I am done. Done with chicks and their estrogen, scissor blisters and glue in my hair, as well as carb-heavy lunch buffets.
Actually , it wasn't all that bad. Truth be told, I kind of had a good time. This totally appealed to my artsy craftsy side. My ass and back were killing me last night at about hour 10 (there were 36 uninterrupted hours of Scrapbooking Bliss to be had - vomit - seriously, some ladies stayed up all night and "cropped"). E's Auntie Laura started both days by saying, "I'm so excited I'm sweating!"
This was the scene:
Several "Paloozas" happened in that 36 hours.
Ginch A Palooza
It was 8:00 am...too early to check in to the hotel, so I had my overnight rollie with me (full of paper and glue and scissors and crap a palooza, so what's the first thing that goes flying out of my suitcase as soon as I open it? My green thong. Went over real well with the surrounding old ladies who were welcoming me into the fold. They looked at my thong twisted up on the green and bright blue carpet and back to me like, "Are we sure we want her sort here?"
I set up, walked to the can for the last pee before I Got Busy, and was met on the walk back by a very haughty I'm So Important Business Lady in a Navy Blue Double Breasted Suit who looked at me like I was on her side when she rolled her eyes at the sign reading that Crop A Palooza was in the Emerald Suite. "Crop A Palooza" she muttered, eyeing me, "Phhhtttt, tsk." Good start to the weekend. I'm already being mocked.
Dram A Palooza
L couldn't come to the whole weekend, but she showed up to say hi. Or rather, she showed up to say hi to everyone but G. G and L had a fight that morning - a long coming, pent up emotions kind of talkin' to fight. G's feelings were hurt. G cried. E consoled. An hour of cropping was lost.
Strip A Palooza
The highlight for me was when Auntie Laura was telling a story at the 1st day's lunch break. It involved her son and his wife, who had come over to have lunch with the visiting "mother" of one of the 85 foster children Auntie Laura has had through her home (I'm not exaggerating that number, seriously). Anyway, she was telling us how that crack mama can't sit still and how she always crawls around, literally, inside her clothes. Auntie Laura proceeds to act out how this mother was behaving by inserting her hand, then elbow, then forearm into her stretchy aqua blue tank top. At one point she totally flashed the entire lunch patio her boobs, concealed in a big white bra, and was laughing away at how her son, at the time, was trying not to look at the crack mama - who was sans big white bra. It was a hoot. She's a great story teller and "doesn't give a whip" (one of her expressions) who sees her underwear.
All in all it really was a good time and I'd probably do it again...but only if the chair massage lady comes back and rescues me around hour 10. If she isn't planning to come, I'm going to go Custom, like some of the ladies there. They brought their own friggin' office chairs complete with cup holder for the table. Only my Custom Accessory won't be a stupid chair - it will be my own masseuse.