When my boss told me that I had been chosen to voyage to the other side of the country and represent my company at the Demos conference, I was excited. I’d never been on a business trip before and it sounded like a fun adventure.

I immediately began planning the trip out in my head. I had everything planned out (including the meals I’d make beforehand so that Wes wouldn’t starve) but when my mental train arrived in Washington DC, I was suddenly confronted with a dilemma: How was I supposed to get from the airport to the hotel?

I posed this question during a staff meeting and was met with a short answer from seasoned East-coasters: “Just take the Metro.” Um, what?

They might as well have said, “Just grease up and luge yourself there” for all the good telling me to take the Metro did for me. I have lived the entirety of my happy little life in the suburbs of the West coast. Not only have I never *successfully* taken mass transit on my own, I’ve yet to read a map correctly.

So, when posed with the possibility of reading an arcane color-coded map populated with what looks like garish tape-worms, I was understandably shaken and stirred. One of my colleagues, a DC native through and through, took pity on me and looked up the route and sent me excellent directions.

Once I arrived, I managed to procure a Metro pass (even though I initially stood in the wrong line and had to break my cool imitation of a jaded East-coaster in order to ask for help) and hopped onto what I hoped was the right train.

This picture just about sums up how I was feeling at that moment. I had managed to get on the yellow line, but was it going in the right direction? If I had gotten on the wrong one, I’d have been on my way to Virginia, you see.

Right after I took this picture, a woman sitting in the seat across from me snapped her head up and demanded to know whether I had just taken a picture of her. I, being terrified of East coast natives (word on the street is that they eat polite West coast suburbanites like me for breakfast) promptly denied the accusation and showed her the picture for proof. She then commanded me to take another picture, but with me smiling instead of terrified (I did, but then erased it when she wasn’t looking.)

I managed to transfer trains successfully (though I had to ask a few billion bystanders for help in the process) and made it to my hotel safely. Now that I’m home and safe, I look back on my Metro adventure with fondness.

If I actually knew where I was going I’d probably really enjoy reading a book on the way to work. I might never get used to the scary teenagers on the bus (one of whom either threw me a gang symbol or the ASL sign for a**hole, I couldn’t tell which he was going for and was too afraid to ask) but I might get better at blending in. My good manners made me stick out like a sore thumb there.

Ok, here’s the deal: I’m leaving tomorrow and flying to Washington DC. I’ll be leaving at 5:30am (Ooooh, it hurts to write that) and away from a computer until Saturday. Now, if I were an awesome blogger I’d have two blog posts lined up and ready to go so that none of you would even know that I’m gone.

The thing is, I’m not an awesome blogger right now. I’m a tired, over-wrought blogger anxious about the prospect of hauling my tired self to the airport at 3:30am tomorrow morning. Seriously, that’s so early in the morning it makes me tired to even think about it.

So, this blog will be quiet for a couple days. I know I know, Boo on me and all that. I’m sorry, but I still have two blog posts to edit, dinner to cook, and a suitcase to pack. That being said, can I possibly pacify you all with the promise of pictures and stories when I get back?

My job is sending me to a conference that aims to educate young voters about the economic issues present in our country right now. Seriously, if I don’t come home with loads to talk about I’m not worth my salt as a blogger at all. I may be the only Republican attending the conference so if I don’t come home with food in my hair I probably didn’t do a very good job. Wish me luck, comrades, I’m going in.

How could I forget to post the picture of me riding a camel?! As per my usual, if there’s an animal around I can be counted on to try to either a) domesticate it, b) talk to it, or c) ride it, so why would our trip to Israel be any different?

This particular camel was in front of the caves at Qumran, where they found the Dead Sea Scrolls.

The camel’s owner wanted to charge us $5 to sit on the camel but the lady in front of me fearlessly negotiated him down to $1 and so we all took advantage of her good negotiating.

Man, camels are tall! I’ve been riding horses since I could hold my head up but I was actually pretty darn nervous being up that high. The camel was chained to the sign-post but the chain was really flimsy, more decorative than anything, and I was certain that if I looked at him the wrong way it’d be “Adios, guy with the stick!” and me and my camel friend would go lopping off into the sunset.

All that being said, sitting on a camel was everything I thought it’d be: smelly, tall, and vaguely alarming. I liked it, though, and if I ever get the chance again I’d like to actually ride one. The way they walk (all slopey and gangly) I think it’d be awesome fun.

I also wanted to write briefly about one of my personal highlights from the trip. We were sailing around the Red Sea and enjoying the day when the sailors put on some music they thought we’d like. It was disco (why do foreigners all assume that Americans are still crazy for disco?) and we tolerated it for about three hours.

The playlist must have run out at some point, though, because suddenly there was Metallica in our midst (Fade to Black, if you must know.) The guy changed the song but I yelled at him and he switched it back. The music was considerably better after that and when Led Zepplin started playing I knew we’d made it.

I can’t really explain how other-wordly yet unspeakably cool it was to cruise around the Red Sea while listening to “Stairway to Heaven,” but trust me when I say that it was beyond cool. If you ever get the chance I recommend it with both hands and feet.

This may be my final post about our Israel trip. Not because I’ve run out of stuff to talk about but because I have new things to talk about and it’s really hard to convey the sheer awesome of the trip.

So eyes, look your last upon our photos from Israel. If you want to see more, well, I guess you’ll just have to come over for dinner and a slideshow or something.

Anyhoodle, This photo was taken on the steps that led up to the original Temple. This is an authentic site where we know for a fact that Jesus taught. It was really hot there that day so I hope he had a fan or mister or something while he was teaching because that could have gotten uncomfortable real quick.

I included this picture because it has members of our tour group in it and it’s our group I want to discuss today. I noticed an interesting thing happening amongst our tour group members and now it’s time to share: Tour Group Communism.

You see, when you pack for a long journey you take only what you can forsee needing (and, ostensibly, don’t forget the single most important item in your beauty arsenal like I did because apparently I’m a glutton for carrying around huge hairy eyebrows for two weeks).

As I was saying, you take the stuff you think you’ll need. Sometimes, issues arise during the trip that necessitate the use of things you didn’t think you’d need. This is where the communism comes in. About three days into the trip, everyone started getting this nasty cold and there was a roaring trade in cold/flu pharmaceuticals. Over breakfast we’d all compare inventories and then trade/barter our way to the best meds.

Among the ladies there was a lot of exchanging of beauty products. I, for one, borrowed a friend’s tweezers twice so that I could clear-cut the out-of-control eyebrows that were threatening to take over my whole face. Other people asked for and received nail polish, nail clippers, concealer, and hair products. We all did what we could to maintain the gorgeous visages our husbands have come to know and adore.

Food was another commodity that became open for exchange. If someone bought a package of dates, suddenly the bus was awash with dates and everyone was asking where they should go to spit out the pit. If another person found a good deal on shwarma (think of a kosher gyro) recommendations were disseminated to the masses.

It was a fascinating study in group behavior dynamics and I for one am so glad the communist tendencies went to a happy place. I think it would have put a damper on the trip if we’d gone all Animal Farm on one another.