Yes, I did pawn a shotgun to go on a retreat this weekend. Why? Is that ironic?

Going granola!
Going granola!

Oh my god, I’m so nervous! Three nights and three days at a personal retreat in north Texas.

No meat.

No Starbucks.

Am I going to break down and drive the half hour to Dallas to get a big juicy burger and a mocha?

Will I find the yoga, meditation, and mantras peaceful and keep up with them, even after I come back to my hectic life?

Will I get inspired?

Will I change my life?

Will I hate every second of it?

Will they be pee drinkers? (Yoga Bitch reference – you get 10 points if you recognized it…)

Will I fit in?

Will I fart during yoga? (And what is up with all my thoughts about farting and yoga?)

Will I survive my social media blackout? (Okay, not all social media – I will be spending time writing, and if I post blogs or anything, I will tweet it, but I’m going to turn away from FB the whole time I’m there. If you actually need me, call or text. But be warned that I probably won’t have my phone on me most of the time, so I won’t get back to you right away.)

Will they kick me out for listening to Lords of Acid?

What if I forget the words to the mantra?

What if it’s actually a cult, and I’ve joined it unknowingly, and when I show up they forcibly shave my head and give me white robes to wear?

What if it’s not a cult but I shave my own head and wear white robes all weekend?

What if their “simple” accommodations don’t include toilet paper? Or what if they include really rough toilet paper?

What if they find out that I don’t use Tom’s of Maine’s toiletries and they take away my bath products as not being good for the environment?

What if they believe in living shampoo and deodorant free?

What if they judge me for wearing a bra? Or not wearing a bra?

Will I come home with long armpit hair? Long leg hair? (Okay, admission here: I already have kinda long leg hair.)

What if a crazed lunatic from a local insane asylum escapes and goes on a mad killing spree, like in any number of horror movies?

But, I’m going anyway. I’ll report back. Unless, you know, it is a cult, or unless there is a crazed killer.



And then God mocked me…

mockedMy day did really not go as planned.

I was going to get up at 8, leave at 8:30, get to the farmer’s market at 9 for set-up, be ready by 10, and then sell my awesome stuff all day long.

Well, instead, I had a problem waking up because I was super tired. By the time I had convinced myself to get up and get moving, my phone rang: my neighbor’s daughter had locked her keys in her car and thought that I still had her spare keys. Of course, I didn’t because she had also locked her keys in her car on Friday, and I brought them to her. She still had them. Whoops.

Lots of crying on the phone. A teenager melt-down.

Patrick and Simon (husband and son) ran to get her and drive her to work and grab some donuts – which is where she had been when she accidentally locked her keys in the car. They dropped her at work, came home, and I ate a donut before I went running, late of course, to the farmer’s market.

It took me over an hour to set up, which it turned out was okay because by the time I was done, I hadn’t realized that the farmer’s market had technically started. Not that I had noticed because the place was still empty.

And it was a bad day.

I sold nothing.

Literally. Nothing. N.O.T.H.I.N.G.

But, hey, at least I wasn’t alone, right? The vendor right next to me folded up their stuff at 1 p.m. (the market was supposed to last until 3) because they hadn’t sold anything. I tried to hold out hope, but by the time 2:15 rolled around, I decided that perhaps they were right, and I began packing it in.

By the time I left at 2:45, multiple other vendors had packed up and were either leaving or had already left.

That all sucks, right? I spent multiple days this week trying to get stuff made, trying to get ahead, trying to be prepared to sell stuff – and I was kind of planning on the money to pay for a manicure/pedicure this week – but that’s okay, right? A bad sales day happens sometimes.

Except that then…then God(s) mocked me.

While I was shutting up the tables, someone walked behind me and pointed out a crumpled dollar bill on the ground behind me. Obviously, someone had dropped it and moved on, not noticing it. I put it up on the table while I finished up, waiting to see if anyone came back to look for it, but in the end, I gave up and shoved it in my pocket.

A dollar. I got a dollar for my day. And I didn’t even earn it. It was randomly abandoned behind me. Bah humbug.

So I’ll leave you with this lovely song…