...what was our room number again?

First and foremost, I am back to the internet world! YEA!!! Geez, talk about having a lamoid social life...I was so depressed about the non-InternetConnection, I really thought I was going mental. (BTW, many thanks to the two cable-guys who combined brains on this fine afternoon. I promise to bear your children if that is what it takes to repay your kindness...ok, maybe not...but I'll be happy to buy you a drink.)

Anyway.

I am going away for the weekend. A well deserved rest involving cocktails and horses…a small bite of mecca for me as these are a few of my favorite things. A friend and I are heading to Kentucky. We signed-up to be volunteers at Equine Affair, a big horse expo being held in Louisville. Both of us are very giving and helpful people; however, we are only doing the volunteer bit to get the free admission and free *Equine Affair* t-shirt. We are very giving but indeed very cheap. In order to get the bonus items we have to work for 8-10 hours at the expo. We signed up several months ago. Naturally, we had visions of oh, perhaps riding in a demo, assisting one of the famous celebrity guests, or cooling-off one of the famous horses thus being discovered for our hidden riding talents. Instead we have been assigned to work the information booth. This should be interesting. Informationally speaking, neither of us has a clue because we have never been to the show nor to the place where it is being held. If nothing else, it will provide good blog material in addition to the t-shirt and free admission. We have a cooler of beer and wine coolers for the post-information-booth discussions.

In planning for the big trip, I have noticed one small detail that, if I talk about it, will make me sound like the true snobby bitch that I am. I figure that in order to just get it out there, I will do it here…to the poor folks who don’t know me but get to create their own visuals of my somewhat pathetic yet amusing world. If I ever happen to meet you in person…say you have just popped into one of those fancy designer stores on Michigan Ave. in Chicago to check out a fabulous sale and you see a short-ish woman dressed in Eddie Bauer Outlet clothing who has no business being in this poshy store much less in the store arguing about the actual price of an item and getting absolutely nowhere, that is most likely me. When you see the security people start milling around, you can probably just let them know I am WalkTrotCanter and this is typical behavior according to what you have read. Thanks in advance. ANYWAY, the smallish detail is that the woman I am road-tripping with is super-duper nice and I honestly love her to death except for the fact that she keeps calling our hotel “the MOTEL.” Now let’s just step back a moment…in thinking “HOTEL”, I see queen beds, in-room coffee maker, one of those attached-to-the-wall hairdryers, complementary soap (possibly Aveda), and hangers with a laundry bag in case you want to send your laundry out for cleaning. “Motel”, on the other hand, = CheapOneNightStandIHadInCollegeWithSomeGuyIDon'tRemember. Ewwwwwwww. As I forge ahead to middle age, I would like to retain some teensy shred of dignity so please, for the sake of the bitch, could we refer to our place of rest as the HOTEL?

I so need help. LOL