I didn't imagine we'd learn much at a work conference last week scheduled on gorgeous Hilton Head Island, but, oh yeah, did I care? Turns out, though, that the social events every evening might be more crucial to the future success of our program, as we have many future visitors volunteering to visit and assist. I hope. Unless "bar talk" is similar to our grand family schemes, in which cars and computers are bartered for property.
Oddly, the Marriott Resort offers a fitness center, spa treatments and valet parking, but no free wireless. Geez. I'm too cheap to pay $9.95/day for an internet connection that I can get from any neighborhood parking lot.
The first evening, in the bar at what would become "our" table, the vice president of the hosting company introduced himself, "Hi, I'm the young, arrogant vice president." Ever-so-smooth when inebriated, I replied, "Oh, hi, taste this buttery nipple." (the bartender, for some inexplicable reason wasn't sure about the ratio and I offered to be the guinea pig until he perfected it). Later, Mr. VP told me that he had always been attracted to "crazy". No wonder we hit it off and spent the week together.
A fellow conference attender from Alabama was, unfortunately for his sake, named Reagan. "Oh, no," I said. "I can't, in good conscience, call you by the same name of the worst president in our history! I'm calling you Kennedy, instead." By the end of the week, I'm sure everyone there thought his name was actually Kennedy. I was officially renamed IRISH.
Only a half an hour from the EX in Savannah, I'm quite proud to report that I didn't stalk, call, or Google search his new girlfriend. In fact, I probably only thought about it a handful of times. Baby steps, ya' know.
Highlight: Crabcakes and unbreakable, cobalt blue, aluminum bottles holding 16 oz. of Bud Light on the beach.
Life is good.