I forgetted to write, now I have to write lots

Well, last time I posted I was sulking in my hotel room, getting ready to leave California. Phew, thank god. I am totally NOT a west-coast person. Scott was hoping I would go there, fall in love with it, and call him and tell him we had to move there immediately.

Sorry, no dice.

So, with me, there always has to be some kind of dramatic situation which I've ultimately created for myself someway, somehow. And, this case was no exception.

When I'm not at work every day during the week, I have a hard time telling what day it actually is. It just seems to really put me off balance. So being in SD and having odd hours at this conference really really threw me for a loop, and for some reason I did not realize my flight was leaving on SATURDAY, not FRIDAY. Like I knew, but it wasn't really registering with me. Of course, my Iphone alarm was only set for weekdays. Alas - I missed my flight. It was supposed to take off at 645 am, I woke up at 630 am. I love how I actually THOUGHT I could catch that flight. I'm such an idiot. I should have stayed in bed, called the airline, rebooked, and went back to sleep. No, instead I'm the asshole who throws on clothes, runs downstairs screaming that I need a cab, realize there isn't one there so pay double for a black Town Car to get me to the airport running red lights, and then get there to discover, "yes, ma'am, your flight has already departed". No shit. I knew that already and yet I felt the need to make a scene.

Then, I find out that I can't get on a flight departing until 1:30pm. Um, for serious? Cause that's 7 hours. I had no options, all other flights were booked, and Scott and I were departing for NOLA the next morning @ 830, so I had to get home.

I also realized that I had checked out of my hotel, so I had nowhere to go. I call Scott, sobbing, crying, whining, just wanting to get THE FUCK out of THE CALIFORNIA. He's like, look, everyone misses flights. I missed flights. You'll be fine. Basically telling me to grow a pair and shut the fuck up. And he was right, I was fine. But I was also really pissed I had to buy all those magazines and books to keep me occupied, cause there ain't SHIT to do in the SD airport. And it was packed. I couldn't even get within 20 feet of the bar, so drinking was out. So whatever, long story short, I get on my flight and head to the layover in Chicago. I arrive there, immediately find a bar and frigging pound 22-oz beers like it was going out of style. Goddamn, it felt good. I get a call from Scott saying our dogsitter had fallen through, and I'm about to panic again but he tells me he's taking care of it. Good, because at this point I couldn't handle it. Drink more beer. I only had a 2 hour layover, so I consumed as much as I could. Oh, I also ate some french fries because I realized I had like, not eaten all day, and french fries are a really important part of a balanced diet.

So, land in DC and it is 1130 pm at this point. Now folks, keep in mind my next flight is leaving 9 hours from this point. Joy. By time I get my bag, get a cab home (I decided to let Scotty sleep, since at least one of us should appear well rested on our vacay), by that time it was past midnight. I got approximately 3 hours of sleep that night, since I had to get up and pack another bag and shower, etc. So we make it to the airport and take off to our next destination.

At that point, all I wanted to do was get sloppy drunk. I deserved it, right?

And sloppy drunk we did get. I'll make a NOLA post in a day or 2, I'm tired of typing, and I figure that was too much to read anyways, and I also am kind of hungry and want Scott to take me to brunch so we can get drunk off mimosas. I have a real big Sunday planned, you see.

Living the high life here in Viginia, folks. Keeping it real. Dirty south.

And seriously, fuck California.