I farted in Paris!

Toward the end of a VERY bumpy plane ride with many, MANY delays, I felt the need to ... um ... relieve some gassy bloating, as people less tacky than I might put it. Not wanting to offend my fellow passengers on the No Supermodels Express, I demurely waited until we´d deplaned so I could kick off our layover by polluting the heretofore pristine Parisian atmosphere.

And how was I rewarded for my courtesy? With a big fat pile of LOST LUGGAGE, that´s how. Somewhere between endless delays and missed connections and a late arrival in Barcelona Madrid, my luggage took a detour and ended up ... in Wahoo, Nebraska, for all I know.

On the plus side: No hauling of heavy baggage (at least not physical baggage) for Jake.

On the other plus side: I got a free overnight kit from Air France that includes a cheap T-shirt, an even cheaper washcloth, a mountain of toiletries and even a CONDOM. We´re definitely not in the United Theocracy of America anymore.

On yet another plus side: I always plan for such events by packing a day´s worth of clothes in my carry-on, so I´m not at a loss for clean underwear. Yet.

Luggage woes notwithstanding, Barcelona Madrid is just as beautiful and urbane and charming as I´d hoped. Our trendy boutique hotel is right in the heart of some hipster neighborhood that´s packed with funky clothing and shoe shops (shoe shops!), and after making two shopping rounds I´ve already come home with a kick-ass Eurotrash fashion-victim shirt (which is doubling as a coat until the Air France coughs up my real coat from deep within its Bowels of Lost Luggage) and I´ve almost bought two pair of totally funky, totally trendy, totally green, TOTALLY NOT ME shoes. The first pair wasn´t available anywhere near my size, and the second pair was one European size too big -- but I´m still salivating over both of them. I may visit them again tomorrow to see if the size fairy came during the night.

In the mean time, I seem to be managing the jet lag thing pretty well, and the four of us are getting along famously. I do have issues with the bathroom in our hotel, though; it´s separated from the sleeping room by a huge glass wall that´s frosted in most places -- but not frosted enough to give you ANY privacy when you´re trying to poop. Honestly, it´s set up so you´re forced to poop in full peek-a-boo view of the only chair in the room. Which is totally uncool. But the hotel makes up for that gross design contretemps with a made-for-porn six-nozzle shower that gives better rim jobs than most porn stars. And free access to the Internets. In fact, I´m typing this post on a lightning-fast computer (with a European keyboard that is so different from my American keyboard that I wonder if things like hyphens and strikethroughs will even read on American screens) in the freaking COOLEST old exposed-brick, flying-buttressed basement in the history of European architectural charm.

But my traveling companions just appeared and are demanding food, so I must cut this endless engrossing post short.

Off to the restaurants -- and maybe Air France-subsidized clothes shopping! Stay tuned for more fascinating details of Jake´s Rainbow Tour!