Rabulous

Surprisingly, I’ve been very productive at work, thus impeding on my daytime internet/blogosphere usage. I haven’t updated my different blogs in several weeks/months, and like a crackhead, I’m fiending– bad.

So, here I am. Since I last wrote, I came back from a hectic trip home to Va. A few days later, I left for the Crescent City. I’ve been anticipating this worktrip all year, mainly because I was curious to see New Orleans for myself.
I’ve read in many different places that the touristy areas, specifically, the French Quarter, weren’t as affected as the other areas that were literally decimated by flooding.
I always sit in the window seat for reasons such as this–as my plane landed, I couldn’t help but peer out my tiny circular window. The views from the plane perfectly reflected the solemn magazines spreads depicting the area’s despair.

It was hard not to notice that every single house had a trailer out front. But even more noticeable, it looked like most of these homes had barely been touched, even though the waters receded well over a year ago.

On my way to my work event, we passed the Superdome. It was the first main landmark, and physical reminder of how much this city has changed.

My work event was held at the huge convention center in New Orleans, right by the French Quarter. This is the same exact convention center that served as shelter for hundreds and thousands of Katrina victims last year. It was the same exact Convention center where different media outlets reported multiple deaths among all of the Katrina victims.

That day and a world away, the convention center housed my work event, featuring thousands of company executives marketing themselves and their multimillion dollar ideas. What was just a temporary refuge for the poorest of poor last year, was now a badly lit, poorly carpeted, overbudgeted platform for really rich companies. Commercialism is fun.
What’s really funny is when I turn heads when I walk down my little aisle to my company’s booth. Since 95% of these exectutives are old white hairs, they usually don’t know what to think of me, the ethnic girl in a suit.
Nevertheless, my work trip was extremely productive. When the sun goes down, the function gets even more productive. This is an event where many companies schmooze with the best of them. My friend and I attended a work “event” hosted by a well known company. the open bar, food and beads were a great way to network with other people in the industry.
After several beers or so, things got even more interesting out on the balcony that overlooked Bourbon Street.

If you’ve ever wondered what traveling salesmen do on their nights off, those questions would’ve been answered right there. ( vivid proof for my friends on Flickr. read: boobs) Standing on this balcony with 100 or so men old enough to be my dad, I hooted and hollered with the best of them, pointing out the “cute” girls and chucking beads at the “trampy” ones. haha. You’ve never seen the French Quarter until you go there for this work funtion.

Craziness always ensues when you get several thousand middle-aged men together in New Orleans.

To end my evening, my friend and I retreated to our hotel lobby and enjoyed some nightcaps before another hectic workday. To the sounds of the extremely talented piano bar singer, I was reminded how much I love New Orleans and how rich it is in musical wealth. Some things will never change.

by the way, that isn’t my tree. That was in the Hotel lobby. It took everything I had to not jump on it a la Jack Bauer.

**8

On my way back to NJ, I had a layover in good ol’ NC. Much to my demise, I ended up getting stranded in Charlotte, NC during my layover. NIGHTMARE. I have never felt so miserable while traveling–ever. My flight was canceled due to extremely high winds in NJ. And THEN, they lost my damn bags. Oh the horror.

I stayed at the shittiest hotel in all of NC. Conveniently, it was situated next to the town’s Gentleman’s club. To provide an even better picture, I decided to have a drink before bed so I slipped into the hotel bar that happened to be pumping fine tunes from the early 90s. I ordered my usual– a miller light and a SoCo and lime. The bartender came back to me 3 times to re-ask what I wanted. Finally, she comes back with a Michelob and a rocks glass filled with SoCo on the rocks topped with a lot of Lime Juice.

Toto, we’re definitely not in Kansas anymore.

The next morning, on my 2nd attempt to fly home from Charlotte, I met this kind little old man at the airport bar. He could hardly walk, he had a hearing aid in his right ear, yet he was drinking alongside of me at 10am. Instead of being frustrated like me, this 70-something old man was anxious to go and see his daughter in CA. Me, I was beyond anxious to get the hell out of effin rockin’ NC. The little old man couldn’t resist making conversation. Perhaps, he could sense that I was pissed off that I had to sleep in my clothes on a rickety ass bed. Perhaps, he could sense that maybe, conversation could take my mind off of how arduous my trip home had become.

He talked to me about his daughter and her gay friends who all work in Hollywood. he told me about how he was born and bred in Brooklyn with just a grammar school education– a fact that he could not help but repeat 75 times or so. If anything, the old man was so proud that he came from practically nothing, straight out of Brooklyn and became a multi-millionaire. The old man, staring at my disorganized pile of receipts for my expense report, asked if he could buy me another Bloody Mary. though I declined, he insisted anyway. Afterall, he assured me that he probably had more money than me. There’s no doubt about that one. And so, he continued to talk and I contently sipped my delicious Bloody Mary until it was time to board my flight. (graciously reassigned to First Class– just me and my tired, no makeup, lost luggage ass next to the real first class travelers.)

The conversation was nice, but really, I know the old dude just wanted a sounding board. Hey, I’m a great sounding board if drinks are involved.

Though the trip itself was productive, I truly wish my trip home would’ve been a lot easier. Despite losing my luggage, meeting the most bizarre people at the airport bars and having to spend the night away from my husband and my very comfortable bed, I was safe and out of harm’s way.

Truthfully, it wasn’t all that bad. Actually, my trip shed a lot of light. And I made it home in one piece.

The views of the Chesapeake Bay (from First Class!)