Dinner in the Desert

While most of you were watching that one chick melt down on the bathroom floor Monday night, I was having dinner in the desert. You see, work people suggested I hop on a plane and travel 14 hours to Dubai for a two-day meeting. It was an interesting trip to say the least. I watched nine movies during the jaunt, was almost rejected from the hotel because I didn’t have the corporate credit card from which the room was booked, charmed a taxi driver into taking $20 US dollars because I assumed he had a credit card machine, was contacted by my bank stating that I had been flagged due to fraud, was surrounded by very smart people who spoke eloquently about petroleum consulting as I nodded my head as if knowing remotely what they were talking about and ate something I assumed was a pear.

Let the record show, it was not a pear.

Thank goodness for Arabic Coke.

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I knew I was going to Dubai and simply forgot to mention it in the last recap. I thought I would have internet access in Dubai, but the cost of connecting in my hotel room was equal to that of a small house mortgage in the suburbs. “No problem,” I thought. “I’ll just connect at the Dubai office and post something quickly so people won’t think I’ve fallen off the face of the earth.”

Of course, since I’m contract and don’t have the email extension of the client, I wasn’t allowed guest internet access because I’m foreign and might trade company secrets to bad people who twirl their mustaches while stroking a white cat in their laps. My phone connection was spotty at best. I was able to get a quick Instagram message out, which is connected to my Facebook and Twitter accounts. I thought that would at least suffice those of you who need the recap first thing Tuesday morning.

You can imagine my surprise when I started receiving worried email messages from perfect strangers. How sweet! You actually thought I was kidnapped or trapped alone in my apartment from a slip in the tub or something! Thank you so much sweet emailers. My friend Amy and I often wonder what we would do if we start choking and we are by ourselves. Sure we have a chair dedicated to a self Heimlich, but what if that doesn’t work? Would anyone know I was MIA?

And now I know my answer. IHGB-ers would untie and figure out what in the world is going on? Why is the recap so late? You would band together and find someone who knows someone who knows me. At the very least, Our Host Chris Harrison would send out an alarming tweet, asking the Green Bean Hater community to find the author because you just can’t take not knowing my rambling tales of these highly entertaining women and their Latin lover.

Allow me to extend a great big thank you from the bottom of my heart. I have the best readers in the world.

With that said, I’m going to ask you to hang in there with me. I have to leave AGAIN today. But I will watch the show this weekend and give you my thoughts. I promise. From what I understand, there’s something about Victoria that is pretty special. I can only assume she’s our bathroom floor loving friend.

I can’t wait!

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