Right? Well, dudes, judge for yourself.

Leg 1: Detroit to Chicago (3:10 pm Eastern 12/3/2009)

YAWN. I’ve done this trip so many times I can do it in my sleep. In fact, I HAVE done it in my sleep. The weird thing was getting to the airport in the DAYLIGHT and after lunch not before breakfast. We boarded on time, we left on time, we taxied from the FURTHEST runway to the terminal. The only downside about the actual flight was that the guy in the seat next to me did the CHICKEN ARM thing – y’know, where you point your elbows out at right angles to your body, therefore blocking anyone else from getting the middle armrest?

That’s okay – I finished the fucking crossword puzzle in the American Way magazine. There’s no way he could have done that in a 40 minute flight.

Once I got to O’Horror, the fear of “Will my checked bag have made it?” started. Fifteen minutes later, I had my bag and was on my way from Terminal 3 to Terminal 1. I got in line to check my bag (15 minutes) then into the security line (40 minutes) and then made my way through to the lounge.

My two free drink tickets lasted about 30 minutes. I tweeted a couple of tweets and waited for the rest of my group to appear.

One of the cleaning guys came by and asked if I was done with my glass.

Yes, unfortunately.

I said. I smiled at him.

He handed me three more tickets. Told me to sleep well on my flight. I think I’m in love.

*****lalalalala*****

Leg 2: Chicago to London (9:07 pm Central 12/3/2009)

YAWN. This time, though, it’s not boredom that’s causing my jaw breaking yawns – it’s pure and utter exhaustion. Well, that and the 4 glasses of wine and 2 Benadryl. The flight attendant asks me if I’d like to order dinner. I decline – but accept another glass of wine.

This is the first time I’ve ever slept with a wig on. Giving a small prayer up that I won’t awaken with the back of my hair covering my face, I recline my seat (NOW! Lay flat beds on United Business Class!) and fall asleep half listening to Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Hint: Selecting a movie that you’ve already seen guarantees that you won’t be too sad when you miss the end (and the middle) (actually, everything except the first 10 minutes) because you’re snoozing.

When the normal morning bustle starts (it’s pushing 10 a.m. in London) I accept breakfast and coffee and then make my way to the bathroom to make sure my hair is on straight. I brush my teeth and try not to drip toothpaste down my t-shirt. I fail.

After circling London for several minutes, we land and disembark. Four (of the eight) of us make our way out of Terminal 1 and head over to Terminal 5. On a bus. I’m the only one who printed their boarding pass before leaving home – so after the others get theirs, and we get through security (London, I could kiss you for not making me take my shoes off!) we have about 80 minutes before we have to board our next flight.

Full English breakfast, anyone?

says the one English guy on this trip. We bypass the Club Lounge to head over to Huxley’s Bar and Grill for Egg and Sausage sandwiches. I chug three glasses of water and start to feel almost human.

We meet up with the other four once we get to the gate to board. We’re ushered to another bus and carted out to the middle of the tarmac to get on the plane. Next stop – Hyderabad.

Wonder what they’re going to make of me – a woman traveling with 7 men. Snirk.

*****lalalalala*****

Leg 3: London to Hyderabad (1:40 pm London 12/4/2009)

British Airways secludes its Business Class passengers in these little pod-like things. Once we hit the air, I take out my laptop, order a ginger ale and start writing. The flight attendant hands us our menus – I order the lime prawns with cashews and lamb kohlapuri (curried lamb). “What the hell”, I think, “I may as well start eating the Indian food right away.” Three bites in, my mouth is burning and my nose is running, but it was delicious.

I turned on “District 9″ while I ate. By the time the flight attendant was back to clear away the dishes, my eyes were crossing.

According to the little plane icon on the little screen in front of me, I wake up over Abu Dhabi. With approximately two hours left before we land in Hyderabad, I have breakfast and watch House and E.R. Nothing like a little Hugh Laurie to brighten up a girl’s morning.

The sky is still dark since we’re supposed to land at 4:40 a.m. Indian time. I think of Mr. Hot, try to count backwards and figure it’s about 6:30 p.m. the day before. What day is this anyway? Oh, right. It’s Saturday mornning in the sky. And it’s about to become the longest fucking day of my life.

When the wheels touch down and we arrive at the gate, we stand up to gather our belongings. A voice comes over the intercom.

Will Ree the Hotfessional please see a flight attendant before disembarking?

Everyone I’m with immediately looks at me and I shrug my shoulders. Working against the people trying to leave the plane, I finally make get to the woman holding the microphone. “You called me?, I ask. She points to four Indian men with clipboards. I grab our travel coordinator and tell him he better come with me. I’m not heading off the plane – alone – with four strange men who don’t speak my language and are holding official looking papers.

One of them speaks.

“Ma’am, your bag is not on the plane. You can skip baggage claim and go to the customer service desk.”

Seriously? My luggage. All of my clothing for 12 days in India. I’m wearing a pair of jeans I’ve slept in twice, a shelf-bra camisole instead of a real bra, a t-shirt and hoodie, white sweat socks and ripped, comfortable underwear. I have one pair of pants and a sweater in my carryon.

This has got to be a horrible nightmare. I try to wake myself up. But, sadly, no. It’s true. The B.A. representative hands me a form to fill out, a sealed ATM card worth fifty pounds, and tells me that my bag will PROBABLY be on the next flight from London. When is that flight? Twenty-four hours, of course. There’s only one flight from Heathrow to Hyderabad every day, and I just got off the one for that day.

To Be Continued….

—- However, in other news, Mr. Hot is coming to Chicago today to spend the night. I’ll yack at you tomorrow if I come up for air. —-

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