Caterwauling

Luggage at the Unclaimed Baggage Center

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I used to love airports. Till I lived in the Houston airport overnight two weeks ago and had to deal with a canceled flight out of Atlanta yesterday.

Two hours outside of Atlanta is the Unclaimed Baggage Center (pictured). This is where unclaimed baggage is delivered — 7,000 new items per day, or something like that.

It’s disgusting. It looks and smells like a K-Mart. There are racks of lingerie and jackets and sleepwear and bustiers and electronics. Lady L and I bought books there, and that was it. Wearing someone else’s lost clothes creeped us out.

Besides, there was only one of each item. You like a shirt in a small but you’re a large? Good luck with that.

There were tons of Coach purses and Ferragamo shoes and Donna Karan jeans and all kinds of leather coats. Of course, there were also overalls and frosted jeans and other items for which family members probably paid off the TSA to kidnap those bags, so that no one ever saw that ugly crap again.

Anyway, I type all of this to say that when I deplaned in Atlanta and went to look up my connecting flight yesterday, I saw that it was canceled. And when I called Delta’s customer service (WAY more helpful than Continental — er, Cuntinental), they asked if I were willing to fly into another airport. (Heavy sigh. Yes.) And they rebooked me on a flight that was leaving in, oh, five minutes.

Unlike Cunt/Continental that wouldn’t let us board even though it was still sitting at the gate, I made the connection with ease.

Trouble is, my bags didn’t.

When I landed (mercifully) in Florida, I went straight to baggage claim. Whereupon I was told that my bags were no longer in the system.

Comforting. If I didn’t have a 100-degree fever and a cough and laryngitis to boot, I would have been madder that my makeup, meds, perfumes, souvenirs and leather coat (sigh) were somewhere in Georgia … just a two-hour drive from Scottsboro, Ala., and the Unclaimed Baggage Center. Hmmm.

The good news was that today my bags MAGICALLY appeared at my original destination airport, and they were delivered to my door. Which made the $60 in baggage fees seem SO MUCH more worth it!

The amazing part of the story is that my mother — yes, she who does not leave the house EVAR — got up the gumption to come find me. God bless her. Now, I’ve never ridden I-95 at 40 mph before. But hey, it was a ride that saved my life and, quite possibly, my sanity — which was stretched WAY thin at that point.

Somewhere in Atlanta, I got a message from my boss, reminding me that today was potluck day. Ugh. God bless Mom, yet again, for getting up early and making a big pan of rigatoni for me to take.

The woman finally showed some spunk. Who knew she still had it in her?

Anyway, I’m exhausted. I’m hot. I’m cranky. And my throat hurts. But life is as back to “normal” as it’s ever going to get.

And right now, I’m perfectly OK with that.

So, the magnanimous Lady L and I have been on a world tour for the past week:

Saturday: Tallahassee, Fla.
Sunday: Birmingham, Ala.
Monday: Atlanta, Ga.
Tuesday: Scottsboro, Ala., and Nashville, Tenn.
Wednesday: Lexington, Ky., and Charleston, W.Va.
Thursday through Sunday: Baltimore, Md.

OK, so that last part is still mostly “to come.” But let’s just say that explains the (perhaps welcome) void on the Internet while Caterwauling.com has gone dark.

There’s so much to say about each adventure. It’s been a wonderful trip. Each day has been better than the one prior. Each city met and exceeded our expectations. Well, we weren’t overly fond of Lexington, but then again, we only stopped at a Starbucks there. And Tallahassee was just plain cold. Amazing how South Florida was 89 degrees when we left, and its capital city was 50-odd degrees when we arrived. Once again, its saving grace was Starbucks.

I hope to record our other wonderful adventures at a later time. Right now I am nursing a scorching sore throat (I had to buy a winter coat in Oxford, Ala., because my thin Florida blood can’t hack this fall weather) and I’m living at Lady L’s parents’ house, where I am being treated like royalty.

This is the best and yet weirdest part of the odyssey. I’m getting to see Baltimore like I never have, and frankly never expected I would. I lived 40 minutes down the freeway for eight years and barely traveled up here. I guess I always thought I’d have the opportunity to get to know this neck of the woods. And luckily, today I got to explore Fells Point and Canton in a way I never have. (I ate at Ra earlier this year. My big exposure to Baltimore. Whee.) Lady L, Mrs. L and I ate at Shucker’s and enjoyed a midday dessert at Vaccaro’s (rum cake. NOM) before finishing off the day with tomato-basil soup from La Madeline.

What makes this part of the journey put the “odd” in “odyssey”? Because I have never lived in a real house. On a real street. With a backyard and furniture and enough bedrooms for everyone. Where the adults in the house pay the bills, buy the food and take care of the “kids.” No fighting, no tension … no problems whatsoever. It’s like a 1950s sitcom; the only thing missing is a talking horse and a white picket fence. But we have George waddling around the neighborhood in a doggie polar fleece, and that’s even better.

And while I’ve loved all the opportunities on this trip, it’s made me sad. Sad for a childhood I didn’t have. Sadder still that my mother, grandparents and great-grandparents never knew this kind of a life either. I realize they couldn’t have given it to me because, not only did they lack the means, but they never really knew how.

And it goes back to an earlier post I wrote that I’m too lazy to link to, that most people will never know what they’ll never be able to have.

The only real moments of stress I’ve had on this trip was when we talked about work (which decreased with every time zone/state line we crossed) and when mentions of my mother came up. Watching Lady L and Mrs. L giggle and gossip like my mom and I used to, well, has been a bit bittersweet. I envy them. I love them. I’m glad to be accepted into the family circle for as long as I want to be a part of it. I just wish I didn’t revile my mother so much for the unfortunate event of her living with me and probably never moving out.

Of course, the lovely family here has offered to adopt me. Especially if I ever want to relocate to the D.C. area. Which, if weather were the only factor, I’d say give me my beach life, thanks. But for culture and authenticity and excitement, sign me up, baybee.

Mrs. L found a lovely tote bag at Trixie’s Palace she wanted me to have today. It had a slogan on it that I can’t recall right now. But I do recall very clearly what she said to me — that I need to mark this period of my life with the things that make me, me. That my thoughts and tastes and jobs have evolved over the years, and I need for my wardrobe, apartment and life to reflect who I am now. That I used to have all black furniture, worked all the live-long day, and would never wear white. Now I’ve introduced color (beach colors — brown, blue and beige) into my home. And that it’s time to unpack my boxes already and really LIVE in that apartment I pay so dearly for.

I did note that I am wearing sea glass around my neck — my memento of my beach life as I toured the cold, dirty (albeit genteel) South. Because that’s what I’m returning to. For now, forever or for at least till I figure out my next move.

It’s been a thought-provoking trip overall. I rediscovered my grandfather’s memory in Nashville, my grandmother’s here in Little Italy and, somewhere around the Unclaimed Baggage Center, which, incidentally, stands in front of a cemetery (full of unclaimed caskets?), I started to understand my mother. Not forgive her or even LIKE her. But I started to “get” her.

It’s been an emotional journey. And it surely will be until I fly out of here on Sunday. And, I suspect, I will come out of this a changed person. What started as a road trip with a friend gave me a whole lot of adventures, experiences, conversations and hard, uncomfortable looks at the person with whom I spend the most time: me.

Lady L might have found her voice in Maryland, but I’m pretty sure I rediscovered my fire somewhere in the arts district of Atlanta. And as God as my witness, I will never be (spiritually) hungry again.

To be continued…

Sheraton Hacienda del Mar

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

So, I was at work for maybe four days this week. Who the hell knows. It sucked and I hated it and wanted to die a thousand times.

No, I’m not back at the Den of Iniquity. I’m just coming off of the high of living in Mexico for a week, then living in the Houston Airport for a day (gag) and then dragging my very sick and VERY tired ass through both jet lag AND Daylight Savings.

The only reason I haven’t killed anyone is because that would require having the energy to stab them seven thousand times like they might deserve.

My week in Cabo was … weird. It sure beat any Money Show I worked, although I liked that I could count on hitting Manhattan, Orlando, San Francisco and Vegas (twice!) in any calendar year. Here, I went to Canada (twice!) and Mexico once. UPGRADE!

But … yeah. I bonded with staff. I got a new perspective on people I, well, needed a new perspective on. I went from being supportive for the sake of doing so, to truly championing a particular person. Captivity will do that to you, perhaps. As I said, we needed that bonding time. Perhaps not SO MUCH of it, but it worked out the way it needed to.

Plus, I really had fun talking to all the customers. It was very different from Money Shows. I brought suits, but it was too hot. So I wore dresses and dressy flip-flops. We sat outside in the shade at a table. It sure beat pantyhose, heels and standing all day in a ballroom.

I didn’t see much of my superiors but I did get to know the exhibitors. Which was fun. It all worked out. But while I came back feeling very connected to my people, I feel like I also inadvertently got shoved into an episode of “Revenge of the Nerds.” There are the cool kids, and then there’s the rest of us.

I felt like I got one chance to rush the fraternity. And I didn’t want to. So, I didn’t. Instead, I formed Tri-Lambda and made my own fun.

I saw someone else in a similar conundrum. They chose the fraternity. I think I’m the happier person right now.

I don’t know quite how to explain it, except that you really do have to travel a thousand miles to see what’s in front of you.

This week was hard because of general disorientation on my part. Plus, I’m going to be out of the office all next week. So I had a ton of paperwork, supervision and editorial to shove out the door.

And someone asked me for their “two dollars” today. That they started asking for in September.

I never gave them their two dollars. Because when I offered it four months ago, nobody took me up on the offer.

When they asked for their two dollars, two months ago, I said it was really worth about eight dollars and here’s why. Upon which I was told “I want my two dollars!”

And it’s not that I meant to fail to comply. Just in the grand scheme of things, when you’re responsible for two MILLION on a good month, that two dollars doesn’t mean jack. Especially when “Shiny Object Syndrome” is pervasive, contagious and embedded in the toilet paper. Wait long enough, and you can count on, “What two dollars?”

I got hunted down about five times today for that two dollars. I fell silent. That’s not even the passive-aggressive goddess; it’s the “I’m going to be away for a week and I’m still behind and MY GOD do you people take a check.”

Seriously, TWO DOLLARS.

I finally paid up. In euros, no less. (They’re worth more.) Mostly because I was afraid I’d get a call when we’re driving through Georgia with a heavy breather going, “Two … dollars …”

Here I thought all I needed was a Bumpit and a bitchy attitude to get ahead in business. Who knew that two dollars was all I needed to pledge the fraternity?

In any case, I made a decision after the trip. I don’t give two flying shits about investing. Or publishing, for that matter. I love running events. I love organizational behavior and team management. I love being social and helping customers.

I don’t know what that means for my career. I can coordinate events but that’s not my focus. I can talk to customers but that isn’t, either. I told someone that managing people takes up 60% of my day, and I got some bizarre talking-to about that.

I’m just hoping everyone’s personalities are heightened right now. That was what I told my staff before Money Shows — that you will “meet” your colleagues; rather, the exponential version of them. So-and-so on steroids. So get it in your head right now that people may say and do things that rub your every last nerve raw, but they won’t realize how annoying they are.

And you, yourself will be obnoxious beyond all recognition too. Forgive and forget now, before you have to. And believe me, you will HAVE to.

So once again, maybe I just need to take my own advice.

And maybe, just maybe, I should advance them four dollars so that it’s already in the bank when they come around again. (I hear the Thai baht is the place to be.) Because my mother has lived with me for four years — my patience will clearly outlast anyone’s. And once I’ve accepted that your personality will impact me if I’m not careful, I become immune to it.

That, and I’m too goddamned old to take any of this too seriously.

Here’s to hoping that everyone enjoyed their two dollars and that the joy lasts through my brief return … so that I can call off for the final two days in November with no problems. 😉

“Come and open up your folding chair next to me
My feet are buried in the sand and there’s a breeze
There’s a shadow, you can’t see my eyes
And the sea is just a wetter version of the skies.”

— Regina Spektor, “Folding Chair”

I don’t even listen to Regina Spektor, but I saw this on one of my beloved’s Facebook pages, and had to keep it in my head somehow.

I have SO MUCH work to do, between being out for six workdays and then taking off five next week. (And another one and a half at the end of the month, but I haven’t told anybody that yet.)

I did ask if I could just take off the rest of the month and start over Dec. 1. Ah, to dream. …

I sort of have a bug up my ass about something. Or someone. And there’s no flushing this turd out of the punchbowl. So I’m working behind the scenes to take matters into my own hands. I may not be able to conquer certain people. But I will find a way around them. And the good people always win. At least, that’s what I have to believe in, right now.

Onto other topics, my apartment is falling apart. I’m planning to move in March when the lease is up. I told the UEOEH that she isn’t going with me … that she’s got to figure out where she’s going.

She asked me for 10 bucks yesterday, so she could bake cookies for my friend who is leaving town. I never have cash. Not to mention that I’d given her an allowance before I left town. 🙂

I was “mean and nasty,” of course, about it. I said you know, how sad is it that you just prefer to sit around all day, waiting for me to hand you money or food … not the slightest bit motivated to do anything for yourself.

I’m not even asking her to work — I’m asking her to fill out paperwork and get some health care. Actually, I take that back. I just ask her to leave me alone. I spent the last week with millionaires who live happy, free lives. I want to be them.

Like one of those happy millionaires told me, most people will never know what they won’t have. In other words, when you’re busy trying to save the world and donate to every cause and hug every tree, basically, you give up tiny parts of your financial future. Think of what you could have saved here, then invested there, then had available for bigger and better things.

And that makes me think about working for a living. And settling for a stressful, exhausting life. And that my only physical happy place (home) is a piping-hot bowl of anger topped with disappointment.

Your happy place shouldn’t be in your heart. It should be your home. It should be with your friends. It should be wherever your vocation is.

Lately I only feel in my element when I’m “managing” my people. I use it in quotes because they do take up a lot of my time, but I love it. I love THEM. My talent is rallying the troops. It’s building loyalty. It’s having dinner together and having drinks and laughs and sharing stories. It’s letting them know that I have their backs … and knowing, in turn, that they will have mine.

Sure, I miss my traders. My big parties. My trips to big cities to hang out with financial-TV stars. And my awesome teams from those days.

But I can re-create some of it. I can create my own punch so that everybody isn’t forced to drink from the turd-flavored ladle. What I need to do is step up and protect my people. I may never have children but I will be damned if my “kids” have to feel like they’re in anything but a loving single-parent home. 🙂

I’ll leave it at that for now and get back to work. But I have to take my own advice here. I’ve told them all to go with the flow. To quit swimming upstream. To do everything and then some to ensure a peaceful and productive adventure. That I’ll take care of the battles for them. But I’m tired of fighting, too.

Like I told someone whose soul bruises mine, I don’t deal with negativity. I don’t dwell. I don’t tick off everything they did “wrong” because I want them to do more “right.” And I expect the same for me. ‘Cause I have enough problems.

Besides, I do know what I don’t have. I can find it here. Or I can find it elsewhere. But I’m going to find it. And I’m going to help anyone and everyone I can to find theirs. …

OMG.

I left Mexico, oh, Sunday morning. I got to Miami on Monday afternoon.

Hence why my Facebook status has said, “I’m in Miami, bitch!” since about 12:30 p.m. Eastern. *bounce*

Grr.

So, apparently Continental and United have merged. My fellow stranded passengers and I declared that the name of the newly joined companies is, appropriately enough, Cuntinental.

You know, so they can lick you where you pee when they won’t let you on your connecting flight that you RAN LIKE THE WIND to catch.

All right, so leaving Los Cabos wasn’t a joy. We stood in one line for 90 minutes and another for 15 minutes. I didn’t get to do ANY shopping on my trip. Which pisses me off, as all I want to do is shop.

Well, since we got thrown out of Cabo Wabo — the other thing I wanted to do on the trip — after 30 minutes (and how DOES one get thrown out of a bar in goddamned MEXICO, you ask? Good question), well, this trip was full of enough FAIL for a year.

But wait … there’s more!

My travel karma must have gotten lost in the time zones, as Cabo is on Mountain Time but they turned back their clocks a week before the States. So, while she got me onto the plane in Mexico, she left me to ROT in fucking Houston for more than 12 hours.

*shoots self in head*

I’m sure it’s not entirely Continental’s fault. God knows that the rep I spoke to in person and the other one on the phone were QUICK to say that NOTHING was their fault.

Remember when the customer used to be right? That was before their share price was dependent upon recording flights leaving on time/early … at the expense of hundreds of passengers whom they got to their gates LATE.

Ahem.

So I was told we arrived at the gate at 6:05 p.m. last night in Houston. (Note — I got ticketed on George Bush Boulevard in Florida last month, which ended up in a suspended license. And then I get trapped at George Bush Intercontinental for half a day. I HATE THAT NAME. Love, Goddess.)

Well, I tweeted FROM THE PLANE at 6:07 to say we were stuck on the tarmac in what they call “bank.” (What us laypeople call “clusterfuck,” or, “traffic as usual on 95.”)

OK, so whenever we DID get to the gate, we were in the back of the plane. Then we had to go through U.S. Customs. THEN we had to pick up our checked luggage, go CHECK IT BACK IN, and then rip upstairs to go through security AGAIN.

Our beloved travel agency gave us an hour to do this.

Despite Customs being on one end of Houston and our gate being ON THE OTHER, the three of us traveling together ran our ASSES off to get to our gate before our 7:15 p.m. departure time.

I was in misery, I tell you. MISERY. I just spent a week eating Mexican food and consuming tequila by the truckload. My pudgy pork roast butt is a LOT of ass to haul!

Anyway, my more-athletic travel companion got to the gate at 7:09. I know this because of the CLOCK above the gate.

The other colleague got there at 7:10 and I made it at 7:12. Yes, it was a goddamned marathon.

Even though the gate was open … and even though a whole bunch of people were on the Cabo-to-Houston-to-Miami itinerary (as I know the people at the travel agency) … they told us we weren’t allowed on.

And then they shut the door at 7:13 p.m.

OMG, I was furious. I had to stop and catch my breath. Had to save it so I could yell at people later. 🙂

There were no other flights out that night. There was a flight to Fort Lauderdale at the same time, which my other colleagues made. I don’t know how, since one of them is 72 and I don’t know how the fuck he managed to make it.

Lord knows I tried to flag down one of the golf cart drivers, but naturally they didn’t stop. FUCK CONTINENTAL.

You would think they’d have carts at security for those of us about to miss a flight. You know, like in San Jose, where they asked those of us on the Houston flight to please let the Newark passengers ahead of us, as the plane left a half-hour before ours and it was BEING HELD FOR THEM.

*scream* Why is it so hard to get good service in the U.S.? I’m ready to expatriate to Baja California Sur. Mark my fucking words.

Anyway, they had two monkeys working at the Continental desk at Houston. And Sha-nay-nay was happily telling everyone that it was all Customs’ fault that we missed our planes, not theirs. And too fucking bad for all of us, but she had to jump on the next flight out.

So I called Continental customer service. And I got through before I even made it through the ever-growing line. They basically listened to me and said they could only put me on the 7:30 a.m. flight today. But that the gate monkey could check other airlines for us.

So of course, the gate monkey said there was nothing he could do. I said, “Well, your headquarters said to check competing airlines.” And he was all, oh yeah, sure I can look at our partner itineraries.

You know that I did not carry a firearm into any of these airports, because I would be in jail right now. People are lucky I’m a liberal Democrat!

The long and the short of it is that the “bank” (i.e., high traffic, meaning that there was a plane at our gate when we landed and then two planes sat between us and the gate anyway so we were fucked) of which our pilot spoke was suddenly, “We don’t know what you’re talking about” at the gate.

“Well, it says here that you were at your gate at 6:05, which is plenty of time to make it to your boarding time at 6:40.”

I’d say “die in a fire” to everyone at Continental, but I’ve said that to my landlady, and my building (and my FLOOR) caught fire while I was gone. So I’m gonna be careful about my curses from now on! 🙂

Long story just beginning, we took the 7:30. They said we could have a discounted hotel room. But at this point it was after 8 p.m. and I didn’t want to go through the hassle and expense of going to a hotel, showering and putting on the (now-sweaty) same clothes.

You know, since my luggage was IN MIAMI by the time we got this resolved.

CUNTINENTAL, ahoy!

But it gets better.

While arguing with the ticket monkey, my friend said he should write an article about it. And since I’m, oh, HIS PUBLISHER, heheheheheh. I announced to the monkey that we have access to a half-million names and a publish button. Where’s the Wi-Fi?

*muahahaaa*

So, we took a hiatus from our frustration and enjoyed an expensive French meal in the airport (viva Pappardeaux — SO GOOD), with lots of wine, Cajun food and desserts for everyone. Which I am going to bill to our travel agency for making this STUPID booking.

(Another colleague got stuck in Phoenix. You know, the one who LIVES in Miami. He was flying into Fort Lauderdale. While us Fort Lauderdale people were flying into MIAMI. I am also billing my fucking therapy to our travel agency!!!)

We took the fucking Miami itinerary to save $200 on our tickets. Which ended up losing us a whole day of productivity for three employees. So, we saved $600 and lost three salaries this Monday. Fucking brilliant.

Anywho, we had a “Breakfast Club” kind of night. We talked. We bonded. My writer wrote about how much Continental blows. (In a way that relates to our business, of course.) I approved it, we sent it to home base, and we settled in for a ridiculous night.

We basically rode the people-movers for a while. Backward. Our own personal gym!

The airport was COLD. And we were all in summer clothes. We all managed to curl up into a ball (on separate chairs, of course) and get an hour or two of sleep each.

I wandered the whole airport while the others slept. There were clusters of other stranded travelers, since there were no flights out of IAH after 7:30. It was depressing.

What I found funny was that our whole plane leaving Cabo was seated and boarded early. And they announced that we were leaving the gate early … BECAUSE everyone was on board. I do not know how Continental justifies closing the door to the 7:15 Miami flight at 7:13 when you just know that there were a ton of people still coming.

Fuck Continental!!!

I watched “My Sister’s Keeper” during my flight. And I cried at the end because it was sad. And I cried even harder when I saw the Biscayne Bay (which is BEAUTIFUL from above).

I met up with my colleagues outside the gate, put my arms around their shoulders and bounced with glee the whole way down to the Lost Luggage office. I told them that my travel karma was back and that our suitcases would be waiting for us.

They were!

I’ve been snoozing on the couch and emptying out my DVR for the last few hours. But yeah, I left my hotel in Cabo at 11:30 a.m. Mountain Time on Sunday, and got to my car at 12:30 p.m. Eastern on Monday.

AND I got thrown out of Cabo Wabo.

Here’s to hoping for an uneventful week … although I know better than to expect one.

And Cuntinental? Call me. Really. Or burn down. At least, IAH can burn down. That would be fine.

Mark my words, I will NEVER fly Continental, and I will NEVER set foot in Texas, for the rest of my life.

Fuck y’all!!!

I got a rock

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

Day 5 in scenic Baja California Sur, Mexico. Or San Jose. Or Los Cabos. Or Cabo. Whatever. 🙂

In any case, three days (of four) of baking in a shaded area where we’re on “booth bitch” patrol. Zero trips to the pool. Zero trips to the beach, but I’d rather be in the infinity pool any day.

I wanted to shove off to Cabo Wabo last night, but not even the “cheese factor” enticed anyone to want to join me. So I’m literally dragging a colleague out to dinner off the reservation, and then we will just HAPPEN to end up there. 🙂

Because I’m the BOSS …. that’s why!

I ended up at a really good restaurant on the fourth floor of one of the timeshares, in a corner table overlooking the Gulf of California. I had a lovely grilled tomato salad served on a bed of Manchego cheese. Then I had “Mexican fondue,” which was a mixture of Manchego, chorizo and pure magic.

There was alcohol. Too sweet and yummy to be considered alcohol Good God, the alcohol I have consumed on this trip. I might not have been able to put on a swimsuit (dear hotel guests: you’re welcome), but I’ve sure had my tequila. (And everyone else’s.) Ole!

I’ve spent a lot of time with a newer staff person. It’s nice to see how far I’ve come, knowledge-wise — not just in our niche industry, but as a manager, since she’s a brand-new one.

The things that are challenging for her are the things that don’t even make me lose a wink of sleep anymore. I hope I’ve been able to help her to bridge some of the gaps she’s encountering. Or, at least, that I’ve corrupted her sufficiently. 😉

Anyway, I’m sure I’ll make up for lost time on that corrupting bit tonight. It’s good to have goals!

Festive cactus

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

This part of Mexico is just Florida with mountains and cacti. It’s hot. It’s humid. It’s gorgeous.

The sand is too rocky for my delicate tootsies. South Florida sand wins, paws-down, for the ability to walk barefoot on it.

Says she who walked barefoot from dinner to after-dinner drinks, to the cab and along the long and winding path to my hotel room! Ow!

At least my alcohol consumption is intact. As for infinity-pool time, I’ll probably never manage to find time to go swimming down here. But I did a lot of videotaping today (outdoors!) and I have a lot more to come, so my shoulders managed to get tan. Whee!

I’ve also consumed a “special banana” drink, two mango margaritas on the rocks and a frozen mango margarita, and I’m perfectly sober. And the drinks are s-t-r-o-n-g down here, yo.

There’s sort of a sorority-like feeling here. And I feel like a bit of an iconoclast. Like, in my role I *should* be rushing said sorority. But given the choice between being hazed and going off in a smaller group where I’m the coolest girl EVAR, well, you know what I’m gonna pick. 😉

I’m glad we get some downtime before the big event starts. We never got relaxation time in my old life. Arrive, go to work, work 15-hour shifts, go to your room and work some more, eat with your colleagues, drink heavily on the company dime, and arrive hungover in the morning … just in time for (another) lecture of a lifetime about being five minutes late.

I used to bitch about those days. And I still would. But I do miss the expectation that the group would eat dinner together every night. I know we’re all adults and can arrange our own dinners. But even though there were a thousand times I would rather have been out wandering, I had some of the most-amazing nights of my life, breaking bread with my publisher and my editors.

Ah, trade-offs.

Some things are keeping me awake tonight:

1. Alcoholism. 😉

2. Wondering whether Cabo residents get as kerfuffled at all the signs in English the way North Americans get pissed off at all the signs in Spanish.

3. Contemplating whether I should even go back to the States, after that horrible election today. Expatriation, ahoy?

Infinity pool

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

OK, well, it’s not Paradise City but, hey, at least I’m in Mexico and I haven’t been beheaded or otherwise fatally wounded in a drug deal. Although I’m sure some of you are still holding out hope that my trip is young!

I keep meaning to check out the infinity pool (pictured). But alas, when you work in tropical locales, the emphasis is on the WORK. I did have a good 15 minutes to myself in the sun, though, so I’m counting my blessings.

We had some killer food last night at one of the hotel restaurants. I took one of our newer staff people out to dinner. And for as downright frustrated as I get sometimes, it was a good reminder that I’m here to shape the next generation. I mean, I’m here to make money for the company. And the “how” is a moving target on a good day. But consistency is for cake batter. In any case, I really do have mostly good people who actually take me seriously. 🙂

In any case, now that I’ve had authentic Mexican food, I’ll never be able to eat it again. Except, of course, when it comes to Fourth Meal. I could go for a soft taco right now. …

The trip down here was uneventful, save for one of my people choosing (in my opinion) to miss their flight yesterday due to not being called for carpooling. You don’t “forget” that your flight is on Monday, not Tuesday, without a reminder.

One of my colleagues has his money on me being impregnated by an entire mariachi band. I haven’t see any mariachis yet (whew!) but there ARE crazy Mexicans roaming our private beach, trying to sell us shit illegally.

There are several little vendors on site, and I picked up a lovely silver ring. Paid way too much for it. But it’s my souvenir. Funny, though, but they saw my big-ass blue-stone ring that I brought with me here and they thought it stunning. I paid five bucks for it at Target. I should have asked to trade!

The room is beautiful. I’m on the ground floor with a lovely deck and a view of the Gulf of California.

And we’re coming back here in Q1 for an editorial fiesta — the hotel is making us overpay by a certain amount, which will come to us as a resort credit. (The chain is independently owned outside the U.S., so we can’t transfer the credit.)

I can’t wait to come back, since my freedom ends in about an hour (working cocktail party!) and captivity proceeds through Saturday.

I don’t know who has texted me more — Obama and his damn Democrats or my idiot mother. My phone bill is gonna be nuts once again. And CVS has called the most, to remind me about prescriptions. How is it that my phone can be silent for three weeks, but then everybody hunts me down when I’m paying international roaming rates? *double-barreled salute*

Let’s see — oh yeah, I bought some black cherry mini-cigars. Which suck. And I got 200 pesos out of the ATM. And I’m learning to tip without being able to access any iPhone apps for currency conversion.

Incidentally, 200 pesos is worth about 20 bucks in U.S. dollars. Which means a $20 (in pesos) is worth about $2. I guess you could say that the same is true for the greenback, when you look at it that way!

Oh well, another half hour of work, then butt-scrubbing, then schmoozing. This is the best part of my job. Even if I’d rather be in the hot tub overlooking the Gulf instead…