The current security advisory level is Orange.

I am very, very anal when it comes to travel. I hate to be rushed. I always show up with tons of time to spare. I have never been late for a plane or a train in my life, except for once when I relied on a Belgian to drive me to the Brussels train station and he took some wrong turns and ended up in the middle of the Sunday morning market and I had to sprint to the platform and made it just as the whistle blew. But I’m afraid my spotless record has been tarnished after this morning.

Last night started innocently enough: small dinner party at a buddy’s house. I’m really not sure at what point in the night I became blind drunk, but it’s pretty much a miracle that I even emerged from my coma this morning. I couldn’t say what time I got home, although I do remember that I made it back in a cab. For some inexplicable reason when I got home I decided to sort through the cards in my wallet…presumably to take out all the ones that I wouldn’t need in Vancouver. I’m pretty sure I responded to a few Facebook messages too, but I haven’t been able to assess the damage yet. And of course, classic Anne move, I randomly got up in the middle of the night to turn OFF my alarm on my cell. And when my actual radio alarm started blaring at 8am, I was so deeply passed out that I struggled with the damn thing for over 10 minutes without realizing that it was on for a REASON, and so I just turned the volume down and went back to sleep.

I finally woke up at 10am, the time I was supposed to be at the airport at. Obviously there was no time to shower, so I’m pretty sure I still smell like booze. I didn’t realize until I was lining up for check-in that I was probably still drunk. By some miracle I found a taxi on the street willing to take me to the airport, after calling my uncle and practically begging him to drive me because I was so late. He refused on account that he just woke up. It’s always nice to know you can count on family in times of stress.

So here I am now in Chicago O’hare, my second most hated airport (top prize goes to Paris CDG). Every time I pass through here something shitty happens. The first time they lost my luggage, the second time all connecting flights had been cancelled because of tornado warnings and in order to make it to the biggest competition of my Varsity ultimate career, Reg and I had to rent a car and drive the 800 miles to Columbus, Ohio because the only flight they could get us on was in two days. In retrospect it made for a great story, but as a result the word O’hare brings back very bitter memories of sprinting through the cavernous terminals, waiting in line for 2 hours to rent a car (never travel through the States during May long weekend) and playing the first day of competition on 2 hours of sleep.

The only thing that is making this lay-over in this godforsaken airport slightly more bearable is the NY Times, vitamin water and a bag of M&Ms.

Update: Three for three...those assholes somehow managed to get my snowboard gear on the flight, but left my suitcase behind. Chicago O'hare now gets top prize.