Weather was fine. Wish it was here.

I'm back from vacation. Reluctantly. Unhappily. Slightly sunburned and jet lagged.

Sigh

It sucks to end a vacation. I missed Chicky like crazy but it was hard to come home, back to reality, and leave all that freedom behind. Which is funny because I hate to travel. I hate airplanes and airports and living out of a suitcase. It takes me forever to relax and leave my worries behind me, but I love it when people bring me margaritas. Love it. And I love that my only worry was where I was going to pass out.

(You think I'm kidding.)

(I'll see you at Blogher.)

(I'll be the one that's swaying.)

Phoenix, and the resort we stayed at, were beautiful. Very posh, lovely weather, and did I mention the margaritas? I'm fairly certain I did but the tequila and the 90 degree temperature went straight to my head. It's a good thing it was so hot because I got to sweat everything out of my system.

Hey, I wasn't alone. There were lots of people doing the same damn thing. Stop judging.

With the exception of our first night (The night of the ho-down. Ho boy. There are no-ho words.), and our last evening (Gala awards dinner in the desert. How they pulled that off with that many people - hundreds of us and an open bar. Are you sensing a theme yet? - I'll never know) and one one-hour business session that Mr. C had to attend we were pretty much left up to our own devices. Which meant lots of pool time for me.

With the pretty people.

Christ.

I haven't seen that much tits and ass since, um, ever. I live in Massachusetts, after all, where our motto is "We're too smart to be superficial!"

(Which is why MA won't be competing with Brazil for "the most beautiful women in the world" title. Or Delaware, for that matter.)

And let me tell you they, the Tits (they deserve to be capitalized) were all expensive and all spectacular. I'd like the name of those women's doctors because there was some incredible work lying around that pool.

It was all very amusing (says the woman who hid behind her tankini and her book). As the hot days went on, and the more drinks were consumed, the parade of skin around the pool got more plentiful. And the men were more appreciative. I swear if they could have without threat of lawsuit the men "cooling" - ahem, swim trunks don't, um, control much, do they? - themselves in the pool would have held up score cards as women passed.

8.0! 6.5! Wow 9.5!!

(gotta leave room for improvement)

It was a bit like being back in college... If the college I went to was attended by men with six figure salaries and huge egos. But they didn't bother me (because, duh, I don't have big boobs) and I didn't bother them (except the Yankees fans who caught sight of me in my Red Sox hat, sore losers) so all in all Mr. C and I had a great time.

Oh! One of the best parts of our trip (besides the weather and the drinks and the free massage and the gourmet food and the...) was during the last night's awards dinner. Every year they have some recognizable music acts. Last year? Hootie and the Blowfish.

(Thank God we didn't go last year)

But this year? The Dan Band. Fuck!

And I say that with the utmost respect and admiration. If you saw them in Old School you know of which I speak.

If you ever get the chance to see them live, jump on that opportunity like a horny man on a box of porn. You will not be disappointed. Unless you're like half of the chuckleheads we attended the dinner with, middle aged wives and their millionaire husbands who forgot to purchase a sense of humor with their new Mercedes, who were so offended by The Dan Band's version of Genie in a Bottle (gotta rub me the right way) that they left early. Eh. More room at the front of the audience for me.

I saw Dan the next morning at the hotel's Starbucks and I wanted to hump his leg - because that's how I show my appreciation for things I really like. But I figured his wife probably wouldn't have liked it. And poor Mr. C. Nobody wants to be that guy. The husband whose wife gets all nasty on the entertainment. My husband's career would have been ended right there and then how would I afford all that plastic surgery I now realize I so desperately need?

Not that we'll ever be invited back. My husband was one of the few token technical guys invited to this sales shindig. I think there was, maybe, four of them - the token techies - out of 600 sales employees. But we'll always have Phoenix. And the free margaritas.

Um, I think.

Damn tequila.