By Friday morning, I will be in a city known for wind, historic losing, Oprah and a musical starring Catherine Zeta Jones' legs.
That's right, it's Chicago.
It's the third time I'll be attending an expenses-paid reporters' conference (who knows why they keep accepting me).
The last time, I went to the A-T-L, but was unable to track down Kim, NeNe or Ludacris. I did, however, have this happen to me:
"Since I didn't want to end up anyone's bitch, handcuffed to a bed with my wallet stolen and a sock in my mouth, I smiled politely and tried to back off. She then leaned over and asked me,
'Do you like bad girls?'"
That trip was also right after the first time Capricorn and I told each other "I love you." We have since told each other that about 10,000 times, and have managed to never say "P.S. I Love You" Hilary Swank style because that would be obnoxious and annoying.
For the first conference, I went to St. Louis, and happened to stay at a hotel across the street from a rally for then-presidential hopeful Barack Obama. I also got to go up in the St. Louis Arch, which I imagine is more or less a claustrophobic's worst nightmare. And how could I forget this random encounter on the street:
Old dude: "Do you know where Blah Blah bar is?"
Me: "Yeah, actually, we just came from there, it's down the street."
Old dude: (To Michigan girl): "You have a nice smile." (pauses... stares awkwardly)
Mich. girl: "Uh...."
(Enter homeless dude)
HD: "Hey y'all... It's my birthday today."
Me: "Well, happy birthday"
Who knows what will happen this time. Any guesses? Knife fight? Chess match with a Chicago Cub? Oprah decides not to leave Chicago just because of my presence?
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