Hellooooooo!  I’m on vacation, and the weather is lovely, and I’M IN PAIN.

I didn’t want to lose my working out momentum, so we’ve been taking advantage of the fitness classes offered here at the resort complex.  We did tennis the first day (such fun!), and yoga the next day (stretchy and sore but still fun).  Today though?  Today we did the Total Body Sculpt (aka: Total Body Torture).

I mean, doesn’t total body sculpt sound like you just lie there while someone carves you into a hot statue?  I’d love to lie down while some sculptor guy makes me look like Jessica Alba.

Everything on my body hurts.  I will be physically incapable of dressing myself come morning.  So, I’m going to dull my pain with more shortcake and drown my sorrows in decaf coffee.  Doing an hour of sadistic muscle torture totally burns off a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup, shortcake, a Long Island Iced Tea, and cheeseburger, yes?

Yes.

My my my, aren’t we getting fancy whipping out Latin and all for the title of this post!  Shall we allow it?  Let’s consult the judge:

He says my Latin is rusty and provincial at best, but he’ll allow it.

All silliness aside, this post is going to have to serve as my online presence for the better part of next week, as Wes and I are packing up the baby and getting the heck out of Dodge.  By which I mean we’re going on vacation for a week.

Wes’ parents have, wonder of wonders, been able to find a rental vacation house east of here that’s large enough to afford every one of their four kids and five grandkids enough room to exist comfortably side by side for a week.  This was no easy task, and we’re all looking forward to filling up that house with as much food, laughter, and merriment as we can.

That said, I’ll likely be too busy cavorting in the sun and thwacking tennis balls to hunch over a laptop and screed out my innermost thoughts and wishes “Dear Diary” style.  I wish you all a fabulous week, and I’ll see you on the flip (and likely sunburned) side!

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.