6.07.2006

The good news? It's over.


I'm sure you're all dying to hear every detail from my work trip. Because what could be more interesting than a blow-by-blow account of 14-hour days spent acting the part of the professional, the lady, and the professional ladies's personal assistant? Sure, I spent some time dealing with the hotel staff, scouting group dinner locations and looking quite smart in my uber-hip suits, but mostly? A lot of b.s. for about a hundred women who live by the wealthy fashion diva's sword of not-without-my-makeup-and-bling, and aren't-you-here-to-serve-me-then-hop-to-it.

(It's always a double-edged sword with me, isn't it?)

Needless to say I was plenty exhausted by the time my body was finally able to crumple into the beat-up passenger seat of my beloved old Isuzu as Monk whisked me away from the airport and shop talk Friday night. So... details. Well, 5 days of wearing fancy shoes whenever vertical took its (pound of flesh) toll on my feet. Nevermind the blisters (and a couple of bruises) covering nearly every surface of my feet, I'm just glad the hobbling has finally subsided.

Wait. You want to hear about something besides the fact that I'm a freak of a girl who doesn't know how to play dress up? I'm also the kind of girl who takes random photos of random hallway mirrors:


And, miracle of miracles, I did get to walk outside a few times and say hello to this scene:

And then there was the incident of the crappy room despite being on the VIP list, and because I did not throw a big fit as was expected, instead of a move to a better room, I was surprised with a big plate of sugar dyed to look like the beach (the "sand" tasted like cinnamon! But it looked just like sand! I still don't know what possessed me to to dip my fingers into something that looked an awful lot like sand and taste it, but how's that for lucky?), with a big-ass (translation: bigger than a softball, smaller than a breadbox) chocolate replica of the hotel sitting on it. And three ginormous chocolate-covered strawberries that met a quick but gruesome death as I stuffed them down my throat during a luxurious 10 minute window between a meeting and a dinner. And inside the chocolate hotel was more chocolate, though not quite as tasty, but who am I to complain.

(No comments from the peanut gallery, thankyouverymuch.)

Perhaps you'd like some (slightly blurry- I thought digital cameras were idiot proof?) pictures, to understand how easily I can be bought:



Speaking of easy, one evening I quietly overindulged while everyone else went crazy, and after drunk-dialling my own husband (yes, am quite the punk) sat at a bar and had the most boring of conversations with just probably the most boring of men. But I was "merry" enough at the time to be all "wow! you're in real estate?! That's quite possibly the most fascinating thing I've ever heard!" and "oh-ma-gah, you're a golfer?! I think I just wet myself!" So you can't blame the guy for thinking he was going to get laid. You can blame me, of course, but only if you throw in the added bonus of making him think he was Mr. Smooth in the chat-up process. Suggested we walk on the beach for a while (gag) and then invited me up to his room for a drink. Yeah...Butch? It would take more than a can of Budweiser from your minibar, let me tell you.

("Not much more!" yells Monk)

(and then he sits down, all quiet-like, because, damn, that's his wife we're talking about.)

No pictures of that debacle, unfortunately.

So that was pretty much the most exciting- Oh! Folks? Can I just tell you about this one night on the trip, after the group dinner, when about 80 people from the company convinced the bus drivers to drop us off at a different restaurant? A smaller restaurant? And you should have seen the faces of the patrons as we flooded into the place. Every one of them was so clearly watching their night go down the shitter. I'm sure they were thrilled when the music was turned up, the free margaritas came out, and the group started getting down to Brown-Eyed Girl, dancing their pre-choreographed routine to Summer Lovin', and whatever else women do when they're female and inebriated and convinced that THIS SONG WAS WRITTEN JUST FOR ME THIS IS SO. MY. SONG!!!

If the restaurant crowd wasn't bothered at that point, some of them might have changed their minds when one of the ladies leapt up on a table to dance the night away. Might have been more well-received if the people at the table hadn't been trying to finish their meal... Another highlight of the evening was turning around and seeing a woman from our group perched atop the bobbing shoulders of a man she didn't know. And later, that same woman riding the man's bucking crotch like... oh, we don't need the wordplay at this point, people. It got ugly. But awesome. Even Boss Lady danced; she's normally so reserved and expressionless that this was quite disturbing to me and I have since blocked the image from my brain.

The next morning, as people trickled into the meeting room, walk-of-shame style, Boss Lady approached and applauded me for being the only one that hadn't been out of control the night before (I'm operating under the assumption that no one witnessed the Speed-freak delight displayed over houses and rounds of golf 7 hours earlier). Boss Lady said "you were so good, you were like our protector, standing there making sure nothing got out of hand." I just smiled, because I didn't have the heart (guts?) to tell her I'd been standing there, hoping things got out of hand, and making sure I had a good view.

And obviously very, very glad I had remembered to bring my camera:




*pictures are small and messed-with to protect the not-so-innocent as always, and of course to protect my steady paycheck, not necessarily in that order.



2 comment:

Anonymous The Huzz said...

That's right, I would have knocked "Butch" or should I say "Bitch", right out of his chair and stuffed him in the 9th hole with his putter sticking out of his ass.

6:48 AM  
Blogger Lisa said...

Wanted to comment last night but Blogger was screwed up...

Quite a trip! heeheee. Made for alot of great stories. :-)

8:41 AM  

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