Last night, Mr. Hot said to me, “Have you printed off your boarding pass?” I told him no, that I planned on printing it at the airport.

I’ve never known you to do that before.

No reply was necessary, because he – as usual – was right.

You’re banking on the flight being cancelled, aren’t you?

Well, yes, I was.

And when my phone rang at 12:30 am, a mere two hours after I’d fallen asleep, I was convinced it was American Airlines calling me to tell me that, indeed, my flight was cancelled.

No.

It was a wrong number.

I tossed and turned for another hour or so, and then I guess I fell asleep because the next thing I knew, the alarm was going off. Four o’clock. Woo-fucking-hoo.

I looked outside and saw WHITE. The snow had arrived. All of the melted areas that I had so gleefully stared at all weekend – when the temps hit the upper 40s – were gone. The driveway was covered. When I let the dog out and flipped on the outside light, the beam barely cut through the blizzard that was raining down.

I checked again for an email – something that would give me the excuse I needed to crawl back under the covers for another hour or two – but again, no.

Sigh.

Instead of getting into the car at 5:30, we left at 5. No tracks on our street. One set of tires had driven down the road we take out to town. Pulling onto U.S. 12, we found the going a bit easier, but still, I hung onto the edge of my seat and mumbled profanities at the idiot who felt the need to tailgate us all the way out to I-94.

(It wasn’t evil that I laughed when we saw that same idiot spin into a circle and nearly end up in a ditch when he decided to pass us on the right, was it? I didn’t think so.)

After 40 more white-knuckled minutes on the road, I was deposited at the terminal. Extracting a promise that he would CALL ME when he made it home, I made my way through security and to my gate. Forty minutes later, he called to say he’d made it. That’s when I started breathing again.

Then I looked out the window and saw this:

The crew was an hour late because they couldn’t make it in from their hotel. Another hour went by before we were de-iced. Thirty more minutes to sit in line (and I wondered if we’d have to be de-iced AGAIN) and wait for a runway to clear.

—- Did I mention that when I took my scarf off to go through security, it was tangled in my wig and I pulled my hair off? Oh hell yea. What an awesome morning. —-

Pretend I’m whispering this since it’s supposed to be wordless.

I lost a day this week. Actually, all of my days are running together since I’m buried under Day 728 of January. Don’t tell me there aren’t more than 31 days in January – I got to the office this morning at 7:20 and left at 8:05 tonight. THEN I got to the hotel, logged in, and answered emails and filled in blank spreadsheet cells for another 90 minutes. My eyes are crossing and I can’t spell or type any longer. /whisper

Shilparaman – the craft village where I bought a shirt that was way.too.tight.

Schoolgirls on a field trip. I loved their braids and their uniforms.

The sign in front of the ’spa’ at the same craft village. I hope the sign is legible – it was the reason for the photo.

No, I didn’t use the facilities.

These were all taken in Hyderabad on Saturday, December 5th, 2009. Why does that seem so long ago now?

—- Tomorrow – 1976 relived. The Hotfessional goes to Junior High and moves to the boondocks. Now, though? zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz —-

Continued from here.

Friday morning came, and with it, the realization that we were finally in the home stretch. Once again, we loaded our butts into a caravan of, well, vans, and headed to the second-to-last site. As I was settling myself into my conference room chair (the BEST chair of the entire two weeks; I was keeping track), I figured out that my Blackberry was missing. Considering it was my only link to home, panic set in quickly. You know – the clammy hands, the buzzing head, the heart palpitations. Oh, wait. The head and hands things may have been the hangover from the evening before, but yea, it wasn’t fun.

An all-points-bulletin went out. Luckily, one of the drivers found it on the floor of the backseat. My heartbeat was back to normal and lots of water cured the rest.

Another 12 hour day ended with another dinner. Indian food again!

*****lalalalala*****

Saturday was supposed to be our rest day. Until, that is, those plans changed and we were told to be down in the lobby for a short visit to an Indian cultural center. “Short” turned out to be 6 hours of presentations and sightseeing – complete with quizzes to test what we learned. I was not amused.

I had planned on sleeping in, checking out the hotel grounds, and reading. Instead, I spent the day battling exhaustion and stabbing pains in my abdominal area (which, if they had been caused by, say, crunches instead of 10 days of Indian food, probably would have made me feel virtuous instead of slothy and gluttonlike).

Instead, I saw these musicians:

They were very good, but it’s not likely you’ll be hearing their music on the Top 40 anytime soon.

and these dancers (and no, I didn’t dance, I only posed):

I nearly fell over trying to stand on one leg. I grabbed the guy’s arm. Ewwww. Sweaty.

I got dressed in a sari:

Yes, it was comfortable and beautiful, and No, I didn’t buy one. It doesn’t work with the office dress code.

Saw this historic church:

One of only three in the world built over the grave of one of the 12 Apostles. (St. Thomas, in case you didn’t click the link.)

And the temple I showed you here.

I sniffed the salty air of the Bay of Bengal:

where this guy tried to sell us horseback rides.

and we all hoped that the typhoon predicted to hit the next day would pass us by. (It didn’t, but nicely waited until Tuesday evening when we were on our way home.)

After all of that, I begged off from eating dinner and went back to my hotel room. Within 10 minutes of pulling up the covers, I was sound asleep. I managed to wake briefly – long enough for a quick conversation with Mr. Hot (thank gawd for G00gle Talk) – before calling it done for the night. The next time my eyes opened, it was morning.

—- Sunday. A new hotel. One last vendor visit. Ten days down, just over two to go. —-

Have you ever had one of those days when you just can’t wait to get your hair off?

Alright, so that’s only applicable to a handful of us out there, but as I get through this post, you’ll probably be able to relate to what I’m talking about. And if you can’t? I hate you. Then you’re a much more patient person that I’ll ever dream of being.

At 3 p.m., I diligently checked American Airlines’ website to see what time my 5:25 flight was scheduled to depart. It had been snowing in Chicago since midnight, and although it had slowed down, it was headed across the lake to points East. The same way I was trying to head. I was surprised to see that it was only delayed until 6:10, but – hope shines true and all that shit. So, I packed up and headed out to O’Horror.

There were all of 2 people in the security line when I arrived. This should have been a clue as to how the day was going to progress.

At 6:10, there was no plane for us to leave on. The gate attendant announced that it would arrive in 15-20 minutes.

Suddenly, our new departure time was 7:10. At a different gate. Downstairs.

Then the board changed again. 7:30 p.m. departure. Upstairs gate.

At 7:08, the plane hadn’t arrive. 7:50 p.m. departure.

There were 51 people on the standby list from other flights that had been canceled. There are 74 seats on the type of plane we were using.

As Mr. Hot and I were texting, an 8:15 departure was posted. It was 7:48. Had we left on time, I’d have been home, drink in hand and curled up on the couch.

I overheard one tall man telling another tall man that he was trying to get home to see his son in the hospital. His flight had been direct from Miami to Detroit originally, but they had been diverted to Chicago. And now he was stuck there.

Somehow, between 7:48 and 7:57, our departure was postponed ANOTHER 45 minutes. According to the powers that be, we’d be leaving at 9.

We also changed gates again. They told us G6A, but dear Mr. Hot, watching at home, told me it was G4. Mr. Hot was right.

I started speaking to a young guy standing next to me. There were no seats so we leaned against the wall. I found out that he’d been on the 3:15 flight – one of the ones that American had actually canceled. He had come in from Seattle (where he’s in the Navy) to get to his fiance, in labor with their first child. He was one of the 51 people on the standby list.

I listened to Buckcherry on my music player.

At 9:06, I sent Mr. Hot another text. “Now it’s 9:15. They’re such fucking liars.”

At 9:09, I sent another. “I’m on the plane.”

At 9:19, he sent me one. “Now, 9:30.”

Then they brought a mechanic on the plane to check a “Malfunctioning Signal Light” or some such bullshit. At 9:35, the mechanic gave us the approval to go.

We still hadn’t been de-iced.

At 10:02, the pilot said the de-icer would be there by 10:40.

At 11:00 p.m., that same pilot started giving us updates for the BCS Championship game. None of us gave a shit.

At 11:10, the flight attendants passed out water.

At 11:20, they handed out all of the trail mix and roasted almonds that they had on board. Since they normally charge $5 each for one of those little bags…I knew we were fucked. not leaving anytime soon.

Two flights from Chicago to Detroit that were originally scheduled for AFTER us (the 6:40 p.m. and the 9:50 p.m.) had both taken off AND landed in Detroit by this time.

At 11:45, more water was offered. I asked for vodka. I didn’t get it.

Finally. At midnight. The de-icers arrived, sprayed us with anti-freeze, and we backed from the gate. I closed my eyes.

We hit the air, wheels up at 12:15 a.m., a mere 6 hours and 50 minutes late.

After landing, finding a car service driver (I had told Mr. Hot to go to bed hours earlier) and making it the final 25 miles on empty, snow-covered roads, I crawled into my bed at 2.

No one got angry. It wasn’t American’s fault, it wasn’t O’Horror’s fault. It was just one of those days when traveling means that things are going to suck at a much higher level. Detroit’s airport closed because they couldn’t keep up with clearing the runways. Chicago’s airport ground crew couldn’t keep up with the de-icing; they’d clean one and it would get delayed and they’d have to do it over.

—- But getting in my own bed? With my husband and my dog? Nothing ever, ever felt so good. —-

The day in Chicasnow included:

1 car splashing slush all over my pantleg on the way to work this morning.
2 people falling on their asses in the middle of the slick street.
3 meetings where people shook their heads sadly when I mentioned I was trying to fly home tonight.
2 flights cancelled before mine.
40 minute 1 hour delay of my flight. So far.
8 to 14 inches of disgusting white stuff.

—- 7,268 people waiting in O’Horror with me. —-