bed room reserved only for females that appealed to me. I discovered that my roommate was from NYC, which was nice to have the familiarity considering what I just went through. After settling in, I looked for and found Chocolateria San Gines. The churros con chocolate was divine, and filling. Dinner was at a place whose name escapes me. Not surprising since my meal wasn't good. I had wanted to eat at Casa Labra, but it was closed.

Sunday morning I set out for Puerta del Sol, Plaza Mayor, and the Royal Palace. The royal pharmacy was fascinating, but not really worth the money, even with the student discount. At the time, this was all I thought I had time for. Little did I know what was in store for me! I did try to buy cookies from faceless nuns at a convent, with no such luck. They had already run out of product. The day was warm and sunny. The city was bustling with energy. A major change from the quiet calm of Copenhagen. I stopped by the Museo del Jamon for Tapas and a few glasses of sangria. Delicious. Fanta made another appearance in my travels. In Spain my addiction switched over to the limon (lemon) variety, knocking the orange flavor from its first place spot. Too bad the limon flavor is not available in the US.

With the time dispensed against my will courtesy of Iberia airlines on Monday, I did some random walking around the city. Madrid is loaded with shoe stores, which any other time, I would have jumped at the chance to shop till I dropped. Because of my sour mood, I wasn't exactly feeling the shopping love. I tried though and bought yet another pair of slippers. This pair would be my beat around pair. The ones I bought in Denmark are too luxurious to slop around in. Those would be my feet-propped-on-the-sofa pair. How funny that slippers represent my feelings for the respective countries they were each purchased in.

After dealing with head banging airline troubles, it was reassuring to meet some other people at the hostel. On the last night in Madrid, I met up with the roomie from NYC and two other women, one from New Zealand the other London, to drown my sorrows at O'Connell's, an Irish pub. We exchanged e-mail addresses and later added each other to Facebook.

Tuesday morning, I headed back to the airport for yet another whirl. This time, I had a boarding pass, a secured spot. There would be no troubles. Since my luggage was checked the previous night, food to take home would have to be purchased at the airport. I bought olive oil and turron from duty free, most of it gifts for others.

I guess I'll have to reacquaint myself with Spain again at some point. I'm told not Madrid, but Barcelona, baby! And no, I'm not off my affection for long international layovers, I'm just much smarter about how to do them now.

Trip Itinerary

With a little less than a week left, I've pretty much got my plans for Copenhagen sussed out. I'm doing all the stereotypical touristy things and staying at a touristy budget hotel, which is located near to the central train station. Other than a planned excursion to Ballerup, my time in Denmark pretty much follows the guidebook. For Sweden, I figure I'll take the train up to Helsingor, Denmark to see Kronberg Castle then take the ferry over to Helsingborg, Sweden. I'll walk around a bit, taking in the sites, then hop on the train down to Malmo to tour a bit more before heading back to Denmark. A complete circle. Because of it's close proximity to Copenhagen, Malmo is pretty much where everyone goes for their Swedish day trip.

Madrid. What can I say? Incertidumbre. To be honest, it's leaving me a bit anxious considering I am up against the clock with so little time in front of me. I have 22 hours total there, some of them necessary for sleep. Arrival into Barajas Airport is at 7:30pm, leaving the next day for JFK at 5:00pm. I figure I'll walk around Puerta del Sol, eat dinner, and do a bit of shopping. Spain is the only country where I have a to-do list of foods that simply must need to be consumed; savoured if you will. A stop at the Chocolateria San Gines for chocolate con churros is a must. It would be a flat out sin should I leave without sampling some Jamón Ibérico ham. All sound so damn tasty.

The real race against time will be the day I leave for home. Can I see both the Prado and Palacio Real in a matter of hours? Probably not. Considering the state of the lines that might be forming since the Prado is opening a new wing, I might just hot foot it to the Palace instead. Although I know I'll regret it if I don't get to experience both.

Imagine, all this worry and fuss coming from someone who declared herself to be, "not a Spain person."

I'm nervous about locating and ordering food in all three countries. I'm not a foodie, and I'm terribly afraid I'll accidentally order something bizarre. You know those Scandinavians! To help in making sure I order something halfway edible, I bought the Berlitz European Menu Reader from Amazon for only 39 cents. It's an excellently detailed food translator and could be my saving grace on this trip. That said, I never treat myself to a nice restaurant on vacation, so I'm looking forward to testing out Det lille Apotek and Ida Davidson. Both serve classic Danish cuisine. Otherwise, I'm perfectly okay to go with the flow on seeing and experiencing the sites.

I confess to suffering from a bit of travel research fatigue, and with each day that passes, the reality becomes crystal clear that by next week, I will be in countries as foreign to me as outer space.

Maybe if I Pretend to be Old...

I won't know what to expect. Welcome 35.

Sigh.

October Shelter Duty 2007

Friday night was long and excruciating. The shelter re-opened last week for the 2007-2008 season. First, the bus came too early. This wasn't too bad, but still, an annoyance. I enjoy the reflective quiet of setting up and talking with the other volunteer before the long and unpredictable night sets upon you. In this case it was volunteers, plural, as we had newbies last night. I got that warm and fuzzy positive feeling they will be back to do it again.

Right, so. The bus arrived early and I noticed that we had several new guests. This is good and bad news. The good news is that the presence of brand new shiny guests indicates to me that last season's group have finally found accommodation and won't be back again. The bad news is that you now have another set of folks to break in and set rules. Don't get me wrong, these are grownups and our rules are pretty liberal. Me personally, I'm more of the you-can-do-pretty-much-what-you-like-as-long-as-you're-quiet-and-leave-others-alone nature. It's just the typical settling in and learning the ropes that can prove to be difficult for both the volunteer and the guest. This is when we learn who might have trouble with the stairs or problems getting along with the others.

It was a typical night, I tossed and turned while dealing with the noisiness of those who couldn't settle in. I don't mind it so much as I truly believe it's their night and I can nap later. By 5:30AM, I heard so much noise and people talking, it became too difficult. Our wake up time is 6:00AM. Until then, you must remain quiet for the sake of the others. 5:45AM, a guest turned on the lights and began waking others up. I went down and asserted the rules of the shelter, wake up time - 6:00AM. I was told that they always wake up at 5:30. Not so in this shelter, I said. While helping someone with their bed, I heard one guest mutter to another, "the volunteers just want to sleep". No. Nuh, uh. That is one thing I refuse to tolerate; anyone who expects a volunteer to be superhuman. This is a free job, and pulling an all-nighter is not a requirement. I turned, looked at the comment culprit and quizzically asked, "excuse me?" Nothing. No response back.

Thankyouverymuch.

So, that morning I ended up with egg on my face because the bus arrived too early - at 6:00AM!! It's supposed to arrive at half six. Here I was running around turning off lights and scolding people for being noisy and the bus pulls up in front of the church at wake up time. I spent the next fifteen minutes getting beds stripped and people out the door.

Exhausting.

Doing Better

Kittendy love Morgan is almost 100% better. He is probably at a 95% capacity, right now. According to the vet, the 106F fever combined with an unusual infestation of fleas, may have been the root cause of his serious illness. There was a lot of hesitation whether he should be given his normal dose of flea medication, considering the state he was in. My mother had stopped all treatments during this time out of concern for the sorry state of his health. The vet agreed and prescribed a low dose, which seems to have done the trick.

Morgie is pretty much back to normal, meowing away and losing weight because of the increase in activity. He was getting too chubby with his lethargy and a normal appetite. Not a good combination for an already fat cat.

Still, no happy feet. Happy feet are those big paws simultaneously curling and stretching in contentment when lovings are being administered.

Stranger in a Familiar Body

I am utterly devastated, and it involves this little guy.

There was much anticipation to visit CT this past weekend. Lots to do and lots of people to see. A party at my cousin's new home, seeing as much family as possible, and going on little excursions. What I didn't expect was the frightful sight of one of my beloved kitties, Morgan. See, I'm not allowed to keep pets in my apartment building, and to be honest, I'm not sure I would. I say this because I am probably one step away from becoming one of those crazy cat ladies you see all the time on the news. I'm still too young and I haven't gone through menopause yet to allow myself to become like that. Instead, I view the three cats my mother has as my own. I expressly took Friday off in order to fully enjoy the weekend. Upon arrival late Thursday night, saw Morgan in such a state that tears began to well in my eyes.

About two weeks ago, I received a phone call from my mother, Morgie wasn't doing too well and the veterinarian confirmed he had a fever of 106F. The vet surmised it was a virus, prescribed him pills, and sent him on his way. Gradually, kitty got his appetite back and resumed normal bathroom activities. But still. According to my mother, he wasn't the same. Now, weeks later, he hasn't come back around - mentally and physically. There is a familiar ritual I have become accustomed to when I arrive at my mother's home. The cats enter the living room and do that little dance around me. It is a combination of reminding me that they are somewhat acknowledging my presence, and an opportunity to rub up against my suitcase, thus firmly placing my belongings in their territory. The rubs are also a reminder that I should be ever so grateful they awoke from their 20-some hour slumber to grace my presence.

I arrived, gave pets and lovings to two felines and watched as the third sat at this food dish staring at me with vague familiarity. I approached and got the terror of my life. He was unresponsive except for a faint purr and a weak acknowledgment of my presence. There was none of his normal behavior. No heavy purr factory emanating from him. No rubs. No circle dances. Nothing. The luster in his eyes, the luster of his soft fur - gone. Flea bitten for a cat who never seems to get fleas. Instead, the silkiness of his coat due to result of the OCD like devotion to grooming, was dirty, scruffy, and blanketed with scabs from heavy scratching. Oh, and the scratching. Morgan's right foot was out of whack. Probably a symptom of his illness or soreness from all that scratching.

The next morning, I woke to two cats hanging around me meowing and rubbing up against me for the glorious thing I am known to them - wet food. This is usually followed by the excitement of three male cats vying for my attention, circling my legs and batting away at each other in dominance as I dish out the smelly nastiness that is canned food. Usually, Morgan is the first to lie next to me, waking me with his loud meows. He is the ringleader and the greediest eater of them all. This weekend? Nothing. He was not even aware I was even opening the cans. I had to scoot him in front of the dish for him to acknowledge the grub.

Of course, I managed to carry on with all the weekend plans and have a pleasant time with my family; but not without constantly thinking about this poor sick soul. Attending my cousin's party, the numerous dogs frolicking about only reminded me of the one back home who wasn't doing any activity. Come Sunday, my goodbyes to Morgie were laced with extra kisses and hugs, hoping I'd see him again and praying that it would never come to something drastic...

Angry Feast

Tonight was a night out at the Scandinavia House for a screening of the 1988 film, Babette's Feast. Excellent movie. If you have the opportunity to watch, I most definitely recommend. The story is centered geographically in the Jutland region of Denmark. Yes, there are subtitles, but you won't get lost in the sauce of the storyline. I promise! The synopsis is a bit similar to the film Chocolat in that the main character, with a mysterious background, arrives in a remote and insular village only to magically transform it later on. Complete with morality challenges. In Babette's Feast however, it is in the form of an exquisite meal for the community paid for by lottery winnings.

Another plus of movie night at SH is that if you order a coffee and a dessert together, showing your movie ticket, it comes out to just $2.00 total. That's surprisingly cheap by Manhattan standards. I lovingly selected a huge ginger cookie on offer from Eli's, and was immediately disappointed at how stale it tasted. However, the coffee was pure Scandinavia - dark and strong.

Now here is where it gets angry. I am one who silently (and sometimes verbally) flips out when a person's cell phone begins ringing at the most inappropriate times, especially when the culprit doesn't answer or seem to realize how much of a nuisance they are causing. So, you can imagine how much I nearly died of embarrassment when my own mobile started ringing during the film.

Normally, I keep it on vibrate and am rarely one to catch a call on time. Of course, that night was, it seemed, the one and only time I mistakenly turned the phone on and it began ringing well into the movie. Keep in mind that I was in the second row, right smack dab in the middle, and wasn't even aware at first that it was my phone. Since it sounded oddly close by, it wasn't until like, the tenth ring that I fully realized the evildoer was me. Trying to sneak into my purse to turn it off, thus hoping to conceal the evidence, all was apparent to several audience members directly in front who the guilty party was. You would have thought I had just eaten a baby dipped in BBQ sauce!

Sigh

Playing Catch Up

Please excuse me while I play catch up here. Last night, I managed to add four new successive posts. I also added another I had composed awhile back, but for some reason couldn't commit to. To be honest, at first glance, it didn't have the proper flow I was looking for in an entry. My friends and family won out because this is a blog about what the hell I do with the spare time I allege never to have. I had another look, cleaned it up, and decided to run with it. It's titled "Pushing Issue", and can be found in the July archives (or by clicking on the provided link).

Sometimes, I'll begin a post and save until later when I have the time to add more palaver, or clean it up a bit before sending it off to the public. Because of this, and as with the case of some of the more recent posts, the entry falls under the date stamp in which it was originally first created. Even if that means several weeks ago and one has to search for it.

If You are Going to San Francisco...

Make sure it's for an actual trip and not just some random layover for your intended destination.

If I can offer you any words of advice, it would be this. DO NOT. I repeat. DO NOT -- fly US Airways. Ever. I'm serious when I say this. What US Airways did to us, should be factored into the Geneva Conventions. I swear, people in Gitmo might just have it a skosh bit better than the passengers who fly on US Airways do.

Seriously.

The original plan was supposed to be this:
Fly to Charlotte, NC
Connect to Phoenix, AZ.
Connect to Flagstaff, which would be the last leg of our flight leaving and arriving the same night.

However, this was never to be.

Our flight started out delayed, then, even more delayed. Needless to say, we missed our connecting flight to Phoenix. Airline representatives were at the gate, each with new tickets for most of us passengers who were on board. In our unlucky lottery, we got a new itinerary. It sucked, royally. In the morning, we would fly to San Fransisco, connect to Phoenix and finally connect to Flagstaff. Okay, we thought, resigned to our fate, and as we went to retrieve our luggage, discovered that it was already en route to our final destination. "It will be there way before you arrive", promised the US Airways representative. She was kind enough to throw each of us a bone in the form of a complimentary toiletry kit. Gee. Thanks. Angry, frustrated, and weary eyed, we reluctantly agreed. I grabbed up the special slip for "distressed passengers" which landed us discount hotel accommodations. We took a taxi cab to the only hotel that would accept us so late, and converged on Waffle House, the only option open in the vicinity to fill our starving bellies. Thankfully it happened to be situated right next to our abode for the night.

Waffle House were the only ones who came through for us that night.

The next morning, worried and still reeling from the night prior, we left for the airport on barely a night's sleep, and in the clothing we wore the previous day. You would think that after all that trauma things would run a bit more smoothly, right? Wrong. Again, the flight was delayed. However, luck was on our side in a weird kind of way for our connection in San Francisco because the flight to Phoenix was delayed as well. However, it too bit us square in the arse because arriving in Phoenix so late caused us to miss our connection to Flagstaff. This elicited screaming fits from my mother and I towards the gate staff. Luckily, we were able to catch another flight, but at a cost of another delay.

Finally, when we arrived at our destination, we discovered that our luggage was missing. After slightly boiling under the pressure of all that US Airways threw at us, I finally lost my cool. We headed to Target for some new clothing and toiletries. I figured that if worse came to worse, we could survive on just two outfits for the entire trip, making sure to wash our clothing each day. On the way to the checkout counter, we got the most glorious call ever. I mean the kind of glory where the heavens open up, bright rays of sun shine down, and fat nude cherubs wearing silky white banners descend playing harps and trumpets. It was the airport announcing that our luggage had finally arrived.

Now we could proceed with our most anticipated trip to the Grand Canyon and its environs.

Luckily for us, the rest of the trip went swimmingly. Although we had missed an entire day, we managed to make do with the rest of our time and have an excellent time.