Into Everyone’s Life A Little Motivation Will Fall

Six hours

I have six hours until I need to be on a flight to the UK, followed by three days “on”, a day to fly home, two days of laundry, groceries, and prep then four days in Chicago, five days in Rome, and one week home. Then it’s on to one week in New York, a long weekend in Louisville, a few days of baseball practice, birthday parties, and laundry, a week in Dusseldorf, a week at home … two weeks in Eastern Europe. Then, finally, I’ll get a nice long six week break before I start it all up again.

I’ll earn this year’s Gold Medallion status in just one quarter of work travel.  But, today, I just can’t seem to must two f*cks to give. 

I love my job. I love to travel. I love to pack, and head out on a great adventure.  But sometimes, I love to sit on my bed, with a nice glass of Pinot, and watch Keeping Up With Kardashians.  And, until July – there will be no time for such luxury.

So, right now, instead of going to get the mani-pedi I desperately need, or packing up my still empty suitcase, or tackling the laundry mountain that is threatening to swallow me whole, I am wallowing. I’m still in last night’s T-shirt, snuggled under the covers, too pre-emptively tired to even reach across the bed for the remote control, and Pinteresting packing ideas (as if that will magically fill my suitcase with clothes).

For those who’ve never experienced it, pre-emptive exhaustion is the practice of being exhausted not by what you’ve done, but by what you’re preparing to do. I haven’t yet flown for 15 hours straight, haggled to get a trunk full of sample merchandise through customs, and then been charming and “on” for four days of double-face-kisses and global sales dominance, before washing, rinsing, and repeating in another city, another W hotel. But, I know it’s coming, and right now, just the thought of it is more than I can handle – exacerbated by the fact that following her performance review, the world’s worst assistant quit, with no notice, and an inbox full of To Do’s.

Damn, I wish the liquor store opened before 11:30, it’s the perfect Pinot-and-Kardashians kind of morning.

I

One Year in Review

The LaBelleValise blog is now one year old.  This blog started as a travel log on all the places work, life, and wanderlust takes me and over the past year the adventure has been better than I hoped.

Here are a few of the highlightswpid-20141203_115451.jpg

Ballin’

Last week was definitely one for my adventure log, unfortunately it was also accompanied by context which makes it all sound far less exciting.  But first…

Friday morning, last, I awoke at 6:00 am, showered, shaved, and shampoed, grabbed my trusty green carry on, my white patent leather Ted Baker tote, and a go-cup of coffee and headed to the airport for an 8:53 AM flight to Chicago.

That’s when the texts started rolling in – cancelled flights, delayed departures, and nine of my colleagues, four models, and one celebrity spokesperson were all de-routed from our final destination, Chicago, due to one bozo’s breakdown.

Undeterred, I pulled into the economy parking lot and dialed the Platinum Medallion line at Delta.  “Angelette” and I mapped the perimeter of Chicago and determined that a flight to Detroit, departing an hour after our originally scheduled flight, had six available seats, followed by a three and a half hour drive to get to Chicago.

Doable, but not ideal, and who among us was expendable?

That is the moment when the old adage kicked in, “It isn’t a problem if you can solve it with money.”

Heads together, cell phones blazing, a plan was concocted: charter a jet for ten to Green Bay, Wisconsin and drive the rest of the way, then send the six least critical of the group to Detroit to drive the rest of the way to Chicago (knowing of the possibility that flight would be cancelled as well).

wpid-20140926_143306.jpgLuckily, for my adventure bucket list, I am considered critical, and off to the private plane I went. Then the waiting started, the flight attendant cancelled, delays on the jet in Aspen, more waiting, as we left the six less critical at the main airport, with a destination of glamorous Detroit.

After a quick freshen up in the private airport lounge, at 2:00 pm, and feeling rather baller, I climbed aboard a Bombardier, Challenger en route to somewhere in the Mid West. We were hoping for clearance to land in Chicago, but knowing that Green Bay and a long-ass shuttle ride to Chicago would probably follow. At 6:30 pm, when we touched down in Green Bay I consoled myself that “Hey, at least I got to fly private.”

Until I got the email from the disposable-six that they had been able to secure seats on 2:00 pm Chicago flight, and were happily waiting at baggage claim for their luggage as I was climbing on board an 11 passenger van, bag of Chex Mix in hand, and no bathroom in site, in the middle of the Friday rush hour commute … my ball was feeling pretty deflated.

When we drove past Milwaukee the collective bellies of the group started grumbling with hunger, and it was decided we’d grab burgers. Thanks to Yelp a burger house with great reviews was located, and in we tromped, a Mormon, a Model, a Millionnaire, and a Mix of Mumbling travelers who’d rather be sitting in our hotel rooms enjoying room service.

That’s when we met Destiny … Literally … Friday night in Milwaukee means Drag Queen Bingo with Destiny … and I loved it!

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Medallion Status & A Passport Stamp

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Next voyage, Chicago, where I once lived and haven’t visited in over a decade, not since September 11, 2001, when my life (and the world) changed forever.

Stamps overlapping on a watermarked page, adventures represented by Visas to exotic locations.
A Medallion Status tag dangling from a well-worn carryon bag, highlights the accomplishment, education, and adventure of voyage.
These stamps, segments flown, and frequent flier miles earned are proof that one belongs to a special community.
To be a traveler is to be unafraid of the unknown, and a citizen of the world.
Places seen cannot be unseen, cultures experienced make one’s own culture more and less distinct.
Stories shared in beachside stands of Cartagena, Columbia, maps read and misread in Beijing, China, and friends made in Ubud, Bali forever become a piece of the fabric of “Me”.