So last night I am parking Roberta and grabbing the groceries out of the trunk (simultaneously, you should see it) when the H appears on the front porch.
He says solemnly: "OK, so, I have a little bit of bad news. But it's going to be okay; you don't have to freak out."
And then I had a heart attack and DIED. Right there on the street in front of our home.
DIED! Because someone was ABSOLUTELY dead this time.
I clutched my chest, eyes wide, and listened.
"Orbitz called. They canceled our flight home from Argentina... I'm on the phone with them now trying to figure it out."
"Oh my God, J. I thought someone was dead!"
J is on the phone for another hour as I cook dinner. Turns out Orbitz? Delta? Utter fucking douchebags. They canceled our return flight home. Just like that. And then they left us with two options:
1. Fly home a day early.
2. Fly home a day later.
Gee. Thanks, dudes. But surely you will pay for an extra night at our hotel?
K, so then, you will upgrade us to first class?
Er, so then, you will make sure we can at least sit together on the 11-hour flight home?
So, yeah, that worked out for us.
In the end, we opted for more time in Buenos Aires. And the greatest hotel evah, Bobo, was more than happy to accommodate us.
(Oh, though my guess is, this is because we are flying into Swine Flu Central. Thanks, MSNBC. Meh.)
Oh, and then, this morning, stupid Robin Roberts just had to report on THIS. And she even had to comment to Lisa Stark: "We've been hearing so much about SEVERE turbulence lately; it's becoming a real problem for the airlines."
HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE
But nothing can thwart me this morning: I am an optimistic beacon of sunshine and fucking rainbows. Bitches.
And so, I leave you with this dude.
This morning he asked me (personally, through the talking picture box), to test myself and see how much I lie in one day.
Oh, it is on, and to be blogged about.
Happy Monday, y'all!
(Seriously: I am just still so happy that all of you are alive. Gloriously alive!)