Landing

So, we arrive in Switzerland to find that our bags have not arrived with us (the main reason to always pack your life in a carry on...at least internationally). It wasn't not a total bust because 4 bags and 4 carry ons (if you include gigantic purses, sorry guys) between 2 rather petite ladies was something I was not particularly looking forward to. Now, we can take a train, get a cheap taxi and head to the apartment a lot quicker (which is what we then do). The promise is that our bags will be delievered in a few hours but if you've ever had bag trouble, you know that's a big fat lie (or hope rather...it's a lie tho!). So I'm tharving as Ry would say (I consider it thirsty+starving but he has a different definition) but we can't leave the apartment because none of the contact cell phones work and if we miss the delivery, we miss the bags and we NEED the bags. So no food for the night, no hair products, no towels which means no shower...did I mention no food? When I get antsy, I make up songs (well...that's not true. I always make up songs but antsy was the catalyst here). Last night it was "Bienvenido." It was a fun, nifty little tune until I started getting into and was singing quite loudly. My mother informed me that they call the police on you around here if you make noise after 10pm. So that got shut down. Thank-you ma. The next day has arrived and still no bags. Still no food. Still no towels and still no shower...but my breath is fresh...thank GOD for that!

Dans Paris...

It was impossible to sleep on the plane. I was stuck in the middle (a situation that happened while I was distracted by my oversized carry-on not being able to fit in the overhead compartment), upright with air blasting up my nostrils. At one point, I couldn't breathe good! I'm exhausted and surely dehydrated BUT the plane did land so all thanks to the Big Guy. The chicken and rice was scrumptuous (sp) and the little coffee I had wasn't half bad. The french men working in Charles De Gualle Airport are quite handsome and my temporary Lolita look seems to be "pulling them in" (as my family would say) quite nicely. YET that's neither here nor there. A french man is the LAST thing I need in my life. The question remains, then, what do I need in my life? Well, for starters, I would really like to brush my teeth and rinse with flouride. I wouldn't mind a giant cup of coffee (blacker is always better), my cheap nasal spray (which surprisingly works miracles up my nose) and...ummm...a big buly man to carry all my bags through this airport then in Geneva and then carry me to my final destination. Is that too much for a girl to ask? Geeze Louise!