I even wore a kilt on the Subway with no problems.

Continued for Hec. The rest of you can scroll by.

As we were leaving Vortex's apartment at dusk, Deb noticed fireflies, a little east coast treat. En route to the hotel, Deb phoned Nic and taunted that she had laced Vortex into her corset and because he wasn't here, he'd missed it. A word about Ms. Vortex and her amazing car. The rear AC vents were a godsend in combating the heat (second only to the occilating vents in the Bicyclopsmobile!). We never had the chance, nor the need, for backseat smugglage of an additional body, but it is a nifty, zippy, and very comfortable car, piloted expertly by Vortex, at all times an elegant and benificent personage, who even swears elegantly. When cut off in traffic, her comment was a carefully modulated and enunciated, "You piece. of. shit."

Back at the ranch, Vortex and Deb went to Kristin's room for Kristin to dress and for Deb to lace Vortex into her corset, while Ginger and I went to her room to dress. Ginger accepted one of the extra tiaras I'd brought, and I grabbed makeup and my tiara and we scooted up to meet the others in Kristin's room. Finishing touches were applied, all the wraps I'd brought for color were vetoed, and jewelry was selected. I slapped on some makeup and Vortex volunteered to set my tiara in place.

Folks, I'm 5'3," and roughly shoulder-height to Vortex. IJS. If Nic would have plotzed at the lacing, he would have plotzed again being that close to the front of that corset and that glorious, amazing bosom. I think my Kinsey may be a tad skewed, now.

All dolled up, we headed for the elevator. There was a sole, singular, defenseless man caught unawares by our collective gorgeousness when the doors opened. He didn't seem able to make eye contact, but ducked out of the elevator as we got on. Then he apparently realized he was on the wrong floor and ducked back in. "If you're going anywhere but the penthouse, tell us and we'll let you off on the way," someone said. "If you're good," I murmured. I'm not sure he heard me.

Let me interject a request at this juncture. It was bad enough that we were scattered hither and yon over different floors, but to have the elevator stop a floor below the penthouse was a pain in the butt. Or rather, in the joints involved in climbing the frelling stairs every time one left or returned to the hospitality suite. Several of the Buffistas are physically challenged, and I'd like to ask that any of us be able to come and go without difficulty, whatever our next venue.

I have to run to a meeting, so the Prom report will have to wait.

I even wore a kilt on the Subway with no problems.

Tell that to the scarred Baptists.

Trudy, you say that like it's a bad thing.

Scarred Baptists of the good.

Does Scarred Baptist taste anything like blackened catfish?

Alright, who hooked up with one of the Baptists?

I have to run to a meeting, so the Prom report will have to wait.

More, please, Beverly. When time and that work thang permits.

hey! nobody got killed! or even molested. Unless you count being molested by the Buffistas.

A small group of us wandered around monuments in the dark. I never felt slightly alarmed, and I have twitchy canuck crime antennae.

Scarred Baptists of the good.

I think we are all intended to be learning organisms. If it takes a leather kilt sighting, so mote it be.

No Baptist hookups for me. At least not that I'm aware of.

JSw, the way I've heard it explained is that DC is like two cities. The touristy part is clean, well-policed, and exceedingly user-friendly (for, I think, the two people who didn't hear me say that the Metro is my favorite mass-transit system in the country). It's the other parts that are high-crime and scary. At least, that's what I've been told.

I continue to find it humorous that it took 3 Church groups in the hotel with us to maintain balance in the Universe.