Look! Here is a picture of me with Deanna Raybourn who I met at the Dahlonega Lit Fest. She calls HER Best Beloveds “Dearest Chickens,” and is crazy-fun, but, I am sad to report, she is an addicted sugar-smoker.
Yes, Virginia, those are CANDY cigarettes. But they do not look like candy cigarettes, do they. When people decided that maybe cigarettes killed you after all, they kept making candy cigs, but called them CANDY STICKS. Even STICK sounded too lung-murdering to feed to children, so now the package just says candy. But it still has the PINK TIP so a) it looks lit and b) you know which end to put in your mouth.
I am going to put this pic on a mug and with the caption SEE, KIDS, SMOKING DOES MAKE YOU LOOK COOLER.
I will sell it on ETSY and make a million dollars and then be sued by parents AND Deanna and die alone, a gutter pauper. This is what has happened to every ETSY millionaire so far. (Because Deanna is litigious!)
Deanna and I pretended to smoke them all night because we drinking UnBiblically, which sounds like it means we drank too much. Which we may have. Ahem. A LITTLE.
But really it means we had TERRIBAD wine FIRST at the restaurant and then AWESOME wine later, at the hotel. (Those of you who were Raised Right in the Southern Sense are the only ones who just followed that.)
The first wine was as merlot, but it was so bad we called it a Mer-Faux.
Then back at the ranch Deanna had a perfectly delightful Italian Sparkle Wine. Which she could not take on the plane as she only had carry on. SO I HELPED her. I am sweet like that.
This is the same fest I blogged a few years back remember?
Karen Abbott was there, and Patti Callahan Henry, and we were staying at a bed and breakfast with walls made of Kleenex and the three of us sat on the porch drinking wine and we cackled like loons and there was a sour couple who just HATED us. VIOLENTLY. Like, super hated us. With HATE sauce.
We are not bed and breakfast people.
And they stared at us with such dour and vigilant dislike, EVEN THOUGH WE WERE OUTSIDE specifically to not bother people, that they practically FORCED us to go down to the basement and dig in the GAMES and find the droopiest, moopiest sex board game possible. Invented by the kind of person who thinks feeding each other strawberries while exchanging moist gazes counts as foreplay. In other words, by the writers of DAYS OF OUR LIVES.
I love this clip–“What timing!…The phone rings just when we were…. EATING SOME FRUIT!” “AH well now that the drama is over we can get back to…FRUIT EATING! ON THE PORCH!” *sigh*
The cards had instructions like, “Lean over and whisper in your lover’s ear three reasons why you think they are SO SPECIAL!” and “Smell your lover’s hair, then write a short poem about the experience and read it to him/her.”
I WAS YOUNGER THEN.
We MAY have been drinking. (This may be the THEME of lit fests…I smell another ETSY mug)
If ever two people needed to write each other smelly hair poems (and here we understand that “write each other smelly hair poems” is a euphemism) it was these two people.
I was not invited back to Dahlonega for four long years. *beam*
I think Patti and Karen STILL have not been asked back. I think they decided to never have us all together, and I was the TEST miscreant, to see if it was possible we may have learned to behave. *ahem*
SO I was in a different bed and breakfast, MUCH NICE — The Lily Creek Lodge, with REALLY good thick walls, and just to be safe, they put me in the honeymoon suite. Which was VERY FAR away from all the other rooms. And four times as large. With an electric fireplace. That had a remote. And a jetted tub. And tango themed wall art. (honestly, I am NOT a bed and breakfast person, but I would go back to THIS one. Wow. Those are actual pics of the APARTMENT we modestly called “my room…”)
SO I know I try not to LEARN or GROW here, but I could not help it. I accidentally learned a very valuable lesson indeed: If you go someplace and act like a COMPLETE prat, not only will you eventually be invited back, but when you are, you get the best room.
See? I CAN grow as a person.