I'm in Atlanta, without a copy of Gone with The Wind

I took a picture before I said arriverderci to my parents at the security checkpoint.

Then when my flight was delayed, I decided it was time for a little cupcake pick-me-up courtesy of Eliza.

Then there is the picture of my hotel room, where I am currently composing this (I didn't use the flash on my camera when I took the shot. I thought it created a more dramatic look.)

The last pic is my view from an airplane in Chicago.

To start the real flesh of what I have to say on a note of lightness, the first picture features a peculiar toilet model I encountered on my journey today.
I must say, I saw these toilets and I was confused. Was I in Italy? No. I was in Chicago. Who knew Chicago was so advanced in the realm of toilet technology.

I was a little bit baffled by this toilet contraption, and the first stall I saw it in I backed out of because I thought it had been clamped shut. However, this nifty new means of ensuring you're on a clean seat was in every stall. Fortunately, there were instructions.

I suppose it's a little creepy that I was taking pictures in a bathroom stall...but this was just too revolutionary!

Story of my life. I'm not a seasoned traveler, but I'm not horribly inexperienced for my 19 years. In fact, I've taken three trips airline trips BY MYSELF! However, turns out I am cursed. Man, or more specifically, I, was not meant to fly. Every time I've ventured across the country using some academic camp as a guise for a vacation, I've missed connections. When I was 17, coming back from Virginia I spent the night in a room designed to entertain 10-year-olds, but they did show Angels in the Outfield, a movie that I consider a childhood classic.

Anyway, I should have been kissing sweet Roman soil by now, but as the title of this entry indicates, I am not. I am chillin' in my own personal hotel room in Atlanta, Georgia.

Anyway, I woke up at the lovely hour of 5:30 to catch my 8:37 flight, that didn't depart until 11:21 causing me to miss my Alitalia connection in Chicago. I sat by an interesting man on the flight, though. He was off to Cairo on some official business with the World Bank and we talked about BYU since like all 8 of his kids went there. However, he didn't have the keenest opinion of the institution (sign I should transfer to the U?). Just as he made it through a rant about how BYU attempt to tear-down instead of build-up it was announced that the plane was delayed and we might as well disembark for an hour. He said, "We're gonna miss our connections." Then, "Sorry for being so negative." I thought he meant about the possibility of not catching the planes to our final destinations, but he'd meant about BYU. It was hard to get a word in edgewise, so I realized my misperception while he continued to ramble and would have joked with him that our delay was punishment for his criticism of Brigham Young University, but I didn't get a chance to spit it out. (He was a nice guy, though. But he did only half-listen. I asked if the noise pollution was as bad as I'd heard it was, in the NY Times (I'm so well read :)) and he went on about the Nile.

I was pretty sure I'd missed my flight from the get-go, but I checked the only terminal I declaring a flight to Rome, which happened to flash NOW BOARDING, I ran to terminal K11 to find no such flight. Then in my infinite wisdom, I waited in an American Airlines line for a rebooking, although I'd flown with Delta. However, the guy at the gate had told me to, but the whole time I was in line I was thinking, "I don't know if they can rebook me here." One hour later, it was confirmed that I should have heeded my doubt. But while I was in line, I devoured this book by Jodi Picoult I picked up in the SLC. (I actually reached the emotional climax point on the flight to Atlanta so I have these tears streaming down my face at 3500 feet).

Anyway, when I finally got in the Delta line (and Chicago O'Hare was far from a Delta Hub, Delta desks were relegated to a far corner). They sent me to Atlanta and, assuming all goes well, I'll be in Italy 8:25 AM (Italian time) Sunday. Only 24 hours late...hey isn't that Andy Standard Time?

And don't worry about me, I'm not bitter. People watching at the airport is exquisite entertainment. I heard a gaptoothed man with a thick accent complain about delays, a family of 6 in matching hot pink shirts, a couple that I presumed was honeymooning.

And now, I have my own hotel room, and you better believe I've jumped on the bed already...and I have HBO. And what would life be without a little chaos--besides pleasant? Maybe I'm getting my miniature disasters out of the way now.

One more short rant. It really unnerves me when people get all uptight about the fact that their flight is delayed for weather reasons and say huffily, "I'm never flying THEM again." No one can change the weather. I think those people look jerkish.