Everything is so freakin' perfect right now in MY world it's crazy with a capital K. Checked in to the Cleveland Ritz-Carlton and there seemed to be a bit of mayhem behind the desk as Gary in the blue jacket said there was a problem with our appointed room, supposed to be a suite. I imagined a crime scene and housekeeping frantically readying the room. I joked with Gary that if he bought us a round of drinks all would be grand and we would gladly wait and wait. With a few more clicks of his mouse, puzzled looks as he peered into his computer screen, I ended up on a passkey-only floor in what we could call the Presidential Suite and which could comfortably sleep eight adults. Two bathrooms, dining room area, dozens of tasteful lamps, hi-speed internet access (how I'm writing to your fortunate self). And Gary tossed in two drinks each for two of us into a passkey-only bar two floors up. This is the rock star suite, screw that Presidential shit. Well, off to secret floor 14, and subsequent hitting this town which has welcomed your favorite Nancy with open arms, and bar tabs. Yippee.