Thursday 10 January 2008

Richard Branson is Cramping My Style

I just walked fifteen minutes in the pouring rain to pick up my luggage at my college, only to find that only one of the two bags that got dropped off actually belongs to me. (Luckily, it was the non-descript, poorly-marked one, which I figured was the most likely to disappear quietly into the abyss. Unluckily, it was not the one which contained all of my research, my dress shirts, ties, suit, and dress shoes, all of my socks, my adapters and cables, and that fucking can of hair product.) And then, to make matters worse, I popped out looking frazzled and pissed and bumped into one of those people who you don't want to run into looking frazzled and pissed because you may dig them (or maybe, maybe, you dug them once upon a time and already slept with them and now it's like, oh, hey, so how've things been going for you), and I looked like I had rolled out of bed without contacts or hair product because all of these things were actually true. Unless my bag shows up with a couple of hundred dollar bills stuffed inside, I'm going to be upset with Virgin. And even then, it had better show up tomorrow, because the dollar certainly isn't getting any stronger.

In other news, it turns out that I'm going to Israel in March. Who wants to bet that I can fit everything I need for a week in one carry-on item?

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