What Goes Down, Must Come Up.

I’m sitting here at the airport, waiting to board. Which means, that by getting out my laptop and starting this post, a boarding call should be like. . .. NOW.

I’m absolutely DYING for a fountain coke, but talked myself out of getting one for fear of deja vu from the flight here in which I had to pee as soon as I stepped foot into the airplane, but had to get a seat immediately because every seat was rapidly being filled.

And then, I was fortunate enough to sit by the window next to a very sweet 12 year old girl, but on the outside of our aisle was her very over-vacationed and grouchy Dad, of whom I felt quite socially inhibited to ask him to move until at least six other people had gone to the restroom, thereby proving that I was not, in fact, being unreasonable.

And, if you ever wondered how long it takes for the flight to get in the air, the seatbelt light to go off, and six people to go to the bathroom, when you yourself are about to create a soggy leather airplane seat, it’s approximately the length of seven stays in Hell.

So, I’m thirsty.

Aaaaand, now it’s time to board. See you in a minute.

Okay. I’m back.

By the way – the Lady with High Hair that I made fun of in the airport Thursday? She’s got nothin’ on this flight-mate of mine:

Now, to the point. You’ll be happy to know that the extreme awesomeness of Saturday totally ruled out the homesick not-so-awesomeness of Friday night.

The first thing that I did Saturday morning was relieve myself of all mental pressure that I had been heaping onto my head.

Pressure to be at every conference session, pressure to be working for my sponsor every other second, and pressure to “be” this outgoing and bubbly blogger.

(Which, by the way, I’m pretty sure is an oxymoron. And those bloggers that seemed outgoing and bubbly just didn’t relieve themselves of the pressure to pretend.)

So, as part of my new resolve, I decided to get out and about and see a bit of Chicago. I’ll tell you about one of my adventures tomorrow, and one today.

Today – Greek Town.

Most of you know that my family is Greek (My Great Granddad was a Greek Immigrant), so I grew up on amazing home cooked Greek food.

(And yes, I went to Greek School. And yes, it was just like the movie.)

Therefore, one of my favorite things to do when in another city is find the good Greek Restaurant (ESPECIALLY if it involves belly-dancing.)

So, I harangued a couple of new friends (that I made in line to meet Tim Gunn – more about that later) and we had my FIRST EVER TAXI RIDE (I know – I’m totally lame) to Greek Town.

We chose a restaurant, and, although belly-dancing didn’t seem to be included in the price of our meal, I knew it would be good because the menu was written in English AND Greek. I, of course, ordered off of the Greek side.

(Or at least I can pretend that I did since the pronunciation is the same.)

We had an awesome time – especially for people who had only met waiting in line to say stupid things to a celebrity.

Cara is from San Antonio, and, our other friend, well, she goes by “Yummy Mummy” on the web, and is from England:

We asked for a table for six – the three of us and our three signed Tim Gunn pictures:

But for some reason, they thought our three Tim Gunns could share a chair.

And, as classy as Tim is, he was totally cool with that arrangement.

Yummy Mummy was shocked at the (over)use of the word “Awesome” in the US, so Cara and I tried to incorporate it into every sentence, all night long.

It’s really odd how something like that can be awesomely stupid if you try to relay it in print, but awesomely hysterical if you can actually pull it off in every awesome sentence.

Seriously – you should try it. It’s awesome.

And by the end of the night? She’d learned how to say “Awesome” with a southern twang.

We barely got back in time for Bowlher. There was a Bowling Alley right across from the hotel, but it wasn’t like any bowling alley that you would ever find in Birmingham. It had escalators:

A full restaurant:

AND one of my favorite American Idol contestants EVER, Brooke White.

Well, technically, she wasn’t a part of the bowling alley, she was there to give us a concert. And it was excellent. Maybe even awesome. I even took some video of it, which I’ll be glad to share if you’re wanting to feel more jealous.

I got back from Bowlher and had full intentions to go back to my room and write this post (and thereby have it ready by this morning).

I passed by what was our exhibit hall:

Yes, the conference was definitely over.

But then, passing through the lobby, I ran into my good British friend.

She was utterly astounded by and felt that it wasn’t right at all unless she took me to the Cheeseburgher party and made me look just as idiotic as her:

I stayed for about five minutes, and told her that this was, quite literally, old hat. This is the way us Americans end EVERY night.