Business Travel Reality

Some people think business travel is sexy – these are the people who don’t travel for business. Nothing against the job – I enjoy it and think I’m pretty good at it, but some times the travel starts to get to you.Perfect example – an overnight trip to a meeting in Orlando at Disney World. My client said they needed me there so I booked a ticket for the next day. For the record, the TSA loves when you buy a last-minute ticket like that – there is a guy in Security at Newark airport that still needs to buy me a drink after our “screening” time together…

First of all, being the only person in a suit getting on the flight when everyone else was in Hawaiian shirts and flip flops with their children in toe all with that look of anticipation of seeing the mouse and starting a great vacation should have been the first sign. The flight was not bad, but when I got to the hotel it was more of the same. It’s very difficult to get any work done then everyone else around you is on vacation. I was able to meet with the people I needed to at the conference, and it was a very successful day. Now, alone, I have the rest of the night by myself. The happiest place on earth is not so happy when you are there alone. So I did what anyone else would do – made the most of the night and then get an earlier flight in the morning.

So I make my way back to the Orlando airport and the fun part of business travel came back. Despite being very early in the morning, the security line was wrapped around and a round those snake-like strap dividers that always put people in a good mood. Again, Hawaiian shirts, flops and many, many children were the rule, however this time the mood was much different with bad sunburns and bad attitudes of people returning home to work or school dominating the scene. I am in the back of the line when I hear the TSA announcement, “The terrorist security alert has been lowered from Donald to Goofy – please be advised.” At this point I have two thoughts: I need coffee and I need to get home. Happily, I was not scrutinized during my security check – must have been the Goofy alert level – and I was off to the gate. The only seat available was an middle, but it was mine, and I was on my way home.

And You Thought Maggie Was Crazy...

Let's admit it. At heart, Maggie's a pound dog. There's no denying it. We rescued her. Girl's got some issues. There are times when she's sweet and lovable and cuddly. There are times when she's a tad frightening and damn scary. I love her, but 90% of me adores her and 10% of me is terrified of her. We joke that the ghost of Helen Keller haunts one of our spare bedrooms, but truly, the ghost of something haunts Maggie.



Whenever we give the girl a treat or a bone, she trots lively into the office where she proceeds to chew it. And then the ghost steps in. Or so she thinks. She begins this ridiculously hilarious routine of barking at her own shadow or her own tail. It's absurd. Don't even think of going near her when she's got a chewy, or you're not likely to have your nose when you're done.



So when the boy sent me the link to this video, I nearly fell out of my chair. It was so reminiscent of Maggie, I had to post it. Enjoy. I did.

The Art of Catching the Bus

Everyday we venture from our happy little neighborhood of the "Bloom" to the big Apple to work our tireless so called glamorous agency jobs. The day kicks off at 6 a.m.with a Moo walk, OK so the boy got that job, but the reality is I take longer to get ready in the morning. By about 7:10 a.m. we're both out the door to the corner to await the OH so glamorous Decamp bus ride into city. Now, there are a few ways one can venture into the city via public transportation. We have all but sold our souls to Decamp because of their proximity to our home. The other options, like the train and NJ transit require a drive to a large lot where one has to trust that their precious car won't get ticketed, broken into or worse, stolen. Its true - I know a guy. He now rides Decamp.

But don't let me lead you to think that Decamp is wonderful. They are a monopoly on the North Jersey / Manhattan commuter system, abusive with their false schedules and their overly jacked up prices. So it's not uncommon to reach our stop by 7:15 and wait for the bus until 7:30 sometimes 7:45 for not one, but two buses to arrive, one entirely packed still picking people up, the other nearly empty passing overworked and exhausted "standees" by on their way towards route 3.

The art of catching a Decamp bus is to arrive whenever you feel like it without regard for a schedule and crossing your fingers you're not 15 people deep when it finally arrives.

Here's the thing: If you've actually got a schedule to keep and need to get to the office on time, Decamp just isn't for you. The added stress will have you updating your resume and posting it on njjobs.com. I'd suggest looking into alternate transportation. More on Decamp later...I'm sure.

They think it's me!

To venture to and from the safe confinement of the suburbs to the boisterous madness that is Manhattan during the week, we have to take the bus into the city. I hate the bus. I hate the bus for a NUMBER of reasons which I'm sure you'll read about in future blogs, but for the purposes of this blog entry, I hate the bus because while the price to ride the supposedly comfortable coach bus into the city is quite reasonable when you're able to sit in the air conditioned cushioned seats, it is absolutely preposterous when you have to stand up the entire way through our fine city twisting and stopping down Route 3, through the Lincoln Tunnel traffic into the hell hole which is the city.

That said, on this particular first hot day of the spring when I've hauled my "not quite fit for the wedding butt" from my office on 49th and 8th to Port Authority on 42nd and 8th weaving and dodging the other Bridge and Tunnel commuters as they push and pull their way through walking traffic to get on the bus, I'm sweating. It's hot. And the bus isn't quite on time so I've got to stand and roast and wait for the next one. Here's the thing: I'm not what you'd call a graceful person, I sweat. I've not only inherited my Dad's large nose, but I've inherited his ability to sweat as well and when I'm hot, I don't glow like other girls, I sweat. But I am a girl nonetheless and I wear my deodorant and my perfume and I SHOWER each day. I'm not an animal. The guy behind me hasn't showered since the invention of the wheel. I'm not trying to be graphic but this guy smells like onions and pastrami. Onions and pastrami that are way past their prime. He stinks.

Finally the bus arrives. Thank God we can board the bus and head home. Alas, as fate would have it there are no seats remaining and me and Stinky have to stand. We're near the front of the bus and of course we have to lift our arms to clutch for dear life so we don't topple on to the other more fortunate passengers who made it to Port Authority faster than we have.

And then I smell it again. This guy stinks so bad that the other passengers begin to cover their noses and then I see their faces. Do they think it's me!? What if they think it's me!? They think it's me! What do I do? We carry on through the Tunnel down Route 3 West towards home and then finally....

The bus bell sounds to signal that someone wants to get off and Stinky pushes his stinky self past me. When the doors open and he departs the bus, so does his smell. The passengers start to breathe again a couple of seats open up. I take a seat and breathe a sigh of relief. Thank God they know it wasn't me.

Now, when I see Stinky coming, I wait for the next bus....I'm not even trying to go through that again...I'd rather get home 30 minutes later than ride the bus with him. It's just not worth it.

h

On The Road Again

While the city is great, and there is no place like home...sometimes you just need a road trip. This weekend, the ring, the boy and I went to Baltimore for the Yanks vs. Orioles game. Grabbing two great friends on the way, we decided to explore the Inner Harbor prior to the game. After a great lunch and some drinks at Phillips, we settled on the outdoor patio at the Hard Rock Cafe for some more drinks. You couldn't have asked for a more beautiful day.

So while I was a little nervous venturing into Birdland with my Pinstripes and Yanks hat, half the stadium was packed with fellow Yanks Fans and it almost felt like being home in the Bronx....almost.

As much as I love legendary Yankee Stadium, there was something about the charm of Camden Yards. I was very impressed with the feel of the stadium and what it brought to the game. There was even a little piece of home, a statue of Babe Ruth -- a native son of Baltimore -- in front of the stadium.

A great afternoon turned into a great evening -- until the O's scored 6 unanswered runs. The boys in gray didn't seem to have it in them and they added one to the loss column, so we went across the street to The Pickle to add one (or six) to the drinks column. Thanks to the good (and drunk) people of Baltimore for sharing their city with us for the weekend.

h

Get Him! Get Him! Get Him!

Last June we decided to adopt a dog. OK, I decided to adopt a dog and I made the recommendation by adding said dog to the grocery list. My loving fiance complied with my request by allowing me to search for dogs on petfinder.com. You should see what's on the "grocery list" now.

Little did he know that I might actually find a dog, let alone adopt one. But we did and the boy fell in love with her and we named her Maggie (Moo) and the rest is history. (More on that later.)

With that said, the Moo is very protective of her adopters and protects us at every single opportunity that exists around every single corner of our safe and loving block and protects us from every single other adorable dog that lives on said block with a vicious and uncalled for bark and growl. It's embarrassing to say the least.

That said, this evening as we walked the Moo, who does indeed have her own "theme" song for walking...ask me at the wedding....you'll probably hear it played in honor of her absence....we encountered a poor, defenseless Golden Retriever, walking along the block. ATTACK!!!! Moo went in to DEF COM 5 protection mode seeking to save us from the horrendous attack of the Golden who was at least a block and a half away. As we typically do, we tried to distract the Moo and turned about face towards another block.

Within minutes we were faced with a large Rottweiler, unleashed and trotting towards us with the fury of a kitten. As I swoop up the Moo ready to save her from the attack of a horrendous animal, I shout "Get him! Get him!" and the poor owner runs out the door and saves his Rottweiler from the growls and snarls of Maggie Moo, the pure white 20 lb Westie Mix.

He apologizes up and down for frightening her to which we respond..."It's OK. Please don't let it happen again."

It's not always glamorous...

Sometimes its just a typical suburban day in the Bloom'. Me, the boy and Mags are having a typical Sunday - a little bit of laundry, a little bit of grocery store, a little bit of The Godfather, you know, much like the rest of the world, it's a day of rest.

Don't get me wrong, we weren't completely lazy today. We did get a couple of things accomplished. In addition to the cookies baking in the oven as I write this (of course they're the Betty Crocker Break and Bake, but who cares?), I did do some heavy lifting today while the boy took his Bike out for a spin. I'll explain....

A couple of months ago we purchased new bedroom furniture for one of the guest bedrooms. Ok, I'll be honest, the furniture was for the Helen Keller room. You may ask yourself why we have a bedroom called the Helen Keller room. What, you dont have one?

My sister lovingly nicknamed the room the Helen Keller room because prior to the new furniture that we purchased, the room had a single twin bed, a small dresser and a small white rug. I will admit, it looked very asylum like. The entire room was white in addition to the walls, curtains, bedspread and small rug and my sister Stacey felt that you would have to be deaf and blind to want to stay in this room over the other rooms in our house. Thanks Stace. We've got a couple of new decorating ideas for Helen's room so hang tight. Anyway, Helen's room got a furniture upgrade and the furniture is now a deep dark wood with silver accents. It's very cute - very modern. Helen's furniture is now up in the attic and Stacey is convinced that the ghost of Helen haunts the attic. But I digress.

So, when we put the new bed in the room formally known as Helen's room, we decided that in order to ensure that the bed was nice enough to allow our guests to sleep on, we should test it out! So we scheduled an "away game" one night, packed our PJ's and slept in the guest room. WOW! That bed is comfortable! It was like sleeping on a cloud. Heavenly. I didn't want to get up. It was literally like a pillow of heavenly, featherbedly goodness. It's far more comfortable than our own bed, and our own bed is super comfy. For the next couple of nights, we slept in the guest room. So it occurred to me, while it's polite to put your guests in a nice, comfortable bed, isn't it even more polite to make yourself comfortable in your own home? The boy didn't quite agree with me on this topic and thought we should leave the beds as they were.

So, while the boy was out joy riding today, I swapped the Queen sized pillow topped mattresses out of Helen's room and replaced it for our own. What? Don't look at me like that...besides, he'll sleep like a baby tonight.

Gotta go, the cookies are ready...