Where to Start....

Good lord. I think that about sums it all up. A girl goes on vacation for a few days and the holy gates of work open and flow into and over my inbox. I'm ready to retire. Who's with me? I don't even know where to start.

Apparently the travel gods don't like me to get anywhere without developing an ulcer. Wednesday of last week I dashed home to Philly to celebrate the arrival of Passover with 22 of my closest friends and family like a good Heeb. While it was lovely, it was over too fast. That and there's the whole "no eating bread" thing.

And maybe you ask: "But Emily, what's the big deal? You don't have to keep the holiday. No one's going to know the difference."

Ah, I guess you haven't met me then. Do you know how stubborn I am? I think that's one of the only reasons I've been a vegetarian for 12 years. Just when I'm about to break, one of my family members will say "Oh, this is some good chicken soup? Have you tried it? I mean, the chickens just sort of marinate in the water like it’s a spa and jump right out. Honest.”

And that's when I get on my high horse (in a completely non-cruel way, of course) and ride off into the sunset.

Anyway, traveling when you're not eating bread is tough because you're eating out all the time. My boyfriend was eating a piece of pizza last night and I practically licked his cheek for crumbs. (That, and I thought to myself, they should so make a pizza air freshener, because this smells heavenly.) Not one of my finest moments, though there are quite a few to choose from.

But I digress...

So after my jaunt to Philly on Wednesday, I had to head back up to New York on Thursday to make a plane out of LaGuardia that left at 5 pm that afternoon to go to Portland, Oregon. I was going to visit my friend for a few days. Simple enough, right? Not so much.

It all began with a late start and a little traffic. And so I missed my glorious Greyhound ride from Philly up to NYC. (Note: If you don’t think Greyhound is glorious, you obviously haven’t read my entry on said delightful mode of transportation.) That meant that I had to run to the train station, piss away too much money on an Amtrak ticket and cry a little. I get to NYC by 3, but I still have to get to LaGuardia.

I decide to take the subway to Queens and then catch a cab. You'd think that I'd never caught a cab before, because I was having no luck. Maybe I looked like a [gulp] tourist. Finally, with an hour and a half to go before my flight left, I hailed one.

Now I must say, I have a lot of issues with cab drivers. Too many bad drivers. Too many dudes that don't know where they're going and get mad when I get mad that we're lost. So when I got in and the cabbie leaned over the seat, I thought he was going to look at a map. I was quickly sinking into pissed mode. Then I realized that he was putting on driving gloves. This man means business! Granted, he got me to the airport in record time, but I think I left my spleen on the way.

I finally get to my flight with an hour to spare. I can relax until I have to make my connection.

We taxi down the runway. Then we pull over. For two hours. With no explanation except that air traffic control told us to wait.

This doesn't look good.

We finally take off and I'm hoping we'll make up some time. When we land in Dallas, I realize that I have 15 minutes to make my connection. And that’s before I’ve gotten off the plane.

I’m going to have to haul ass…