I hate flying

After spending a fabulous night stargazing with someone who shall remain nameless, I was forced to remain awake and journey to PDX. I love flying, traveling, anything of that sort. Actually, make that past tense: loved.

After my first leg of the journey was pushed back a half an hour and I was reduced to being bumped up to a flight that left in the next 40 minutes, I managed to make it safely on the plane. Upon arriving at Seatac International Airport, I learned that the next leg was delayed 3 hours - causing me to miss my next connection from Reykjavik, Iceland to Paris. After waiting in line for several hours and helping a french teen behind me understand what the ticket agents were trying to ask the crowd, and I must not forget going to the end of yet another line. My apologies for being less than eloquent, I had no concept of time until a few minutes ago when I checked my ipod.

I finally managed a new flight itinerary. I am now flying at 6am tomorrow to Salt Lake City. From there I will have to wait roughly 7 hours to then fly right into Paris (arriving at approx 11am). It was better than the alternative 15 hours in Reykjavik's airport.

With frazzled hair and fatigued eyes. I always have enough energy to enjoy pizza

I am currently at the hotel, where I just received my Domino's pizza and diet soda. It's delightful, sitting here in a king size bed and watching tv. Doesn't hurt talking to someone who calls you "ma petite caille". After struggling to handle both large suitcases and my decent size carry-on, I can only assume the concierge who took care of me felt bad - I ended up in a handicapped hotel room right across the hall from the elevator. It's the little things in life, you know?