I did not see any Real Housewives in Atlanta.
Let me make that point first, as I'm sure you were wondering that more than anything else. I did not see NeNe, and I definitely did not see Kim, as I'm sure I would've heard her singing a mile away and confused it for goat rape.
Atlanta did hold up its end of the
bargain. I was entertained by the city, and even more so by the people who attended a weekend journalism seminar with me near Georgia Tech. We talked about higher education, analyzed financial aid trends, discussed politics and drank shots of Italian liquor while hearing about an orgy with a cougar.
But before I get ahead of myself, a few random
Weekend Update selections:
* Yes, Capricorn and I
told each other "I love you" for the first time last week. I got nervous and basically blurted it out after wanting to say it for weeks. It was akin to romantic Tourettes. Fortunately, she thought it was cute.
* After deciding to carry my second bag on the plane to avoid baggage claim, I got in line for the security check. I frantically rifled through the bag to toss out any fluids larger than the guidelines. Out went some shaving cream, a bottle of water and a biological weapon (it was over 6 ounces.) At the same time, I was unzipping the other bag and getting my laptop out so it could be put in its own bin through the X-ray machine. At the same time, I was taking off my belt and my shoes so I could pass through the metal detector. The people behind me likely thought I was having a seizure, but I was just trying to live up to FAA guidelines.
* I had a direct flight from Baltimore to Atlanta, which left at 6 a.m. Everyone on the flight was asleep for that hour and a half trip. That is, except for the three Japanese businessmen behind me, who talked loudly and profusely the entire trip about the plane or Toyota or how creepy it was that Izzie had sex with her dead husband's ghost and needs to just move on and see what's in front of her with Karev... or, uh, something.
* I took a tour of the CNN building. An anchorwoman said "Hi" to me as she passed by into the newsroom. I'm assuming she was an anchorwoman because her face was without a blemish, her hair didn't move, her make-up was impeccable and she was in great shape. Other than that, she was ugly.
* I didn't post yesterday, perhaps the first time I haven't posted on a Monday, and the first time I've gone three days without posting, since I started this thing. I'd apologize, but I was crazy tired and out of it. Really, the post would have been something like:
Hey everyone, Atlanta was great, I had so much fun and stayed up so late and am so tired and I'm having trouble forming syllables and my eyes are playing tricks on me and is that a kitten dressed as a pirate and i need sleepandholycrapwhattimeisitdidiforgettowearpants?A few photos:
This mysterious woman was at the club when my group got there and was still dancing when we left at 2 a.m. She might be 6 foot tall. At first I thought she only liked chicks, as she was suggestively dancing with women and had a certain dominating persona, what with her Amazon woman limbs and bright red lipstick. But then that idea went out the door, because she grabbed me and started doing some kind of salsa/ballroom dance- to a Michael Jackson song. 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?"
Yeah, seriously, she did. I said, "Yes?" (Exactly like that- as a question). She soon went on to another dude. (That's a photo of me at the end of the night. I was still shocked.)
The Varsity is supposedly an Atlanta tradition, a restaurant known for its old-fashioned hot dogs and hamburgers. Me, I'd rather go to the
Max and watch
Ed Alonzo** do magic tricks.
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* I knew you'd look... While out on Saturday night with two new friends from San Antonio and Boston, we stopped at a trendy-looking bar. The trendy looking male bartender overheard us talking about crazy sexual experiences and offered to give us a free shot of
Strega (highly recommended) if we told him a story. Then he offered his own: He took a female bartender to a club, they found a 42-year-old MILF, and she offered to take them back to her hotel room... Soon after he told us this tale, I realized that he likely was hoping to get the three of us in bed as well, as MILFs are a dime a dozen, but RILFs*** are a real notch on the belt.
** I remembered that actor's name without looking it up. Sadly.
*** Reporters I'd Like to ****
**** Have sex with.
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:
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