All parka-ed up and no where to freeze.
So… my trip to Iceland is cancelled. I’d be gutted, if this situation wasn’t so nut-balls-bonkers…
The woman heading up the press tour disappeared for 10 whole days a couple weeks before we were scheduled to leave — with no tickets booked for anyone. Ten days later, she popped by to drop a super-disjointed email, apologizing for being out of reach for “3 days” and cc’ing the airline we were supposedly partnering with. That airline’s response: “[Name], as me and my team have told you repeatedly neither me nor [airline] are your partner and we are certainly not part of this production.”
Her response: To change the subject of the group email to “HATE STUPID BUSINESS MEN,” start slinging shit at the airline, and telling us to “Forget them, all dear guests. NIGHTMARE from A to Z !!!”
Yeah… at that point (four days before we were supposed to fly out!) I got all “Bye, Felicia!” I don’t care if you miraculously pull plane tickets out of your ass, I’m not putting myself in your completely irresponsible hands for international travel. I imagine myself showing up to Iceland without a place to stay — drifting on an iceberg like that sad polar bear, with only my newly purchased down jacket and stylish waterproof boots to keep me warm. (Oh yes, I purchased stuff. Idiot me.)
I also got word that I didn’t get that house. I got out-bid at the final hour. I’m so pissed. This house, while obviously making my life more stressful (mortgage payments, wut!?) was also going to be make this life transition a LOT easier. It was 10 minutes walking distance from the apartment Aaron moved into — which would make dog custody really easy. It was 10 minutes walking, and 7 minutes driving distance from all my best friend friends — which would make hand-holding sessions easier. And it was going to provide a great distraction and a brand new start for myself. But wasn’t meant to be. Blah blah blah.
But at least we still have Paris! Even though all this tumult, I was not about to rob my mom of a Parisian trip TWICE. Get this: The first time she was going to go, my parents got the midnight phone call everyone dreads — my father’s dad had died from a heart attack. They had to change their plans for a flight for two to Paris, to a flight for five to Louisiana for the funeral. So I just couldn’t bring myself to cancel my mom’s first trip to Paris again.
She and I just confirmed our tickets and hotel stay — we will be leaving for Paris on May 14th! I shall drown my lost house and lost marriage woes in baguettes, cheese, and wine as we enjoy Paris in springtime. Aren’t I such a good daughter? 
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