It's nice, I guess, when the people at the Paris airport know your flight will be so late into Houston that you have no hope of making your connecting flight to Portland, so they go ahead and rebook you on one that leaves four hours later, getting you home after a total of twenty hours of traveling. It's much nicer when the people at the Houston airport give you a hotel comp and let you fly out the next morning.

Before I left for my trip, I put in my schedule request for this week at Mary's, and last night thought, "Gee, I wonder if I said I'd be available on September 4th?" Why, yes, yes I did, not accounting for this additional delay in Houston nor for my general desire to spend the day of my return doing laundry, opening mail, and handwashing my new delicates. So I'm heading into work at 4:30 this afternoon; thankfully I'll get off early enough to go buy groceries and then settle in to watch old Daily Shows.

All of my efforts to enjoy sleaze in Paris were for naught--the dick behind the desk at the Erotic Museum closed an hour early and the "strip" clubs we passed all looked like ripoffs. Though I did hear one woman talking to a group of men, saying "Five Euro each? You have Five Euro each?" I have no idea what she was negotiating--a twenty-euro blowjob for the bachelor?