Attempting Cartwheels

Yesterday I had the distinct privilege of attending a HIPPA conference that outlined the changes to HIPPA guidelines that occurred after the stimulus package. It’s funny that you could maybe mistake that for “stimulating.” Not so much. Unless you consider a seven-hour lecture by a self-promoting, government hating, former army colonel stimulating. Personally, I’d rather walk the Virginia Beach Boardwalk in the honeymoon-only, of-the-string variety Victoria’s Secret black bikini collecting dust mites at the bottom of my underwear drawer. What pushed it over the edge was the last thirty minutes the lecturer used to discuss, in mind-numbing detail, the book he was writing. And then asked an attendee if he could email the chapters to her for her comments. For free. Now, I’m no expert at this writing thing, but I’m pretty sure you typically pay for professional editing. But I left with a shiny certificate, and I didn’t have to go to work.

After the conference, it took me two and half hours to get back home (a trip that should take 45 minutes) thanks to Friday afternoon Hampton Roads traffic. Then, Clayton and I swirled around in a frenzied rush to put together 2 sitting chairs, shop at Bed Bath & Beyond and Target for throw pillows and accessories to match the chairs, and drive to the Norfolk Airport. All that because MY PARENTS ARE HERE! And the last time they were in our apartment it felt a little too similar to the government funded housing projects I served in New Orleans. So we spruced it up for spring and gave them chairs that weren’t intended to be used at a picnic or at the beach.

With my dad snoring  on the floor and my mom reading in our snazzy new “reading nook,” I realized I would offer to sleep on our rock hard fold-out couch every night in exchange for having them here. Wednesday is going to get here way way too quickly.