Maybe

So maybe it's because I'm BEYOND exhausted. Or maybe it's just because I finally found the perfect job. Maybe a combo of the two.

But there is nothing like the high of walking out of an event that you think you did pretty darn well. The high that comes with knowing that, maybe it was in a completely vapid way, but you just made a few hundred people totally happy for a few hours. And you did it twice on both sides of the country.

Okay, off to bed. But man, what a high.

One down...

Plane touched down at 7:14 a.m. Three hours of sleep total. Meeting with Ambassador of a rather large country in 2 hours. Need shower. Need coffee. Need cranky pant removal.

Phoenix rocks. My hostesses ROCKED. Jill rocks. Sleep will SOSOSO rock.

One event left, then ah....

The Opposite of Glamour

...would be traipsing across two airports in heels with those ropey soles (blisters much?), being the heinous person on both planes that has to be asked to turn off their cell, spending every not-in-the-air second frantically problem solving, all the while feeling the worst cold ever buildingbuildingbuilding until its current state, full on fevery chilltown.

Flip side is that the Ritz is always fabulous (my big ol' bowl of French Onion Saga Granitee cannot get here soon enough) and I flew into a dust storm today, which was WAY cool. And I'm wearing a SWEET outfit tomorrow.

Okay, so maybe it's a wash.

The Alternative

So I'm kind of in hell.

Two events in 24 hours. One in Phoenix. So, yeah.

Tomorrow I have a meeting with a building owner, a huge member of the press corps, a T-shirt guy an hour away, have 50 SICK press bags to stuff, bags to pack and OHHOLYFUCK my flight leaves at 1 p.m. (thought it left at 7).

Wednesday, I walk out of my event at 8, catch to a flight to Vegas exactly one hour later, then to an overbooked flight that I hopehopehope I get on, arrive at 7:15 a.m. Thursday, then full throttle into my Thursday event, where I will be wearing very fabulous, very boldly floral cranky pants. At wholesale credit, so not a complete loss.

And yet, I was driving to a potential client meeting today (which I got--yay!), heading down Mass Ave., I looked to my right at the British Embassy. Outside they were setting up tents for the Queen's arrival.

There were three people outside having what appeared to be a logistics conversation (there were clipboards, there was pointing). They were beyond the gates, in the little front parking lot, yet still relatively close (at least close enough that I could see their faces) all in varying states of trying to look calm but holy shitshitshit the Queen the DAMN Queen is coming.

And then I realized that my job: not so very stressful after all.

P.S. Big Bird: Canary? Discuss amongst yourselves.

The goodie bag to end all goodie bags.

I've put together some DAMN fabulous goodie bags in my day. However, I'm not the official derm for Lancome...

Cocktails, munchies, and a sweet treat at the end. Can't beat it.

Me, I'll be in Scottsdale at Momzillas West. Wish me luck (and snag me a goodie bag!).

Lovely Momzillas

What a fab event! So thankful for everyone who turned out, for everyone who bought a book, and for all my friends (even my college roomies!) who showed up.

Hostesses were total rock stars, including Norah (what a trooper--she was on her feet the whole time, and due with twins in three weeks!!), and my incredible friend Jill, who just announced that she's preggers herself!

Details after the press gets theirs out...

P.S. A few blogger reviews by some pals here, here and here; one gas-filed non-review here; my first RS Score (!) here (or, at least one that wasn't a leaked celeb sighting. It's like I'm a real live publicity professional. Or something).

P.P.S. There are still a few signed copies left at Politics & Prose if you act quickly!

Photo of Momzillas author Jill Kargman by Abby Greenawalt.

Weekend of Red

We headed out on Thursday to San Antonio, Texas. My sister and law and her husband, a doctor with the Army, moved there (or, rather, were summoned there) last June; about a month ago, he was sent to Iraq. Rather unsettling, that. It's weird to IM him and get a message like "Sorry, had to get my uniform. Due to the...incident"--and then have to wait three days to find out about said incident on CNN.

In a report whose name I don't know but that has been named "The Greatest Army Study In The History of All Armies Ever" by my family, it was determined that doctors in certain specialties can lose their skillsets if they're away for too long, so my b-i-l's stay has been shortened from fifteen months to five. Makes the long term prognosis better, but short term it still stinks for my s-i-l and her three year old.

So off we headed, to Fiesta, which is a pretty amazing city-wide celebration (like banks and schools are closed), which stages every spring.

It takes a weekend with my fiery red-headed s-i-l to remember about being fearless, living in the now, and taking crap from no one. Upsides to all. She's amazing.

Unfortunately, I spent a good chunk of the weekend working/fretting over my event tonight. But when I wasn't buried in my laptop counting and analyzing rsvps and doing press outreach, there were German fests (the town has a huge German population, evident in the amazing craftsmanship of their historic homes and the quality of bratwurst), craft fairs, parades, and pageants. An overall great time, even with a boatload of work.

After an afternoon at the King William Fair downtown, I was heading down St. Alamo with mom and s-i-l when another redhead--this one, a medium-sized redheaded male--made eye contact with us and purred, "Hello, ladies." About 10 paces away, my s-i-l looked back and said, "Hey, wasn't that David Caruso? From that CSI show?" I had glanced at his shoes after the greeting, which were fairly crappy. My verdict: definitely not, no famous person would wear those. Unsure, my m-i-l looked back and was positive it was him.

We were heading to a party at a friend of s-i-l's. There were about 15 people there total. And about 10 seconds behind us in walked the redhead with wife and child in tow. Even when he extended his hand and said "Hi, I'm David," I still wasn't sure. He looked more wrinkly and shorter than on camera, but not as wrinkly and heinous as he's made out to be. Definite eye job. Then I spotted his wife's humongous, fabulous, studded Gucci bag--then I was sure it was him (turns out his wife is from S.A.). His kid: COMPLETELY adorable 19-month old infatuated with the fountain in the yard at the party.

We headed home so we could see the kids and I could go back to frettingfrettingfretting, counting rsvps, looking ahead to the next two events, getting press releases out for retainer clients...that's the thig about being in business for yourself: it never stops. One screwup and it could be your last.

My son and nephew are only 6 weeks apart--and it's a nonstop adventure when they're together. From the moment they met (my nephew came from Russia when he was 1), they developed a bond unlike anything I've ever seen. They rarely fight, always share, and love to hug.

It was painful to leave, knowing how much work it is to have a 3-year old, nevermind raising one alone for the time being, knowing how lonely she must be with no family there. But fiery redhead that she is, she plunders on with a smile (or a condescending smirk if it's deserved).

In the airport back in DC, I passed my final redhead of the weekend: Dick Gephardt, driver in tow, looking much more handsome in person, dressed pretty casually.

Now off to 3 events in 10 days!