Here we go y’all.

After all my whining and moaning and bitching and crying about travel fiascoes in months past, Laurel and Sonia and I thought we should come up with a contest. A contest in which three of you (3! Damn. Wish I could enter.) will get rewarded for surviving a really effed-up travel experience.

Here are the rules:

• Blog about your absolute worst travel experience (train? plane? automobile? camel-back? the mode of transportation doesn’t matter - the sheer horror of it all does. Or the funny. We like to laugh.)
• Link to us (Sass Attack - And the Pursuit of Happiness - The Hotfessional) and display the badge above (with a link to this contest*)
• Get your entry written and posted before February 3rd, 2008.
• Email us at TravHellContest@gmail.com with the link to your post.

We’ll judge 1st, 2nd, and 3rd places for Excellent Prizes. (Y’know, there was Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure - hence, Excellent Prizes.)

The Excellent Prizes (something to wear, something to display, something to keep you sane) will be announced soon after February 3rd (y’all, that’s the deadline, in case you missed it up top there).

*If you need the code to link the badge, send an email to the TravelHell Contest address. We’ll get you the code.

—- Because, sometimes getting there sucks. —-

- A new contest

- News about 24 (the stepson, not the show)

And surely,

- How I am going to be stuck at O’Horror this evening trying to get home since it’s foggy and rainy here and incoming flights are delayed.  I know you’re tired of travel stories, but y’all?  I promise I’ll be back to normal soon.

—- Now I’m off to get into a cab so I can sit in the airport for a few hours, ya’ll. —-

And Bossy was right. I set myself up. But only by an hour. Once we got on the plane, and the ground crew decided to hurry us out to get de-iced (a 20 minute procedure all by itself), a “light” came on in the cockpit. This is what happens when Hotfessional gets cocky about her ass, a plane, and leaving.on.time.

I think the pilot’s exact words were, “Uh, ladies and gentlemen, we were just finishing our status check when a light started flashing in here, so we’ve called for maintenance to come out and see what it is.” There may or may not have been a murmured, “Oh Shit!” in the background.

At that point, I tried to sleep. I’ve been on planes waiting for maintenance before. Once, 3 hours after maintenance got there, they decided that the replacement part was fucked up too, so “Let’s go find another plane!”.

Surprisingly, about 30 minutes after our scheduled departure (they really need to come up with another phrase for that, because, y’know, there’s nothing departure about that schedule), we were headed out for de-icing.

Off the plane, onto the train from O’Horror into the city, a 10 block walk to the office, and ta-da! I’m here.

I’m having dinner with all of my boyfriends tonight (re: the other managers), where I’m sure there will be much drinking and bullshitting. I’ll take notes. I’m sure they’ll provide some interesting tidbits.

—- In the meantime, I’m off to a meeting with someone that I’ve really, truly disliked (abhorred, hated, detested, despised) for about 11 years. I know you wish you were me. —-

Dear American Airlines,

I received my shiny new AAdvantage Platinum card in the mail. Thank you so much for recognizing the continued patronizing you’ve given me patronage I’ve given you since I started all of this business travel in 1999. It’s nice to know that I can count on American to get me where I want to go eventually better late than never.

The upgrades to first class are very welcome. The seats are comfortable even though you no longer give pillows except there’s always sitting someone behind me so I can’t recline and the flight attendants are welcoming. They serve swill coffee and stale cookies granola bars with a smile. Even on the first flight out in the morning.

Speaking of the first flight out, I’m assuming that since you’ve changed the time of your first flight from Detroit to Chicago from damned early 7:10 a.m. to Oh mah holy hell early 6:50 a.m. that we will be less likely to encounter delays due to ground stops at O’Horror O’Hare. That will be great news - on time arrivals are much more relaxing for business travelers rushing to get downtown for their first meetings. It fuckin’ better happen too, because I’ll have to get up at 4:00 a.m. to get to the airport now instead of the leisurely 4:30 a.m. I’ve been getting up to make that flight.

I look forward to another peaceful and stress free flight tomorrow. Thank heaven I saved some of Shortman’s leftover post-surgery Vicodin.

See you then!

Love, The Hotfessional

Update:  Mary @ My Piece of the World gets the bonus points for Burgermeister Meisterburger, the evil “no presents” dude on Santa Claus is Coming to Town.  Yay, Mary!

I’ve always been in love with old architecture. I would wander the streets of downtown Detroit (in the daytime - I’m ballsy, not stupid) while I was working a temp job for a stock brokerage that no longer exists (Story of my life. If I ever come work with you, be afraid); with my eyes straining skyward, looking at the Fisher Building

and Mariner’s Church (where they honor the Edmund Fitzgerald’s dead crew).

Chicago, my second home, has gorgeous buildings of course. But so much of it was lost in the fire. If you’ve read The Devil in the White City you’ll know that very few of Chicago’s buildings survived. The Rookery (completed in 1888) is the oldest high rise in Chicago that is still standing.

But I’ve never, in my life, seen anything like the architecture that I saw while I was in Amsterdam. I found these pictures, and thought I’d share them. I hope you don’t mind.

The Pulitzer Hotel
From the website: Overlooking two of the city’s most picturesque canals, Prinsengracht and Keizersgracht, Hotel Pulitzer, A Luxury Collection Hotel is ideally located in the middle of the old city center of Amsterdam. Our unique hotel is comprised of 25 restored 17th and 18th century canal houses. Named to Condé Nast Traveler’s 2004 Gold List, we are unlike any other hotel. Each of our 230 distinctive guest rooms represents a small piece of Dutch history and culture. Located in the beautiful gardens, our art gallery offers multiple expositions each year.

The room that I stayed in was in a house built in 1620. I had to duck if I wore my stilettos. Well, that or brain myself on the beams.

And the view from the window? More canal houses on the other side of the courtyard. I don’t know whether it was luck or a shame that the person in the room across the way wasn’t an exhibitionist. Based on some of the other guests I knew were staying there? It was probably lucky.

Walking down the Prinsengracht, trying not to get lost in a new city (country, continent, why be picky?), I picked the highest point I could see as my landmark. I knew as long as I could see the top of Westerkerk (West Church), I could find my way back.

It was also built in 1620; the tower is over 245 feet high. Rembrandt was buried here in 1669. I only wish I’d have known at the time that it was possible to climb to the top of the tower to see the city.

As an avid reader who discovered The Diary of Anne Frank when I was around 8, the opportunity to tour the house where she and her family hid brought tears to my eyes.

Her house is in the center. The hiding place is high in the back of the house. All of the walls where she pinned up pictures of movie stars are covered in plexiglass; photos still in place. It’s small and cramped and eight people had to be perfectly silent in order to save their lives.

This statue is nearby, honoring Anne:

A walk over to Dam Square , and handing over more Euros, meant I got to tour The Royal Palace. It was originally built in 1648 as a city hall for the Burgomeister. (Why does that word make me think of this guy?)

Bonus points if you provide his full name in the comments along with the name of the show.

More Dam Square:

New Church built around 1400. (Y’all? 1400. And it’s called the New Church.)

And across from New Church? Madame Tussaud’s wax museum.

—- I could have had my picture taken standing next to Brangelina (they’re both there) or George (Clooney, not Bush - I would have had to melt his ass). Instead, I opted for a seat next to the canal. And a house speciality. Lots of Amstel —-