Dirty Girl

Back.

That ride sucked.

Two of my 4 flights were delayed.
(Warning: Long post!)

My flights in Spain were all on time, however in Heathrow, it was a different story.
Let me start off with my flight in Barcelona.
Upon arriving in Barcelona from Bilbao, I only had 1 hour and 15 minutes before my connecting flight to LHR took off.
So I land with only a five minute delay. Lucky for me, I had been to BCN earlier this week after the Barcelona game. I knew where to go... but when I arrived... I was a little confused.
I had to exit the airport, come back in, check in at the British Airways counter... and when I walked to the counter, I saw a huge nightmare: a gaggle of Brit kids (about 30 of them between 12-14 years old) making line to check their luggage.
I started getting unnerved... even after reaching the counter, because the lady was so damn slow. She gave me my seats for both the BCN-LHR flight and the LHR-LAX flight.
Afterwards, I had to run through security checkpoint, where I stood behind 3 of the most senile 20-something year olds; slow as a motherfucker... and also this one lady that wouldn't remove her fucking jewelry. I wanted to slap that damn woman on the fourth time she walked by the metal detector and alarmed.
TAKE OFF YOUR FUCKING JEWELRY, RETARD!!

I was on my A game, I was wearing no metal... not even in my bra (I learned that fucking lesson.Wear a sports bra, genius!), and I just passed on by.
I ran to my gate, and reached it right as they began to board.
However, before getting into the actual plane, I had to pass by customs. I was asked about my trips, the officer was a little skeptical about my actual date of entry (people stamped my passport all jacked up when I traveled for spring break), but finally stamped my passport and let me on the plane.
I was middle seat. Booooo.

There was turbulence getting in to LHR, but I survived.
I made perfect timing for my LHR-LAX flight, boarded, took my seat, watched an episode of "Flight of the Concords" (I LOVE that show now. I watched it at my brother's flat back in London, and couldn't stop laughing), but noticed the plane wasn't going anywhere after the episode was over.

OK... what the fuck?

Turns out some pilot guy was lost... there was a huge storm going on somewhere near Greenland or something... and, well, point is, we sat in the plane for 2 whole hours. I watched all of "Brick Lane" while waiting for take-off, for crying out loud.
Once in air, I was pretty chill... if it weren't for the lady sitting in the window seat of my row. She took ownership of the seat next to me, and went as far as put her feet ON me as she slept (and she also took my complimentary pillow!!).
People would confuse her for my mom... which dumbfounded me, since she was Indian (from India), wearing a sari... and I think I look pretty damn Mexican, damn it! How do I look Indian? Is it my eyebrows again? Sorry, man, I couldn't find a threading place while in Spain... wait... people who thread eyebrows are Indian... my bad... ok, now I get it.

Anyway, I arrived at LAX an hour and a half later than expected, and by the time I passed customs, it was 8:45 PM... my plane to Vegas took off at 9:45PM.
So I get on this stupid ass shuttle, once in there, I realize it's taking people to lot C, not the terminals.
So I plead to get off at terminal 7, the terminal the was after the terminal I had originally exited from.
I stood around waiting for the damn airport terminal shuttle until 9 PM, once it didn't come, I just said "Fuck it," grabbed my two 44-pound suitcases and hauled ass... to terminal 1.... at LAX... with some very fucking stupid people who'd just stand there in my way.
I ran... a lot... and I mean a lot, by the time I reached terminal 1, I was covered in sweat, regardless of the 60-degree weather. My blue track jacket was looking black, with my all-encompassing sweat stain on the back.
My hair was greasy as shit, my eyes were blood shot from the lack of sleep (I once again watched movies until my eyes hurt. "The Savages" made me cry... I liked it even if I couldn't hear a good amount of the movie [maybe I'm biased to like Laura Linney. She's pretty rad]. "Walk Hard" just irritated me, sadly.), a white toothpaste stain on the right (boob) side of my blue shirt (why must I do that whenever I'm in a hurry?), and once again, I was pretty damn incoherent... oh, and I was panting, obviously... and my shoes squeaked a lot.
Once I reached the check-in counter, the stupid girl checking me in was taking her sweat ass time... talking with all her fucking stupid buddies... I was so fucking irritated.
They pretty much thought I was some crazy person (yeah, like that's some sort of fucking novelty in Los Angeles... stupid fucks) and I even got this bizarre stare from the guy at the security checkpoint (you know, the "What the fuck is wrong with you?!" look. What, you mean you don't get those?) because I hadn't shown him my boarding pass (suck it, old man. Fuck you, you'd be panting and greasy and fucked up if you had been running around, in-and-out of airports for 23 hours, give me a fucking break!).
I ran to my gate, saw they were boarding... showed the lady my ticket... she screamed at me
"This isn't your flight!"
which made me stand there in huge confusion.
Umm... it says Las Vegas... it's Southwest... it's 9:45 PM... it's gate 13... what the fuck? Don't tell me I missed my flight!
Turns out "my flight" had ben delayed until 10:30 PM.

So... I took a seat... scared the cholo sitting next to me (that's right, I scared him)... I don't know... maybe it was my newly-acquired European funk... and I whipped out my cell phone.
Ah yes... I'm in AMERICA! God bless you, American continent!
I sent text messages to my heart's content, and waited for the time to fly by.

In the plane, I sat next to some Rico Suave who was going to head straight to the club from LAS... and all around me, these stupid ass fucking retarded pricky white boys took up 6 seats... screaming, laughing, talking shit about everything, talking about how much money they have...
"Wooo hooo! VEGAS BABY!" "WE OWN THIS CITY!" "I've been there like, 3 fucking times, dude, I KNOW this city!" etc.
Turns out one of the guys (20 years old, mind you) is getting married in two weeks and the other guys decided to throw him his bachelor party in Vegas.
They were sort of friendly, I guess... maybe it was the beers in them.
??
But anyway, they talked... and talked... and shared so much fucking information (ex. "This guy, man, he's getting married in two weeks! To his sister [points to the ONE cute guy of the bunch] and you know what? He's probably the only fucking virgin on this flight! I can't believe I'm in the presence of a fucking virgin, man! A GUY virgin! This girl is REALLY going to be his first everything"... to which I thought "Holy shit, a GUY virgin!? OMG... I can't believe it either!"), I wanted to punch them in the back of the head after a while.

And, at 11:30 PM, I finally reached Las Vegas, saw my folks holding my luggage, hugged them and looked very uncool kissing them and whatnot, in front of the bachelor party, but whatever.
We got lost in the parking lot (my folks forgot where they had parked) where I became somewhat upset and muttered
"What the fuck?! How the fuck?! Shit man! What the fuck? You guys really ARE old!"

Then I felt bad because I think I hurt daddy's feelings (he walked away, and when he found the car, parked a floor below, he only called us to let us know, and stayed seated in the car).

Poor dad... I don't see him for 4 weeks... he's been through a lot with this whole hepatitis scare... and I call him "old" and drop the f-bomb like I'm getting paid for it right in his face.

I'm so bad... I'm giving the French people a run for their money.