Me: Hi Pookie.
Don: You answered! I thought you’d be busy with your genital origami.
Me: My genitals are at Wicked.
Don: You’re at Wicked right now?
Me: No Rocco is. I know it’s not really your area of expertise, but there aren’t a whole lot of installations you can create with labia.
Don: Oh. So what are you doing next weekend?
…and that’s how I ended up jumping in a car with a flock of gays (like A Flock of Seagulls, but with much better hair and fewer shoulder pads) and spending a fun-filled weekend in the Swish Alps. I learned many things while I was there – some useful, some horrifying, and some that even I won’t type out (because I am a delicate flower that would never discuss things that happen in your “special place”). But because sharing is caring and knowing is half the battle, here are my lessons learned:
- Interwebz, if you are ever presented with an opportunity to attend a BBQ at the home of someone that works for Martha Stewart, do not pass go, do not collect $200, just say yes and smuggle in some tupperware under your skirt. For the love of sweet homemade nectarine sorbet, heed my advice.
- If someone tells you a card game is super easy, you should probably ask how much math is involved before having a second glass of wine. Also, counting is difficult when you’re holding a hand full of laminated penis photos with numbers in the corners that your fellow players insist on calling “playing cards.”
- Heatstroke can happen as early as 10am if you’re frantically running around a tennis court trying to keep up with two incredibly fit tennis aficionados with legs longer than your entire body.
- Skip the seventh margarita and stay focused if you find yourself at a party where a) you’re the only person with a uterus in the crowd yet everyone keeps using the words “she” and “her” and/or b) there’s a dog named Ollie that likes to run off causing people to sporadically shout “Ollie” from random points around the property. Otherwise you’re going to give yourself whiplash trying to figure out who’s talking to you when. (OK, the Ollie thing is probably only an issue if your name is Allie or Holly. If your name is Jennifer it’s probably not distracting at all. But then you probably have a hell of a time with confusion when people shout out “Jesus Jennifer!” as an expletive. Unless my mom is the only one who says that. Then you’ll only be confused when Mom is around. But frankly, Jennifer? I don’t think I like your attitude. So the odds of me inviting you to a party with Pegger the Kegger are pretty low. So there.)
- Ping-pong is a full-body contact sport. But there are no shuttlecocks involved. (That’s what she said.)
- When someone makes a passing fleeting joke about building their house on an old graveyard, you should probably go ahead and plan on not sleeping well. Especially if it’s the house you’re staying in. And it’s in the middle of the blackest, creepiest, forest the world has ever known. And your window is open. And you don’t have an aluminum baseball bad within arms reach of your bed like you do at home. And you keep finding things for Craftastrophe like this.
- Salamanders are orange.
- A galette is a french name for what my host described as an “unsupported tart” while he heaped tablespoons of lard into the food processor. I’m still not sure if that term is limited to baking. I didn’t watch enough of the French Open to see if the announcers used that word to describe Venus Williams.
- If your one of those people that can only poop in the sanctity of your own home bathroom, just be sure to eat a block of cheese with every meal and you’ll have no trouble waiting until you return home.