Last week in Denver I had to grovel for credentials. Not regular Pepsi Center credentials or floor passes so that I could see right up Beau Biden's nose, but for Big Tent credentials. Basically I had to promise my first born to someone in order to sit in a giant outdoor tent, kept warm by the sweaty heat off of people's bodies and MacBooks. I had to beg to be with my fellow geeks. Fist bumps for twittering through Bill Clinton's 20 minute standing ovation.

When people ask me why I moved back to Upstate New York the answer is a very succinct "Because of the money". And then I shrug and say that it's just ok. When people ask me how I ended up in Washington, DC for six years, the story is longer. I don't shrug or give it a brush off, I happily go through each step starting with my early acceptance into American University and crying in the middle of Houlihan's when I was accepted.

Every time I come up with some brilliant personal finance solution, i do a little fist pump for being so freaking brilliant. I mean, checking my bank account balance online? Everyday? Brilliant. Quick! Someone test my IQ. I think I'm the perfect candidate for Mensa.

Have you ever gone through the summer issues of beauty/fashion magazines and noticed that for every photo of a sunkissed girl happily playing volleyball, there is a sidenote on how to protect skin from the harmful UVA/UVB rays of the hot, hot sun? Then have you ever noticed how editors like to divide these sections up by age brackets and then like to point out the aversion that most 20-somethings have to skin protection because they are invincible to the suns powerful rays and hot damn, a tan just looks good?

Yesterday afternoon I learned that business travelers are indeed a special breed of airline customers. It's something that I've always known but never really felt until throwing a good ol' fashioned hissy fit in the middle of the B terminal at Midway Airport in Chicago. I didn't say Business travelers were mature, I just said "special".