Jacquelyn invited me over to do a guest blog today. I thought I would share some things I learned while at my very first RT conference. The conference this year was held in Dallas and I was beyond excited to go.
A Pre—conference Lesson:
Lesson 1: When you are an Amazon (I’m six feet two inches tall in my stalking feet) and extremely well endowed (No, I didn’t pay for them, they came with my original packaging) the last words you want to hear are, “You need to get a few costumes for the balls.”
Costumes? Amazon size costumes that fit over my breasts? Yeah, right. Are you high? I was assured by my best friend Terri--a medium breasted, midget of a woman-- that it would be no problem to find something suitable. She had, on her side of town, this great costume shop. It was a huge warehouse full of stuff. There would be, for sure, something there that would fit. After three hours of trying to push and pull material down past the puppies I finally gave up. Then, just a few weeks before the conference, I went to the renaissance fair. I walked into one of the places that sold bustier and skirts, grabbed my boobs and demanded of the sales girl, “Do you have anything that will fit these?” to my delight she said, “Hell yeah!” I was in like Flynn. I got something that would work for both the fairy ball and vampire ball and was over the moon because I am a huge Halloween freak and love to dress up anytime I have a chance.
A During Conference Lesson:
Lesson 1a: If you are big busted and you wear a bustier, smaller busted women who don’t understand just how much of the stuff you have, get concerned about your breast popping out and will come up to you and will say things like, “Dear I am worried about your boobs.”
I swear I really don’t know what I said to the first woman that approached me in the line waiting for the vampire ball and expressed concern about my breasts. In actuality, I had made a point to not put too much of the puppies out there. I had pushed them down as much as possible. Apparently to those concerned it was not enough. When the second woman came up and once again proclaimed concerned about breastage poppage I was prepared. I grabbed them and told her, not to worry this was only the top showing because all nipplage was settled way down in the middle of the bustier. I could tell by her face she didn’t believe me.
After the fourth stranger approached me, I swear I started to get a complex. So when the music started and people around me gathered on the dance floor I decided it would be best for everyone involved if I went and changed into casual clothes. I did it for the greater good--for all those out there worrying over my bosom. I knew if I got out there with the puppies showing and started gyrating on the dance floor; all those concerned would no longer be able to enjoy themselves at the ball. Instead their eyes would be forever locked on my breasts, waiting in both anticipation and horror for them to burst out during a mistimed bob or weave.
Lesson 1b: If you are big busted and you wear a bustier and you decided after the ball to go sit down at the bar area then you must be prepared for the possibility that a male might start flirting with you.
Honestly I have no problem with the concept. I am happily married, but who doesn’t like it when a male shows interest. The rule is I can look but not touch. Male interest shows that you still got it right? That is true unless the male showing interest happens to be old enough to be your dad. And you yourself are no spring chicken. Yes, folks that’s right, the puppies attracted someone of the opposite sex all right; unfortunately my admirer was drunk off his ass and about seventy.
If you wonder what a seventy year old, drunken man says when he is flirting with a big busted forty-two year old Amazon dressed as a vampire--wonder no more.
His pick up line: Those are magnificent breasts.
My reply: Um, thanks.
His next drive by line: Your husband’s name is Lucky.
My reply: Is that right?
Him again: Yes, because he is so lucky he gets to look at those magnificent breasts every day.
Take the above conversation and just repeat it every fifteen minutes or so --the amount of time it would take him to stumble from the bar back into the vicinity of our table.
A Pre-conference Lesson:
Lesson 2: Always ask your flying companion before you get to the airport if she has any weapons stashed in her luggage.
Terri is small in stature, but she is an action diva. She did a stint in the air force as a military police chick. At a previous conference I had watched her go toe to toe with someone trying to cut in line. There were a few tense moments when I was sure any minute she was going to wrestle, beat to death with her book bag, or just cold cock the poor woman who didn’t realize who and how dangerous the midget she was yelling at. And in truth as the screaming match progressed, I backed up more than a few steps, and did a quick mental check of the cash I had left in my wallet. Wondering if it was enough to bail Terri’s ass out of jail. What is the going rate for assault these days? People who cut in line a word of advice--as midgets go, Terri is NOT someone you want to mess with. Luckily the offender finally came to her senses and went to the back of the line.
I love Terri dearly, but she has one serious Red Sonja complex. She has bought over the years, not for protection but to accompany her costumes for RT, the following: throwing stars, numerous knifes and those funky daggers that the heroine in the movie Dare Devil used. And I have even seen Terri look wistfully at the double headed axes sold at our local renaissance fair.
But it wasn’t until we were standing in the line waiting to go through security that I decided to ask her what crazy weapon she was bringing along this year.
The conversation went as follows:
Me laughing: Sorry I thought you said you brought I sword.
Terri: I Did.
Me, heart pounding hard in my chest: Please, tell me it’s NOT in your carry on luggage.
Terri: Of course not stupid, I checked it through.
Me: You checked through a sword. Are you high? With all these crazy regulations? Dear god, they won’t even let you take toothpaste on board.
At this point I am having visions of airport security rounding us up and whisking us away to some small, darkened room where they hold us hostage until homeland security shows up. And being an author of course I go all out and imagine us sitting around after days of no food or water, and being sleep deprived as they interrogate us with bright lights shining in our eyes. Okay, I admit it, maybe I have seen one too many old detective movies.
Terri: Chill out, I called the airline and asked and they said it was no problem to put a sword in my luggage.
I know she told me she checked it all out before hand, but I swear I didn’t start properly breathing again we were out of the airport and in a cab on the way to the hotel.
A during Conference Lesson:
Lesson 2a: Next conference bring more cash because at some point you are going to have to bail Terri’s ass out jail. If not for assault then possibly for prostitution.
It was about ten o’clock at night. We were sitting in the bar area of the hotel. We had just gotten back from one of the parties. Terri decided she was not going to pay ten dollars for a hamburger from the hotel menu, but was instead going to traipse down the street a few blocks to a McDonalds she had spotted earlier. The big problem--she was dressed like an old fashion hooker. She had on a low cut, white chemise cotton blouse, a red bustier, white bloomers, and white stockings.
Me: Dude you look like a hooker.
Terri: I don’t care, I am not paying ten dollars for a hamburger.
Me: You are going to go out there, see a cop and get your ass arrested.
Terri: I am not paying ten dollars for a hamburger!
Authors Kayla Janz and Brit Blaise --who were both sporting t-shirts with the words GOT SEX and around their necks dangled a string of green glow-in-the dark penises. They chimed in together: We’ll go with you.
Me: I’ll stay. Otherwise who will be around to bail your asses out of jail?
So they left. Ten minutes later they came back laughing hysterically. Apparently the streets where empty, or so they thought. A few steps out of the hotel and who do they run into? A cop. A cop who spent a great deal of time taking in Terri’s attire as she calmly explains to him how she didn’t want to pay ten bucks for a hamburger. She didn’t get arrested. But the cop’s parting words to her where, “Go spend some of that money you made tonight.”
A few more during conference lessons:
Lesson 3: Never walk out the doors of the elevator at two am without checking what floor you are on. And when you start pounding on what you think is your hotel room door, but in reality is a door two floors up, its best when you start to make your getaway if you are NOT wearing a red polka dot dress. Because it’s damn hard to miss an Amazon in a red polka dot dress scurrying down the hallway at two am.
Lesson 4: If your underwear is riding up your ass and you decide to adjust it while walking down the hallway, when you hear a door open and you start to make conversation with the chick who almost caught you tugging at your wedgy, if you decide you are bored and you invite yourself along on her day trip to NASA it might be a good idea to ask just how far way NASA is BEFORE you get on the bus.
Lesson 5: If you decide to snag an editor for a writing contest you are holding after one of the editor panels it might be a good idea to do it when you are NOT sleep deprived and wearing a pair of camouflage pants, a wild pink t-shirt and sporting FOUR watches on your left arm.
So that’s it for this years RT convention. I can’t wait to see all the crazy stuff that happens next year ;-)
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Hope your Friday is going well and hope you have some rocken fun plans for the upcoming weekend ;-)