Beaches be Loco

Since I last checked in, I have gotten around (insert "just like high school" joke here). In the past few weeks, I shuttled coast to coast -- first out to LA for a work conference, then a quick stop at home to retrieve my family, then to Virginia Beach to run a half marathon. Carefree days of summer, indeed.

The conference was for the travel and tourism industry, which means that many cities and tourist destinations attend to try and lure you with extravagant parties and ridiculous gift bags. The first night I was in town, I attended a cocktail party at the California Science Center that had a Mad Men theme. I mistakenly thought this meant I should wear long gloves and drink martinis. Instead, I spent the evening fetching coffee for men while rebuffing unwanted advances. 

I said, "a new car" and gestured accordingly about 10 times while
trying to get this picture. I love woody wagons.

Another night, a group scheduled a private tour of Universal Studios. While on the tour, the tram ahead of mine spontaneously combusted, causing an emergency evacuation. I'm sorry -- but being involved in a tram emergency is akin to being in rehab for a wine cooler addiction -- you get no street cred for that. Universal is also where I received a very poor excuse for a gift bag, which caused me to throw a bit of a tantrum. I'm not proud of this -- mainly because it made me indistinguishable from about 80% of Hollywood. And let's just say that some people know it's time to leave LA when the acting thing doesn't work out...others pack it in when they can no longer deal with the traffic...I know it's time to head east when I angrily dismiss my nine millionth event gift bag as "sub par."

During the actual conference, a man I do not know walked up to me and asked if I was "drinking tequila with Norm during the Cancun trip because, if so, he has a photo of me." When I responded that I was not there, he looked very confused and stopped scrolling through his iPhone pictures. I need to find my doppelganger and make friends with her because she is way more fun than I. One day, I want to be the woman some random stranger recognizes from her tequila-drinking escapades. With Norm.

With all those hijinks as a lead-in, the half marathon was kind of anticlimactic. Save for the butt chafe and the fact that I prancercised the entire distance. Also, the medal. (For the run, not the chafe...although it was record-breaking...)

Literally a pain in the butt, 
Brutalism