Yesterday, our connecting flight in Denver from Cancun, it was bad. How bad was it, Rebecca? Well, half an hour into it, the pilot informed us he wasn't climbing to altitude because the cabin wouldn't pressurize, and the backup cabin pressurization system had failed too. That's when I looked down at my three-year-old daughter and saw she was fassssst asleep despite yammering like a common three-year-old daughter until about a minute before.
My daughter is in an airplane oxygen deprivation coma, I thought, as the captain turned us back toward Denver and the ice storm appeared below us so we couldn't see the ground but COULD feel the plane's engines struggling and chugging like the Little Engine That Could, carrying the toys for all the good boys and girls on the other side of the mountain. Which sounds sweet and adorable, if I weren't more frightened than I have ever been in my life.
It was a bad fucking flight, is what I am saying. So they put us on another one, which sat at the gate an hour or two with its mystery mechanical issues, until 6:06 p.m., when the airline could cancel the flight for "ice storm" and thus not have to put anyone up.
Which is when I made the executive decision to get the FUCK out of the airport, NOT try again in the morning, and have Shy find us the nicest hotel downtown. Hello from the Oxford! Which just happens to be across the street from John Hickenlooper's Wynkoop Beer Company, and I think you should meet us there, at the Wynkoop, if you are able, TODAY, SUNDAY, from 3 to 5 p.m., where, unfortunately, we will not be buying your beers, because we just spent all the money at the nicest hotel downtown. But join us anyway, buy your own beer, and we'll throw in some appetizers, because love.
We love you!
Rebecca Schoenkopf is the owner, publisher, and editrix of Wonkette. She is a nice lady, SHUT UP YUH HUH. She is very tired with this fucking nonsense all of the time, and it would be terrific if you sent money to keep this bitch afloat. She is on maternity leave until 2033.
