KC and Our Sunshine Band of Travelers

This weekend, on the 19th floor of the Kansas City Crowne Plaza Downtown, I was reminded that there's nothing like sharing a hotel room with friends to remind you of just how freaking weird you are.

Pack for a vacation with the family and you never have to remind yourself of this fact. But pack for an overnight with friends and you can't ignore the beast, the one that utters "BUT HOW CAN I GET THROUGH THE NIGHT IF I HAVE TO WEAR PAJAMA BOTTOMS?!" Pack for a night with friends and you find yourself suddenly a bit embarrassed that, instead of a nice little zip-up bag with flowers on it, your deodorant and toothbrush will be housed in a fogged up, old Ziploc bag that went to Grand Island last summer.

I look at everything differently when I know that other people with whom I do not share DNA more or less major holidays will be spending the night with me. Suddenly, I have no underwear that's good enough. Well, okay. I really don't have any underwear that's good enough, but you know what I mean. Suddenly, it matters that the rubber handle on my hairbrush is missing and I snort when I drift off to sleep.

Spending the night with friends can be a real test of friendship. But it's also a good reminder that we all require a bit of patience and good humor.

And so, we mostly laughed our way through the weekend. I even found myself giggling quietly at 4:45 a.m., after being serenaded by a semi truck rhythmically running over a bagpipe. At least that's what "Colette's" snoring sounded like to me. And I found it charming that "Emily" liked to hug a pillow as she nodded off for the night. Or at least for whatever portion of the night a middle-aged woman actually gets to nod off.

I was delighted that we all were awake by 5:30 a.m., unlike all the overnights of my youth, when I would stare at the ceiling for, oh, say, 3 or 4 hours while I waited for my friend to wake up for the day. I even enjoyed the one-sided snippets of conversation as my friends checked in with family members.

"Snow? Really?"
"Think he'll come to Lincoln for the game?"
"Let the dog out."
"Love you, too."

I love that I now know that Colette's dog enjoys having her teeth brushed each night. I was glad to hear stories of Emily's mom, who died recently, to find out how Judy fell in love with the people in the Alzheimer's unit. I was intrigued and impressed by the five miles a day that Colette walks.

Before last weekend, I hadn't known that Judy was a Lincoln High grad, or that Dianne and her high-school classmates had to bus their own tables and clean their own dishes at last summer's reunion.

It was a journalism convention worth attending. Unfettered by students, we were like Marlo Thomas, free to be you and me. And we rather liked it, warts and all.

NOTE: It's possible that "Colette" never knew she made those sounds while sleeping, which is why I've changed her name. I couldn't live with myself if the 2 people who read this blog somehow figured out who I was talking about!