So I woke up this morning a little bit groggy, at least partially no doubt due the events of last night, which involved ingesting a lot of rotgut whiskey and free hotdogs at the White Horse bar in East Hollywood. I rolled over and flipped open my laptop to check the time. It was 12:15. Shit. Time to get up and catch my plane back home.

I got out of bed and tiptoed around Cathie & John, who appeared to still be fast asleep. I showered, dressed, and collected all of my stuff. Then I went back out and checked on those guys, who were just blinking awake. "Um," I said, about to mention the time. It was then that I realized that I was operating on Central time. It was two hours earlier than I thought it was.

Fucken White Horse. Fucken brain.

But this was good news. There was time for eggs and coffee. Some quality discussions about the locals (i.e. Britney Spears). A stop at In and Out Burger. And then, finally, the drive to the airport.

Cathie & John dropped me off and we said our goodbyes. I walked up to the ticket kiosk and swiped my card. "See an agent," it told me. So I saw an agent. And the agent told me that my flight had been changed to an eariler time, and that it was pretty much taking off at that very moment.

It would have been nice to know that. I might not have watched so much Britney footage on You Tube, or had that last cup of coffee, or gone to the (albeit delicious) burger joint. I probably would have gone to the airport and gotten on the fucking airplane. You think? Yeah, that's exactly what I would have done.

Travelocity. Travelocity is to blame. They are supposed to call me when something like this happens. Email. IM. Text. Tattoo it on Britney's wrist. But this whole thing was news to me.

The agent then said that I would have to take the next flight. And that the next flight was 10 hours later.

Now, as much as I enjoyed my stay in Los Angeles, I really did not want to spend another 10 hours sitting in an airport waiting area. I tried to weasel onto an earlier flight in every way I could, all the time thinking of my fantastic girlfriend back home who I hadn't seen in nearly a week, and of the whole roster of things I wanted to do to her. No dice. Finally, I agreed to the red-eye flight and asked him where I could catch a bus back to the city proper. He responded with a wince and a hiss. "Los Angeles is a very spread-out city. You could find yourself caught and unable to get back in time."

I thought about reminding him of the 10-hour wait, but then realized that I didn't have to justify anything to him; he was just doing his job. He gave me directions to the bus, plus my bording pass, a phone card, a $50 coupon off my next flight, and $10 in meal vouchers. After making some phone calls I was on my way back to Hollywood.

And so here I sit on the floor in East Hollywood. Drinking a beer and listening to water boil for artichoke ravioli. Discussing the locals. Watching Jeopardy. All of which is infinitely better than sitting in an airport waiting room, or spending my $10 voucher plus an extra three bucks of my own on microwaved nachos at TGI-Friday's.

Travelocity. I'll never use it again.