a journey, a single step. it begins.

On Friday night, we headed to the airport for our 8:40 flight up to San Francisco. We already knew it was delayed until 9:10, because of rain there (in S.F.?! No way!?). Had some nachos, which is the vegetarian's go-to food when you're at a crappy airport bar/restaurant. Turned our backs while we ate on some loud, misogynistic middle-aged men from Jersey, who fit right in here in San Diego. Prayed we would be sitting nowhere near them on the plane.

Our flight was delayed again, this time until 9:40. Bought a National Geographic, read an interesting story about wild horses in America (some are direct descendants of those that were brought here by conquistadores centuries ago, and still have traces of striped markings). Listened to "Kim and Jessie" on the iPod more times than was absolutely necessary. The plane was delayed further, until 10:10 or so, and when i went to get the requisite pre-flight double vodka, the damn bar had just closed. Not to be a drama queen, but this made me extremely unhappy. Wasn't sure how well i was going to handle it. We finally boarded, where we all sat around for way too long at the gate, and i began to wonder if we were waiting for a last-minute passenger? Turns out we had been delayed for take-off, this time, and wouldn't be leaving the tarmac until 10:50. Fuck! BART stops running at around midnight. Would we make it in time? At one point it felt like we weren't even going to make it at all: the turbulence just minutes after taking off was possibly the worst i have ever sat through, and i was actually crying, tears were falling (yes, yes, i know: drama queen behavior). It sucked. Nat and i doodled on some barf bags to distract ourselves. ("Let 'er rip!" and a drawing of a thumbs-up. Also: "Happy Barfing! Hope you feel better.")

Touched down at 11:50, ran down the causeway and through the airport, got on the shuttle to the BART station... where it was already closed. Closed. Closed. The last train had left at 11:50, so there was no way we would have made it. We headed back to the terminal, and tried to find help in the huge, abandoned halls of SFO, but their computerized "information" system had very little actually helpful information. There was nothing about buses, or any other way to get to the East Bay once you've missed BART. Finally, i heard a little voice: You need help? A skinny young man pushing around a giant broom appeared from behind a corner. His name tag said Rolando. He directed us left, right, straight left, then down the elevator, finally to Garage G, where we got lost and supremely frustrated, and headed back upstairs. i was starting to lose it a little. Then another helpful fellow, S. Guam, pushing a mop, helped us out a little farther and we finally made it to the tiny bus stop outside, where we ran but just missed a bus.

Sat there for 20 minutes, stewing at the prospect of taking a long bus ride to downtown S.F. and then waiting almost an hour for another long bus ride across the bridge to get to my friend's house (who was already asleep) around 3 or 4 in the morning. i felt like punching someone in the gut. After some waffling discussion, Nat and i decided that fuck it, we were going to get a hotel room near the airport and deal with this all in the morning. We had some extra money, and it was a borderline emergency, so yeah. Called a few hotels from the airport; the lady at Travelodge (our 1st choice: the cheapest room, and closest to BART) apparently had an anger-management problem, and hung up on Nat because we couldn't communicate exactly where we were in the vast, multi-level international terminal. Good times.

i did cartwheels outside while we waited for the free shuttle to our second hotel choice: the Clarion. It looked super-swanky, and cost us $99+tax, but didn't even have a free breakfast! What a burn. Kicked off our shoes, brushed our teeth, and marveled at the free Showtime, which has turned into way more of a Spice Channel since i was a kid. Set the alarm (Live 105!), slept like a baby.