Saturday, May 27, 2006

Why I Hate International Travel

by Liz Fies

Flew halfway around the world to go to freaking Santa Monica. I shit you not. I´ve basically been in Santa Monica the past week.

Guess where I´m supposed to be?

Atlanta for my connecting flight.

Guess where I am?

Effing Madrid.

Guess where my luggage is?


Eff Spain and their laxadazical time-telling, connecting flights that leave EARLY, and their directions that consist of ¨Just go out of the terminal and make a left and then a right¨ when what they mean is ¨RUN out of the terminal because you´re LATE because we lost your bags, make a left and RUN for 1 MILE, THEN make a right and GO DOWNSTAIRS.¨


It´s a good thing I was a rock star in the discoteque or I´d be putting a voodoo curse on the whole lot of them right now. For some reason, I have INDESCRIBABLE GAME in Spain. Now infamous among villa-ites for attracting Spanish men. Kooky. Too bad I´m NEVER coming back.

I´m so effing tired I finally understand the movie ¨Lost in Translation.¨

The company was spectacular. Probably have never had that much fun in my life with such an amazing group of people. But you know what? It could have been anywhere. They were that totally awesome. So awesome they should be arrested.

Got laid...disapointing. And no second shot at it when he´d be more able; it was a onesie - never - happened - thing, forgotten instantaneosly. Then was alternately abused and ignored by Meathead Freakshow all week at the villa. I did not choose wisely. Got the recreational sex thing right, but forgot to add female orgasm and ¨dude doesn´t turn into a crampy PMSing woman¨ to the visualization list. If there were ever a case for ¨Why buy the bull(sh*t) when the sausage is free?¨ Finally ratted him out to the girls, and they banded together and gave him a little what for. Funny story. More on that later.

Found out I´ve been wearing the wrong bra size and that I´m actually a 34DD. How the hell did that happen, and maybe I should stop trying to diet away the thighs and just accept the god-given bounty?

Kissed a few random Spaniards, none of whom had game. Leered at one hot hot gardener all week. Made a new BFF.

And Liz doesn´t care anymore, because Liz just wants to come home.

Liz may permanently speak in the third person. And change her name to Jade.

Next time Liz is just going back to Hawaii.


jackt said...

Flying commercial in Spain and hoping for on-time flights and properly routed luggage and is akin to slitting your wrists with an x-acto knife and hoping the veins will cauterize before you bleed to death.

Kid Sis said...


MIM said...

Lost in Translation 2: Connecting Flight Luggage.

But what is it about women in my life named Elizabeth that keep telling me their bra size?

Liz #1: HS Liz, my junior year best friend and senior year crush, a 5'6" band chick who played jazz trombone, who told me for some unknown reason while she's driving me home from school that she's a perfect dress size 5 and measured out at "36...24...30--Oh, we're here, call me later, OK?"

Liz #2: CC's kid sister, who during one of my first Christmases with the family, was qutie visibly happy when she received a 3-pack fo Wonderbras for Christmas.

Eh, -- shrug--.


Lynne said...

Oh my god, you are the craziest funniest person, I LOVE you.... comedy writing.... made me laugh this morning, and if you only knew what a bad couple of days I have had .... the laughing felt so good. (not at your expense, really)

I'm sorry about the disappointments! I've been to Santa Monica, ain't no big thing, seriously Northern Michigan has beaches and scenery that outshine it, and have no crowds and stuff

travel safely home
maybe you can arrange for some Spaniards to visit