On the last episode of Who’s the Boss, Samantha and her boyfriend Hank opted to elope to eschew their families’ misgivings about their relationship. Sam stirred the pot by fully supporting Hank’s decision to become a puppeteer instead of a doctor.
Wait, this isn’t a 90s TV blog, is it?
My week in Chicago is neatly summarized by this text I sent to B:
That makes my trip sound far more dismal than it was, although by week’s end, my brain was so tired and full, I wished it had a companion external hard drive to store everything I’d learned so I could go back to thinking about puppies and glitter.
It just so happened that there was a restaurant and hotel workers’ union protest the first few days of my conference. My room was on the 22nd floor but I could easily hear the shouting and clanging. Fortunately my incredibly comfortable bed made sleeping a breeze. I ended up in a room with 2 beds, each one boasting 4 gloriously fluffy, down-filled pillows. I piled all those mothers on my bed and snoozed happily like a swaddled babe. A few nights, I shamelessly took advantage of room service but did manage to get out and walk around downtown one evening.
I was reminded of the joy in leaving a messy room and returning to find your nook perfectly tidy and restocked with health and beauty aids (Crabtree & Evelyn, natch), not to speak of delightfully tiny bottles of liquor. That’s a pleasure I believe one should enjoy at least once a year even if it’s just pretendsies with a cute friend cleaning your pad while donning a maid’s/butler’s uniform.
I made a few friends at the conference, including one girl from Indy. It sure was nice to have some buddies in the roiling sea of nerds. I also had dinner with AZBad one night. We ended up going to Kitty O’Sheas, an Irish Pub whose name never fails to conjure notions of twisted Celtic porn.
Do you have fun Halloween plans? Tonight the girls and I are celebrating Lean’s birthday at Bonefish Grill but otherwise my weekend will be a quiet one. Today I remembered the year some horrible thugs smashed the pumpkin my dad and I carved. I think I was between 8- and 10-years old. Pappy was so incensed, he chased after them down the street yelling like only a southern Presbyterian minister can. Years later my brother revealed that the thugs were retaliating because he and his friends had egged them. NICE. What’s your favorite Halloween memory?