Gym Crazies . . . and How I Met My New Southern BFF

Proudly, I did manage to work out each day of my business trip. This is not easy, considering the temptation of things like, um, sleep, and having one more round at the bar instead of retiring to the hotel room or sneaking in a mid-day workout.

But Thursday morning I did haul my ass to the hotel's fitness center, bright and early. Not easy, since I typically workout in the evenings on weekdays, and mid-afternoons on the weekends.

I spotted one of my colleague-friends, Cheryl, there as I dutifully climbed aboard a treadmill, next to a very pretty brunette, whose name I would later learn is Heather. I was cruising along for about 10 minutes when some late 40-ish woman came into the fitness center in nothing but a tired bikini and a crocheted coverup that failed to even skim her bottom. And flip flops. And she had leave-in conditioner in her hair. Really. I watched her climb on to an eliptical and begin to work out. I was so incredulous at this sight that I turned to my right, mouth hanging open and what I am sure what a confused expression on my face, when Heather looked at me and we both began to giggle at our shared judgmental expressions, LOL! Always nice to have someone confirm your thoughts, eh?!

Our giggles turned to "ICK" when the same woman sat down on a weightlifting machine and began to do about 4 (yep, a whopping 4) reps. Now, remember that her coverup does NOT cover her ass, so I am thinking, "ick, who KNOWS what she's got going on south of the border, and she's pressing that bare flesh onto a place I was planning on sitting in about 30 minutes?! YUCK!" Now you KNOW as soon as she left the next person who got on that weightlifting machine cleaned it off BEFORE they sat down, in addition to after!

But wait, it got even more bizarre . . . soon thereafter in walks yet another swimsuit/coverup-clad woman, CARRYING A STARBUCKS, who hopped onto a treadmill. Really. Who brings a hot beverage onto a treadmill? What kind of workout are YOU planning, dipshit?! About 15 minutes later, I notice that this idiot's husband is carrying wet, brown-stained towels to and from her treadmill because . . . YEP . . . she spilled coffee all over the treadmill! But Heather and I looked at each other incredulously because Ms. Starbucks pussywhipped-husband actually cleaned up the treadmill while his wife was still on it! That's right, she kept walking while he cleaned up her spilled coffee, which I am sure made for a sticky mess as it dried throughout the treadmill's gears. What an ass -- BOTH of them.

Which brings me to my new BFF, Heather. We saw each other a few hours later at one of the conference sessions, and wound up hanging out for the rest of the conference. Heather is my age, from South Carolina, and has a stunning engagement ring, just like me. We mutually expressed admiration for one another's jewelry and hair, which is always the start of a beautiful female pairing. Throughout the remaining days of the conference, we easily chatted about everything and anything . . . both our fathers-in-law are anesthesiologist, we both went to private colleges up north, our mutual love for Nino Scalia (she met him, and admitted to being star struck). We even shared shaving tips -- always a true mark of female bonding.

So, in spite of the gym crazies, I met my new work-travel BFF, and can't wait to see Heather again when I go to Las Vegas in November :o)

Kirsten's Hot vs. Not List

Kirsten recently sent us her only semi-kidding list of what's hot, and conversely, what's not. Then she challenged us to do the same.

Since I absentmindedly forgot to pack anything to read on my 2.5 hour flight this morning to Ft. Lauderdale (more on that later), I had plenty of time to consider her challenge. Sometimes I found myself giggling in my plane seat at the bitchy lunacy my own brain came up with (I am sure some of the fellow passengers were thinking to themselves, "Damn, what's that crazy chick listening to on her Ipod?!")

So, inspired by my business trip AND the current lovely beach locale I find myself in . . . here ya, go, Kirsten/Chrissie/2.0:

HOT: Men who look just perfect in a breezy, button-down beach shirt
NOT: Men with nasty feet who wear sandals. Nasty hands also.

HOT: Women who look sexy with tossled, day-at-the-beach hair.
NOT: Women who clearly should not wear a thong. Not under their clothes, and certainly not at the beach.

HOT: A great suit on a man, complimented by a crisp shirt, interesting tie, and braces.
NOT: Cheap dress shirts, and boring ties or (worse yet) those clearly bought by his kids.

HOT: Sneaking out of afternoon conference sessions for a drink at the bar. Or better yet, a quickie roll in the hay.
NOT: The pain-in-the-ass colleague who shows up at EVERYTHING, can only talk business, and acts like you're insane for wanting to discuss non-work topics.

I know there's more . . . but the comfy bed of my hotel room awaits and I am endeavouring to haul ass to the gym tomorrow morning, so TTFN!

Trophy Wife Travel Network

My job entails a fair amount of travel, including some out of town trips, though many times it is to the same 2 or 3 places. I enjoy it though, it breaks up the monotony of sitting behind a desk, and hey, ya gotta love those expense checks for the mileage (yep, I love making extra money via those, hee hee!) Plus, twice a year I get to go to cities for national conferences that are rotated throughout the country, which has an cool, exciting element to it.

Due to all of this travel, I get the opportunity to stay in a wide range of hotels. Over the years, some have been good, some not-so-good, and some downright gross and/or scary (hullo, Appalachian Conference in Kentucky!)

I have found that the decor of a hotel can have a lot to do with the quality of my stay. If I like the design of the lobby, the furniture, the color scheme in the room, it can go a long way towards whether I enjoy my stay or not. In that regard, I am drawn to places that have more modern or contemporary touches to them, or even silly/funky ones (yes, Hotel Helix, I am referring to your shagadelic self with the leopard-print robes). If a hotel has those big, faux-velvet stuffed chairs in a fun color, it definitely puts a smile on my face, as for some reason I just love those chairs, and wished I had one at home to sink into!

There's always the tendency to stay at a hotel where you've already had a good experience. But sometimes I will have to venture to a city whose hotel offerings I am unfamiliar with, or maybe I just have the urge to mix it up a bit. As a result, I have become a big fan of the Trip Advisor web site, which allows you to research hotels based on the more honest recommendations of regular folks who have stayed there. Sometimes they even post their own room and lobby photos, which is a nice touch.

Later this year I must travel to Las Vegas for a weeklong conference. Trip Advisor contributors have recommended one hotel in particular as having thee best beds in all of Vegas . . . we shall see!

Happy 4th of July!

Nobody ever said it better, and today is the perfect day to listen to it over and over again:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YDecLiA_Qbw

I truly LOVE when men speak like this -- with conviction, purpose, and strength. They're not worrying about bullshit like offending pansies, pissing off the pundits, or seeming insensitive. Gawddamit, they are only interested in WINNING -- to preserve the American way of life, to keep us safe and sound.

LONG LIVE PATTON'S SPIRIT, AND THOSE OF MEN LIKE HIM!!! (soooo hot, as I am sure Adrian would agree!)

So everyone enjoy the YouTube clip, and/or read the words below, for a lil' patriotic pick-me-up . . . .

Be seated.

Now, I want you to remember that no bastard ever won a war by dying for his country. He won it by making the other poor dumb bastard die for his country. Men, all this stuff you’ve heard about America not wanting to fight, wanting to stay out of the war, is a lot of horse dung. Americans traditionally love to fight. All real Americans love the sting of battle. When you were kids, you all admired the champion marble shooter, the fastest runner, the big league ball player, the toughest boxer. Americans love a winner and will not tolerate a loser. Americans play to win all the time. I wouldn’t give a hoot in hell for a man who lost and laughed. That’s why Americans have never lost and will never lose a war. Because the very thought of losing is hateful to Americans.

Now, an Army is a team. It lives, eats, sleeps, fights as a team. This individuality stuff is a bunch of crap. The bilious bastards who wrote that stuff about individuality for the Saturday Evening Post don’t know anything more about real battle than they do about fornicating.

We have the finest food and equipment, the best spirit and the best men in the world. You know, by God I actually pity those poor bastards we’re going up against. By God, I do. We’re not just going to shoot the bastards, we’re going to cut out their living guts and use them to grease the treads of our tanks. We’re going to murder those lousy Hun bastards by the bushel.

Now, some of you boys, I know, are wondering whether or not you'll chicken out under fire. Don't worry about it. I can assure you that you will all do your duty. The Nazis are the enemy. Wade into them. Spill their blood. Shoot them in the belly. When you put your hand into a bunch of goo that a moment before was your best friend's face, you'll know what to do.

Now there’s another thing I want you to remember. I don’t want to get any messages saying that we are holding our position. We’re not holding anything. Let the Hun do that. We are advancing constantly and we’re not interested in holding onto anything except the enemy. We're going to hold onto him by the nose and we're going to kick him in the ass. We're going to kick the hell out of him all the time and we're gonna go through him like crap through a goose.

There’s one thing that you men will be able to say when you get back home. And you may thank God for it. Thirty years from now when you’re sitting around your fireside with your grandson on your knee and he asks you what did you do in the great World War II, you won’t have to say, "Well, I shoveled shit in Louisiana."

Alright now, you sons-of-bitches, you know how I feel. Oh, and I will be proud to lead you wonderful guys into battle – anytime, anywhere.

That’s all.