In high school and college I was listed on my parents’ AAA membership, and it really came in handy about a dozen times. I used to regularly lock my keys in my car when I moved to Dallas (I’d never locked the doors when I lived in Alabama and would leave my keys in the cupholder). Then in college I had the occassional flat tire.

So I knew how valuable a membership could be. Still, when I was no longer eligible to be on my parents’ I procrastinated getting my own. About a month ago I finally got my own AAA Membership after getting the offer in the mail for about the fifth time.

Thank goodness I did! Yesterday morning I packed my bag, dropped the dog to be boarded, grabbed lunch, and hit the road for a 7 hour drive to Louisiana. But before I could get out of Dallas my tire blew out – and I was stuck on the shoulder a busy overpass right by downtown Dallas.

It took an hour for AAA to get to me (I was sort of between highways so they had to loop around a few times) but once they were there he put my temporary tire on in about 5 minutes flat. I didn’t even have to show my card or sign anything.

I’d already called the Volvo dealership to see if I could go straight there to get 2-4 new tires. They were very nice but the guy they told me to talk to in Parts offered no expertise or advice on what tires I should get (“Well some people like Goodyear, but other people like Michellin…Yes, there are differences, but it’s kinda like when you get gas at 7 Eleven or at Chevron; one’s better than the other, but you know what I mean?”). Then after much hemming and hawing and making me get out to read the serial number off my tires on the side of the freeway, he confirmed that they didn’t even have one full set of any type of tire in stock that would fit my car!

So I called National Tire and Battery which I’d gone to before, and the guy told me he knew just what I needed and that he’d set aside a lane for service and 4 tires and get me in and out when I got there – which they did.

So three hours later in total, I was back on the road!

This weekend will be the fourth in a row that I have gone out of town; over the last 4 weeks I’ve taken off four Fridays and two Thursdays from work.

First I went to New Orleans for a wedding, then to Florida for a Bachelorrete getaway, then it was to Louisiana for a family reunion at Easter, and this weekend I’m headed back to New Orleans for another bachelorette weekend!

It has been an interesting month. I have been living out of my suitcase (which I’ve become an expert at packing) without even unpacking it fully between weekend getaways. I’ve spent half of each week drinking and eating and traveling and the other half detoxing, working out and recovering.

I’ve also had to squeeze a week’s worth of work at my job into only 3-4 days (hence my lack of blog posts). Even when I was “working” I was taking long lunches, leaving early, or getting there late to run errands that I could no longer do on the weekends and prepare for my next trip.

I’ve spent some serious cash on restaurants, alcohol, cabs, flights and gifts. But I’m not too far outside my budget for the year so far, and since all my travel was weighted to the first half of the year I should come out alright in the end – if I can reign it in for awhile during the summer months.

I have a few weeks off after this trip, but then I have three more weekends out of town in May: my sister’s graduation and two weddings, all out of town affairs.

I’m thinking about skipping the last wedding, depending on how this weekend’s bachelorette party goes. It’s on Memorial Day weekend so flights/hotels are very expensive, and I’d have to stay by myself since the only other people I know who are going are married. I probably would hardly see the bride, and I’d spend about $700 just on flight and hotel.

Last weekend when I was in New Orleans I left my puppy with the breeder, who lives nearby. There he played with his sister and mother in the same environment where he spent the first 8 weeks of his life under the constant watchful eye of an expert on his family and breed.

I dropped him off Wednesday evening and picked him up Sunday evening. They didn’t ask me to pay anything – they’d probably have paid me to let them keep him rather than board him – but I left $60 anyway. For 4 days and nights I figured that was the least I could do. Boarding him anywhere else would probably have been twice that.

This past weekend the breeder was out of town, so I left him with a doggie daycare/hotel/spa here in Dallas. Yes, you read that right – this place offers daytime socialization and/or overnight care to dogs and even phrases their services in hotel and spa terms. You can even check in and watch your pooch any time on webcams they have stashed around the place. It’s attached to and affiliated with a vet so presumably any medical issues can and would be taken care of promptly and professionally.

I dropped him on Thursday morning and picked him up Monday morning. He looked so happy and fluffy and like he’d been cleaned (even though I’d expressly declined any “spa services”). The total bill? Only $56!!

I was shocked; I swear I’d read online that their cheapest room was $32 a night – and my dog had to have special attention and be sequestered on the clinic side because he hasn’t had his final round of vaccinnations yet. I’d read a Yelp review where a girl raved about her surprisingly low bill at this place, but I figured she was just uninformed going in.

The only thing I can think of is that the $32 per night included doggie daycare where the dogs all socialize, in which my puppy couldn’t participate. But when the clerk asked if I wanted a detailed receipt I said “no” and quickly signed the one she’d given me. I didn’t want her to find a mistake!

I just got back from a long weekend at the Ritz Carlton on Amelia Island, and even though I’m halfway through the workday on a Monday the week of quarter end, I’m still smiling!

It was a perfect vacation – just the right mix of relaxing and exciting. We worked out in the fitness center, relaxed in the spa, walked on the beach, read by the pool, biked through the woods, and danced the night away. We enjoyed wonderful service, ate incredible food, and met lots of new people.

There were 12 ladies on this Bachelorette Getaway, and the organizer had thought of everything. Transportation was all arranged; goodie baskets were waiting for each one of us; special events like a lingerie shower and a sunset cruise were planned and paid for; and there was plenty of complimentary champagne each evening!

It was just fantastic. I paid $240 for 3 nights at The Ritz, $415 for my flight, $56 to board my dog, and $32 for cabs. Other than a couple of $20 breakfasts at the hotel, my food/dining expenses were barely out of the ordinary.

So what is the downside, you ask?

While it is such a blessing to have this luxurious experience etched into my memory, it will also serve as a benchmark against which I’ll be forced to measure all future vacations.

This was my first stay at a Ritz-Carlton, though not my first stay at a comparable luxury hotel. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that my standards or expectations have changed (yet), but this vacation hovers dangerously close to the tipping point – after which certain luxuries become my general travel preferences rather than unexpected delights.

At the Ritz and at a few other high end beach hotels I’ve visited they have towel pillows crafted by pool staff on my loungechair, welcome cocktails at check-in, and men poised at every door to swing it open for me at just the right moment so I never have to break my stride. Those luxuries are still infrequent enough that I am pleasantly startled by them.

But with enough repeat exposure, sooner or later I’ll cease to be surprised and come to anticipate those and other service gestures. Then my ability to be impressed will fade away to expectation – and even disappointment or irritation if those expectations aren’t met.

This doesn’t mean I can no longer appreciate the simpler things in life, but repeat exposure to anything “better” will always result in adaptation. Anything less will simply not be as pleasing. This goes not just for vacations but for food, bedding, footwear, live entertainment, sexual encounters, and even relationships.

Such is life I suppose. Which is why people who have and do more aren’t necessarily happier than anybody else.

My weekend trip to New Orleans was overall a success, though at different times both more and less planning would have improved things. In total I spent right at $300 on my flight, $70 on one night at a Bed & Breakfast (my half), $140 on cabs (mostly to and from the airports), and not any more than on a usual weekend on food & drinks (it helped that I met guys who bought drinks at some point both nights, and of course dinner/drinks were free at the wedding reception Saturday).

I landed at 9:30am, specifically taking an early flight in order to get there at the same time as my old roomate from high school. We were supposed to venture from the airport together, meet up with her friends in town with whom we were planning to stay (either at their apartment or at The Windsor Court Hotel where one of them worked as Manager on Duty over the weekend).

I landed; she didn’t. She’d managed to miss her flight becuase of “unanticipated traffic.” Sort of like the “unanticipated” fact that New Orleans hotel rooms would be hard to come by at the last minute during the weekend when they were hosting, among other events, the first round of some March Madness basketball games.

She got on a later flight, and I asked for her friend’s number so I could meet him myself and drop my bags, determining not to stress. The idea of wandering the streets by myself for a few hours didn’t sound so bad anyway. Until I called her friend and he asked me where we were staying. His girlfriend’s brother had just had a baby and her parents were staying with them. But he said I was welcome to drop my bags at their place or at the hotel while I wandered around; he was on the way to the hospital.

I called my friend back, starting to fume just a bit, and told her I was going to try to get us a room at the Bed & Breakfast for Fri in addition to Sat (they were booked, though she offered up her daughter’s old room as a backup plan). Then I called an old friend of mine who lives there to meet up (and potentially ask to crash with her), but she’d been out of town and wasn’t back till that evening.

Then I finally took a cab to the Windsor, dropped my bags, and hit the French Quarter. Where I was “stuck” for about 8 solid hours. I examined all the street art. I ate lunch at the 2nd oldest restaurant in the country, Antoine’s. I chatted with fortune tellers. I bought local homemade praline (pronounced “prawline” by locals). I sat on the banks of the river and watched boats go by. I let a bum quiz me for awhile. I shopped in the French market where I got an organic fruit daquiri.

Then I hit The Alpine Martini and Wine Bar (where I ran into 2 of the fortune tellers from the square). I also met a group of attorneys who invited me to sit with them and bought me lemondrop martinis and encouraged me share some appetizers. Suddenly it was 6pm amd my roommie was at the hotel – with a keycard to her friend’s “manager on duty” room, where we were welcome to stay. I didn’t mind keeping her waiting but ultimately showed up there with two of the attorneys (who promptly left).

We changed and headed up to the Windsor lounge/bar for some live music and cocktails. Then we met up with the bride and groom and friends at The Columns hotel for more drinks. Then we hit Yo Mama’s in the French Quarter for food. At that point I was literally about to fall asleep at the bar so we went back to the Windsor and crashed around midnight.

Saturday we hit Stanley for brunch (amazing), had a hurricane at Pat O’Briens, took a horse and buggy tour, and headed back to the hotel to get ready for the wedding at 4pm. At this point we wished we hadn’t booked the B&B because we could easily stay at the Windsor again. But they had already charged my card so we went (CUTE place in the Garden Disctrict called The Chimes, which was conveniently 0.4 miles from the church where the wedding was).

We finally got ready, took a cab to the B&B to drop our bags, rushed on to the church, and found out the wedding was actually at 3:00pm. It was over. We MISSED IT! Somehow we both (separately) thought it was at 4pm and never even occurred to us to double check. The church was locked up tight (insert hilarous scene of two girls literally running around a church on Saint Charles street in satin shoes and dresses with clutches flailing in broad daylight trying to get into a locked church).

Someone finally came out and gave us directions to the reception, at a home a few miles away. We walked, hopped on the streetcar for a mile, walked another half mile or so, and found it. And promptly downed champagne, ate some shrimp and grits, danced to a great band, and then piled into a party bus with all the other young folks when it ended.

After that we apparently went to the warehouse district, or at least that was the plan – and that’s all I know. At one point I was hoola hooping in a bar, at another bar we danced, in a third I spent the whole time chatting up this traveling business man…

Next thing I know I woke up with a start at 7:30am in the bed at our B&B. My flight was at 9:55am. I looked over and saw my old roomie, out cold and still in her coctail dress. I had changed and set my alarm at least (as an aside, I also saw a bit of blood on the sheets and realized it was from a gash in my foot that I don’t remember getting). I crawled to my suitcase and decided it would be easier to wear the pants I’d slept in than change. I threw a pashmina around myself, put on sunglasses, ate 5 pineapple chunks of the lovely breakfast spread, and left.

At the airport I threw up the pineapple chunks and then went to stand in line to check my bag. I was there just over an hour early, but the line was crazy long and I worried security would be too. I was almost too weak to pull my suitcase, but I decided to carry it on and went on.

It was a miserable trip back to Dallas, but I made it (throwing up only two more times). It’s been years since I’ve thrown up, but then again I can usually sleep past 7:30am after going out too. I’m determined to keep it together at the bachelorette getaway this weekend. That’s right, in 3 days I leave for a 4 day whirwind girls weekend.

Tomorrow morning bright and early I’ll be on my way to New Orleans for the first of many weekend getaways over the next few months. A girl I knew in high school is getting married, and I though I haven’t seen or talked to her since then I was nevertheless invited to this wedding. I agreed to go and stay with my old high school roommate (boarding school), who I rarely get to see.

I’m meeting her at the airport in New Orleans mid-morning, and we’re planning to “wing it” on Friday day and night. We have no reservations and no itinerary, which is normally not the way I like to travel but I’ve decided to go with the flow and not worry about it.

She was supposed to handle the hotel reservations, and since she has a friend who manages a really nice hotel there she insisted we could get a friends and family discount. The catch is we had to wait until a few weeks before the trip to book anything – I asked her to check with her friend to make sure there was no convention or anything that might indicate the hotel could be booked. I even suggested we make alternate reservations we could cancel in case that didn’t work out.

Of course she didn’t do any of that, and she called me last week to lament that the hotel was booked, and so were most of the others. “Apparently there’s a big convention in town!” she said as though that was an unfortunate coincidence that could never have been anticipated.

Her friend offered to let us stay with him – or at the hotel where he works since his girlfriend is on weekend duty (which apparently entails being given a room at the hotel to stay in all weekend long and be manager “on call”). The hotel is well located near all the touristy things we’ll want to do, but I have no idea where this guy lives or how expensive cabs might be to and from the French Quarter and wedding festivities.

I was very irritated with her dropping the ball and with this proposed plan at first. I asked her what kind of apartment he had, if we’d have our own bedroom, whether we’d all be sharing a bathroom, how far away it was, and she hadn’t thought to ask him any of that when he offered up his place.

It turns out now that we’ll probably either be staying with his girlfriend at the nice hotel or he’ll stay with her and give us the keys to his place. Either way I decided I’m fine with it, and I’m willing to be a bit of a nomad in order to save some money; we won’t be there much anyway. My concerns are not being able to get in touch with “very cool, incredibly laid back” guy when we need access to our stuff, wasting a lot of time getting in and out of his place, and spending too much on cabs if he lives off the beaten path.

As a compromise, we booked a bed and breakfast for Saturday night so we could ensure that we’d have a place to get ready and a place to crash that would be available no matter what. It’s also on the streetcar path so we can take that and save cab fare all day and even to the wedding (allegedly).

Who knows though. We could end up crashing with other friends at their hotel one or both nights. Or I have friends in New Orleans too who we might end up meeting up with who we could crash with (and/or who I can call in a worst case scenario if my old roommie ends up totally flaking out at any point).

It will be quite the adventure!