As yesterday afternoon's web log post might've suggested, I should be slugging sangria and slaying tapas in Seville with my homies right now, but instead I'm sitting at my dining room table in San Francisco typing this entry and wondering whether or not the two-pound chicken burrito from Whole Foods that I chose for dinner last night was a good idea considering how I'll be trapped on an airplane for like a dozen hours starting at 6:45 tonight.

What happened yesterday was that my flight out of SFO got canceled due to weather conditions at LAX (always sunny my flat ass) which caused me to miss my connection to London and then subsequently Seville. And because I booked a portion of my trip through one of those janky discount sites they wouldn't reschedule or refund my flights, so for a good two or more hours I didn't think I'd be going to Spain at all. But then I went home, took a deep breath, called my sister, popped one of the anxiety pills that my doctor prescribed for flying but that I've only ever actually taken on the night that Trump got elected and started scouring the Web for a decent fare for today, which I found through Quiznos Air (or something of the like) out of Oakland.

Barring anymore unforseen setbacks, I should be livin' la vida loca in Spain tomorrow night and the only damages I'll have incurred aside from the heavy psychological toll this will ultimately prove to have taken are that I'm out a good bit of dollars and I'll miss a day and a half of my vacation.

(I'm fully aware that perspective has never been a strength of mine, but even I know this hiccup isn't so major. If the new flight I'm on crashes, however, please know that before impact I'll have sung a different tune.)

I think it's important to point out that some good things did come out of this, too. For instance, my college roommate Danielle and I enjoyed a lovely and long-overdue FaceTime catch-up sesh and I got to see the latest episode of Will & Grace as it was meant to be seen, on the couch next to Bevan and Buddy. I also had an opportunity to rethink my packing choices (three bathing suits for five days was a little excessive, even for me). And finally, I had one whole additional shower to fine-tune my version of "Michael in the Bathroom" in the event that Barcelona calls on me to perform in a surprise tourist-only episode of "Spain's Got Talent" while I’m in town.

Alright, I've only got seven and a half hours before my flight takes off, so I've gotta go get hammered now. If I don't post ever again, blame Quiznos.