We are flying home, and it seems like a good time to fill you in on the last few days. It’s probably my only opportunity because I have not been physically present in my office for five whole days.  Even though I’ve most definitely worked while out, I’m sure once I’m back I’ll be working, as the great Randy Travis would say, for as long as old men sit and talk about the weather.

I should let you know that if this entry never gets posted, it will be because TSA allowed some guy with no ID whatsoever through security.  Seriously, dude says, “I forgot my wallet.”  And they’re like, “ok, but we’re going to have to search your bags.”  That’s it?  I wanted to spin around and interrogate.  “Where might you be going that you will not need your wallet?  ‘Cause unless you’re visiting your momma, I’m suspicious.” The threat level is ORANGE, TSA.  Or have you not heard? 

Anyway, we left on Wednesday morning for National Harbor, Maryland, where I was attending [drumroll, please] a CONFERENCE. 

They say that you turn into your parents as you age, right?  Well there is nothing my mom likes more than a good conference, and I felt her jumping right out of my body this week.  It was my first real out-of-town conference, and I was jazzed.  I would learn so much! I would meet so many interesting people! I would be so close to Washington, D.C.! I bought some new suits and would get to wear them!

So, I tried to put aside my sincere fear of germs in airports, and we flew into Baltimore and drove the hour or so to National Harbor.  If you didn’t know, National Harbor appears to have been designed and built for conferences.  It is so contrived and transparent--they really should name the streets things like Gift Bag Alley and Lanyard Lane.  The hotel was a sprawling mess of fake crystal chandeliers and bad rugs.  I saw Kathleen Madigan perform while there, and she had some great lines about how the fake city was positioned perfectly to allow you to stare across the Potomac at a real city and think, “if only I had a boat!” 

But, it was, as intended, a perfect spot for a conference, and I appreciated being able to wander down from my room directly to sessions a - f without ever passing go or collecting $200.

The conference was intense, and the Mom in me would not allow me to skip a single session to pop across the water and enjoy D.C.  I mean, my employer sent me to learn, not sight-see, right? To learn and to collect and distribute business cards.  That was my mission. 

After the conference ended, we drove back to Baltimore (and then back to National Harbor and back to Baltimore again because someone who shall remain nameless left his clothes in the fake hotel drawer) for about 36 hours of real tourism.  After the usual where-do-you-want-to-eat/I-don’t-care-where-do-you-want-to-eat/well-i-don’t-even-know-what’s-here/well-do-you-think-i-have-superior-information-about-this-city-because-I-do-not,  we settled on a place by the harbor that had lots of things made of crab and had a nice lunch.  And I tried some spinach dip with crab and felt very proud of myself for eating seafood.  Baby steps.

Later, we went to a crab house (or house of crabs or something that sounds diseased like that) where the servers carry these giant slabs of crabs that look like they died only five minutes ago and plop them down in the middle of the table, and they pass out wooden hammers and put little trash cans on the floor by each diner.  It was one of the more barbaric things I’ve ever seen, but it was fascinating to watch.  I ate my lettuce wedge and stared, wide-eyed (and probably rudely) at a table of senior citizens who were clearly tourists but clearly from New England.  The older women in particular pounded on those crabs mercilessly, and one of them simultaneously managed to suck the meat from a claw, pound the next crab, and tell a story about Gatlinburg and how disgusting it is.  I couldn’t quibble with her description of Gatlinburg, but the heart of the southerner in me broke just a little bit hearing the home of Hillbilly Golf being trashed over seafood. 

We went to an Orioles/Red Sox game at Camden Yards, which was totally exciting except that it was 90,000 degrees in the shade.  Oh, AND, we were surrounded by Boston fans who transform from all kinds of fun at Fenway to seriously obnoxious elsewhere.

I like the Yard very much but...they did not have lemon ice.  I think lemon ice is critical.  And did I mention that it was hot?  Poor Chad went on a tireless search for lemon ice and came back with a generic version of dip-n-dots, which were at least cold and pseudo-sweet and worked as the refreshment of the present. 

Being at a baseball stadium when you don’t have a team is kind of a weird thing.  I clapped for a great Sox hit early on, and then clapped again for the Orioles defense.  And then Chad instructed me that I very much had to pick a side.  Apparently, I am not allowed to just appreciate good baseball.  So, I picked the Orioles, mostly because I felt that Sox had enough fan-passion going for them.  That is, I cheered for the Orioles until about the top of the 8th when the last square inch of my shirt was soaked with sweat, whereupon I became a devoted fan of Whoever Can End This Game in Regulation, preferably with a home run and a few quick outs. 

But, alas, that did not occur.  Eleven innings before the win for the Orioles.  Eleven innings, 90,000 degrees, and no lemon ice. 

Yesterday, we ended our trip with a drive by of Charm City Cakes (for those of you who maybe don’t DVR everything worth watching on the Food Network--which means everything except shows involving Rachel Ray, Sandra Lee, or the Neelys--Charm City Cakes is a bakery where a bunch of people who are at the height of Quirkiness make cakes that do not resemble cakes) and a trip to the National Aquarium. 

By the time we reached the National Aquarium, I had reached my limits of dog-missing.  Because of Chad’s travel schedule, we dropped Lucy off at his parents’ TEN DAYS AGO.  It turns out, that’s too long.  So every living creature that was in any way curious or adorable made me miss Lucy like crazy.  Even that turtle over there, and that toddler here, oh and the stuffed pink dolphin we could buy for Lucy to promptly decapitate. 

It was a good and interesting trip, if not so much a vacation.  We even passed Rudy Giuliani at the airport.  Although I did not vote for him, I was very happy to see that he was not surrounded by a huge pretentious entourage, and he opened the door for himself to the front seat of a GMC.   So, he kind of won me over.  Maybe in 2012. 

We were wishing for Rudy to be around when TSA allowed mister my-dog-ate-my-wallet through security.  For now, their laxness seems harmless.  We are sailing through the sky, and we should be reunited with Lucy soon.