I took the red eye out on Friday night, arriving in Ft. Lauderdale just before 5am. It was hard waking up on the plane, and my heavy head felt disoriented the entire walk to the baggage claim. I took a cab driven by a silent driver to the Mar Lago, a beachside spa resort. It did worry me a bit while he took dark, twisted roads to the hotel, that this stranger could be taking me anywhere. We put a lot of blind faith in public transportation providers if you really think about it. I arrived at the Mar Lago just as dawn was breaking. I had asked my mom to leave the room key with the front desk because I didn't want to wake her, but I ended up having to knock because she'd locked the door from the inside. We were up three hours later to go to the Liz Arden Spa. The company who organized the trip had planned a day in the spa, so everyone could choose two things between a massage, a facial, a pedicure or a manicure. I chose a massage and a facial. The decor of the spa was very zen, with well-landscaped natural fountains and a little meditative garden. Inside, it felt like enlightenment with an edge--you would walk through this low-light, lavendar-scented hall, but if you opened any one of the heavy sound-proof door marked "Fitness," you'd be blasted with the music and clangs of a weight room or a spinning instructor barking at riders. It was a very disorienting sensation.

The massage and facial were good and I met my mom outside on the patio for lunch. We talked about Michael, her family and her company, all secretly sources of great sadness in her, but she has yet to admit this or realize it. The best that I can do is be compassionate and supportive to her, but secretly, it makes me sad a lot, too.

We rode a limo back to the hotel with some other people in the group, and the limo is completely packed. I tried to imagine who these people were. The thing was that they all seemed to be politely trying to figure out where the boundaries were of the business/personal relationship, like, is it okay to drink beer in a limo in the afternoon, should I talk about my kids or make joking sexual innuendo, etc. Some I felt like, had already decided this was a trip out of duty, but secretly, they despised most of the people in the group. I made a mental note of who I thought all these people were, so I could come back and compare what I learned about them over the next few days with what I had thought. I don't want to reveal too much about the people I met since I know that blogging can get you into all kinds of trouble in the business world, but one of the most amazing ways to find a lot of different types of people is to go to a business activity that brings together people from different regions that have nothing more in common than their industry or type of work. You'll get a glimpse into a lot of different human perspectives, some better, some worse.

We went to an event at the convention center called Taste of the NFL. For every NFL team, that city had a booth that featured a past or present football player signing autographs, a chef from one of that city's famous restaraunts presenting a sample of a tasty dish, and a wine steward pouring a wine specially picked to be paired with the dish. There was also a DJ and a dance floor, and all the open bars you could stumble into. The concept was ingenius. I kind of wish the NFL players hadn't been there, because I felt responsible to carry around a football and get it signed by all these players, yet I was more interested in the food and the wine. The food was amazing and the selected wines were all very good. I just noticed that even though the food was supposed to be representative of each particular region, I think cuisine in general in the U.S. is turning into a master cuisine of fusion-everything. Even though there are still clear examples of regional dishes, there was nothing distinctive about any of the dishes that would tie them to the region, except Chicago maybe, and its lamb pierogi's. Later Styx played, with all the band members looking embarrassingly too old to have long teased hair and tight pants, but I didn't know who they were at first because I was playing Madden at the Xbox 360 area. I learned that guys either love it that a girl is good at video games, or get very, very angry. I won both games I played in. The first guy was cool, but the second guy started getting really irritated and snarky. By the time I left and found out that the band was Styx, I had already accidentally drowned my digital camera in a pool of water (a bottle that the attendant slightly uncapped without letting me know). So I sat there watching people, glad Styx only did a short encore. I ran into my uncle at the end of the evening and he keeped saying this was so fun, over and over like a little kid. Sometimes I think when you surround yourself with people who are angry, down or cynical, you forget how much fun things in life can be.

We went to the hotel bar after the event, which had an open bar. It was all these business people getting drunk, and I spent an hour talking about fantasy basketball just because my mom told then I was a former champion. Again, guys will either love or hate the fact you know a lot about something that is in their guy territory, and I have serious (in my mind, educated) beliefs about teams and players. It wasn't my favorite subject to talk about in a bar, but it beat having to small talk with a bunch of business people I didn't know. I got cornered by this really sloppy drunk old guy who looked like what you would find in the encyclopedia (or wikipedia at least) as a color illustration of a sloppy drunk old guy. He was tall, with a messy mop of dark hair (a la Greg Brady), a craggly, baboon-red face, and a very generous red nose that looked like a mound of raw clay slapped onto his face. His eyes looked like two glass eyes. I had seen him smiling and looking at me earlier, like he was trying to get my attention, but I wouldn't make eye contact. He overheard me talking about basketball and he sits down and starts talking to my breasts about the sport. He says something about how he's not hitting on me, but that I remind him of his daughters. The fact that he's telling my breasts this makes that statement more disturbing. I'm trying to get away with him and the next thing I know, some random white guy was yelling that I had to go. He was standing next to my mom so I assumed that she had asked him to pull me away. He kept yelling at me while this guy followed me up and blocked me, wanting to tell me "one more thing" and then the guy comes over and pulls me away. I thank him and he said that my mom was trying to go back to the room and wanted to help get me away from that drunk guy. In the room, as we got ready for bed, my mom mentioned that that guy had said that all Chinese people are liars, and that he had said to her, "C'mon, you know what I'm talking about." She said it so casually in passing, that I didn't think it was anything more than an unfortunately in appropriate joke, until later.

We got up early on Super Bowl Sunday. We met in the lobby to go to a yacht club, where the group had arranged for us to have a champagne lunch, and where some NFL players would be available to sign autographs. We showed up at a waterfront bar, with our room facing the water. There was an open bar, as always, and a buffet of Cuban fair, Cajun fish and amazing key lime pie. Shawne Merriman, James Lofton, and a guy from the Packers came to hang out. The Fridge and Javon Walker had been scheduled to appear but they never showed. We piled onto our bus at about 2pm to head to the stadium, and while there were rumors that we would be getting a police escort to the stadium, I had no idea what it would really be like. The police cars and motorcycles had their lights flashing. They started in front of us, but then spaced out, so that cars in front could stop in intersections to hold cross sections while another car would usher us through. Many times the cops blared their horns at anyone who wasn't moving to the side, or even got out of their cars and waved specific cars to get off the street. Once we got on the freeway, it was like a presidential motorcade, with the cars flanking us and the motorcycles riding ahead. It was pretty unreal. I mean, it felt really excessive, like, it was wrong to misuse authority this, but it was the most grossly mesmerizing thing to see all those police cars clearing a path for us. I had mixed feelings about it.

The energy at the Super Bowl was amazing. The rain had been on and off and the parking lots were all mud. People had been tailgating for a while, so there were lots of drunken taunting between Colts fans and Bears fans. I will say that Bears fans are more passionate. And scary. Our seats were in section 116, row 17, very close to the field. I couldn't believe how close they were. This was my first NFL game, and this must be the most ridiculous way to pop your NFL cherry. They had a Cirque du Soleil pregame show with Gloria Estafan, and Billy Joel singing the national anthem, with Marlee Matlin doing the sign language interpretation. Hester ran the opening kickoff back for a touchdown and it was utter disbelief in the stadium for the next few minutes. The rain started pouring down and we had to don our plastic ponchos, which may be the most uncomfortable pieces of clothing, second only to metal mesh thongs. The rain never stopped coming down hard, and it put it's own twist on the game, with the ball being slippery and the fumbles aplenty. By halftime, most of us were soaked, the rain having gotten through our ponchos. Prince was solid but my favorite was the marching band. They had passed out these lights to people in certain seats, and I think that combined, it was supposed to make a bigger design. I have a feeling it didn't work though, since most of the people in our section had left their seats, so no one there was wearing the light. The 2nd half was exciting, and the Colts stepped it up. The rain kept coming down and by then, my pants were completely wet and my underwear soaked through. I needed the Colts to beat the spread because I had bet on the Colts. They pull away, and the Chicago fans are silent. Later, I heard one guy mutter, "If I ran into Rex Grossman, I would choke him to death." It's a very scary thing to hear.

At the end of the game, I left my seat to call my mom to tell her where to meet us (she was in a different section). I was in the main concourse area when the guy from the night before followed me out. He said that he heard that I was good at fantasy basketball. He said he was really into "fantasy." I said I'm only good at fantasy basketball, and he said he likes "all fantasy." The way he says it is creepy to me, like it means more. I say, I can't talk about all fantasies, just basketball and, he said he doesn't "like basketball...do you know why?" I ask him why and he said, "I hate basketball. They're all Negros who want to mess around and smoke weed. They're complete pieces of shit." I have to take a second to think about what he just said because it was so offensive, surely he must be joking. I say that while the NBA does have an image of being thuggish, there are smart players, like Michael Curry who has a master's degree, and all of the players who are entrepreneurs and community spokespeople. He repeated again that they're just pot smoking pieces of shit. I got angry and I started ripping on him about generalizations. He again stood by the fact that the NBA is all blah blah blah, and that he wasn't making a generalization. I said all is an all-inclusive statement, and considering a large percentage of players are international players (which he exclaimed, I like them. I have no problem with them), that therefore not ALL NBA players could be black thugs. He tried to get me to admit that they were all drugheads and I said that my boyfriend is black and this conversation really offends me. Then I called him ignorant and a racist. Long story short, he followed me the rest of the way into the parking lot as I looked for my mom and uncle. We were with the entire group, but at one point, I thought they were behind us and he swore they were way in front of us, so he hurried me up. We never found the group. He was telling me that it was hot that I was beautiful and smart, and that I was like my mom. He said something about me being mad at him for what he said, and that he bailed me out the night before so didn't I owe him something? I deflected him for the most part, but he was definitely creepy. I found my mom and suddenly, he went missing. We got to the bus and everyone was there already except him. They sent out a search party, but they came back and said the guy had caught a ride with another bus and would see them back at the hotel. I told my mom about him and she brought up what he said about Chinese people the night before. She said she thought he just didn't like minorities. I told her that I thought he was a predator and to be careful around him.

We got home and my pants were still soaked through to the underwear. I have to admit though, for as miserable as the weather made me, I knew the hot shower would probably be the best one of my life. We got cleaned up and went down to the bar, where they had made sandwiches for us and of course, had an open bar. That creepy guy didn't show up, but there were plenty of other drunk businessmen, so we ate quickly and went to bed.

My mom and I had both extended our trip by one day to see Miami. We went to South Beach but while it was cool, it was a Monday night so I felt like we were only getting a hint of it. I walked into a street sign while I had my head down and was texting, cutting up my fingers. My mom laughed but kept talking on the phone and walking, not realizing until she was a block and a half away that I was still kneeling on the ground. I'm kind of glad though. I was very embarrassed. We headed to Coconut Grove where we had dinner at this cute french bistro, Le Buchon, where the waiter was so cute (I asked him how much was a glass of chablis and he waved me off saying, Don't worry. I'll bring it to you and you'll drink it. At the end of the meal, you say you don't like it and I'll take it away.). I had this chicken that was stewed on top of mushroom risotto that was rich and delicate, and my mom and the roasted duck legs with potatoes. I learned from a framed newspaper article on their wall that this was Brian Grant's favorite restaurant in Miami.

The drive home was long and I got kind of grumpy when I got lost. We got home safely, and my mom woke me up at 7:30am this morning to kiss me goodbye and tell me she was on the way to the airport. I think we will never get so old that it doesn't hurt your heart to some degree to say goodbye to your mother.

It was raining again so I decided to go to the airport for the day, even though my flight wasn't until 5pm. I managed to lose my ID and find it again, which relieved me because I feel like I'm always losing things. I finishedThe Devil and the White City before nodding off.

I arrived at Atlanta and waited at baggage claim next to a team of college basketball players. I wanted to ask them who they were, even to the coach who kept staring at me, but I didn't. All I know is that they have a close to 7 footer who looks European.

So now I'm in Atlanta now for a trade show, in this huge hotel room that could be a posh apartment (minus the kitchen). Reggie keeps telling me to be careful here, and when I look outside of my balcony, I see these boarded up houses that would be perfect locations for a horror movie. I asked my coworker if he would go into one of those houses if he and his friends were drunk and they dared him. They looked like scary, abandoned houses. He said he wouldn't because he has no interest in what goes on in them. I asked him if he was more scared of meeting violent people or ghosts and he just said he wouldn't go in them. I think I'm more afraid of ghosts. I looked at the house and the firt threat I saw were ghosts; didn't think of the possibility it could be crack fiends in there. But also, there's something old and dark about this city. Even though there aren't that many people out and about, you always feel like there's a lot out there, or that there are many invisible things around you.