Event Planning for Pot Heads?

I was hired to oversee an art auction. My client was not “typical”. They were a non-profit organization.

The first indication this would be, um..“different”? It took place in an “alternative” coffee shop.

“I’m okay with “alternative”...despite being conservative.

I’m complex like that.

Some of the artists didn’t show up. My team represented them at their “art stations”. I held out for the artist that sketched lovely drawings of whales...and a couple of Jesus portraits.

I respectfully placed his bio in a cracked plastic frame. There was a reason he hadn’t shown up.

He was incarcerated in the State Penitentiary.

He wasn’t the only one.

I cajoled a volunteer to rep the artist that crocheted….wait for it….lingerie. Hilariously, the cup sizes of the bra didn't match, not even close. The panties (yellow and pink yarn) were thong-style.

After minutes of misrepresenting MY artist, I joined my young volunteer and her unsellable lingerie. She was with an older gentleman (my age) I assumed was the artist.

“Interesting lingerie set,” I commented. “Those leather pouches are cute too”.

“Have you seen the other side of the pouches?” the man asked. He flipped one over, revealing a depiction of a marijuana leaf. (He’d been concealing the leaf in order to increase sales.)

“We have matching lighters, too” he smiled.

I burst out laughing. The young volunteer planner (a University of Denver student and my protege) interjected, “Charmaine, I’d like you to meet my father, Jerry”.

“Are you a professional pot-head?” I asked.

“I’m an archeologist” he corrected.“ I have a business with 20 employees. I have a Vineyard in the mountains. I'm NOT the artist.”

.

“Okay people.” I barked. Let’s sell some a marijuana pouches!  Bonny, please model the crocheted lingerie.  Don't look at me like that."

“This small leather pouch is perfect for a crack rock” Jerry said to a customer.

We laughed... punch drunk.  His daughter watched us, rolling her eyes affectionately.

I whispered, “The customers are going to think we’re high.”

“I know,” he giggled, “Isn’t it great?"

I married a ZOMBIE!

Some things go without saying...

Take your eyes off the knife and I'll tell you something...

I've never cared for my profile...(I have chin "issues".) And I didn't really marry a zombie.

...and I love Halloween. 

Most witches (so you know) need help.  I prefer zombies.

So I made some.

"Wanna' be a zombie kid?" I asked. 

...then poof! Zombie.

Could he be a Zombie model? "Hell yes," I cackled. When you consort with Zombies you begin using bad language.

...another zombie appeared from beneath a bloody grave.

My sister whispered, "Man oh man, weird things happen when Charmaine is here"

We stared back, blankly, and went outside to play "I'm Melting".

As darkness fell... our haunted mansion sprang to life. Fog swirled, tinted with goulish green light. Music from "Halloween" blared from a cracked window. My brother-in-law sat beside the front door..then freakishly...moved.  A little girl, dressed like a bumble bee, shrieked.

"You should NOT scare small children" my sister scolded.

"We won't do it again, " I said witchily

I advised my zombie's: "Scare the hell out of the next batch of kids."  If they're little, go for the parents.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nq6pekM6sZQ

Beanies...Oh Baby!

It happened.

I purchased an article of clothing from Walmart.

It’s not that I'm a snob. (Okay I was.) One of those has-no-money snobs, living in a neighborhood she couldn’t afford.

We’re the worst kind.

I’m currently a volunteer Event Planner for a non-profit organization. (Good-bye Europe.) I visited Walmart to ask the Community Involvement Coordinator for a donation.

She gave it to me.

I don’t hate Walmart anymore.

I bought a turtleneck with matching beanie as an expression of gratitude.

AND a circular loom. I’m knitting beanies for the entire family.

My nephews and I knitted for hours.

Brody (age 11) whispered: “Charmaine, I’m so glad you’re here.”

Love is simple. It requires little…involvement...and respect.

Love,
Charmaine

My Blog into a Movie???

"Huh?"

...was my engaging response when a producer from Blue Orchid films called me about adapting  my dating shennanigans into a film. "You're story is very current" she said.

Back in the day I was dating frequently. The middle aged men...well, it was like there was something WRONG with them. In a cute way.

I merely chronicled what happened...and it was funny.  (You'll have to scroll down to my ancient history.)

The producer and I talked for a couple of hours. 

She waxed on about Demi Moore for the lead (she's looking for work don't ya know) pitching it to different studios which she would require I attend, some innane subplot that sounded like HER on-line dating experience.  (We discovered we'd both been contacted by the same ER Physician living in Malibu on match.com)  I'd rejected him, she'd dated him with less then optimum results. 

She'd lied about her age.

The story line would be a journalist internet dates to find material for a story...ends up falling in love and getting heart broken.

"That's not my story" I said. 

"It's kind of a boring story"  I said.

"My story is better" I said.

You're not supposed to say that when a producer calls you.

Italian Stallion

Maybe not.  But he sure had a large pizza...kaboom.

I had to touch it.

Hell, I just took it.  He didn't know what to do with it anyway.

I helped kids with a street mural at the Italian Fair.  (Always wanted to do that.)

My outfit?  I am experiencing sartorial confusion.  Blending California with Cowboy ain't easy.  One red nosed cowboy screamed:  "What part of Texas are YOU from anyway?"

"The part furthest from YOU." I replied. 

I'm such a bitch.

MORE Cowboys!

I'm back in the saddle. (In more ways then one.)

I was introduced to real cowboys.

My brother-in-law (left) and Gary (right)....faints.

Gary on the left...(faints again) They ride twice a week to rope steer instead of say, watching a movie.

That's Arnold.  He is as kind as a man can be.  He makes most men I've dated look like pansies.

Only two things stand in the way of our love:

A.  He's happily married.
B.  He's 76.

He's not bad lookin' for 76...that's ALL I'm sayin' people.

I met Toots, I mean Arnold, after taking the kids mountain trout fishing. We swung by his ranch.

We met his horse that pranced like a dancer in the sun.  Its pen was pristine. The straw on the ground was fresh. 

Arnold purchased it from a trainer following a broken pelvis problem.  It WAS a racehorse (I knew it) facing a bullet to the head.  He rehabilitated it preventing both from being put out to pasture.

We fed it brown sugar roasted oats. Arnold poured delicious handfuls of what looked like granola into our palms. (I would have tasted it but I was trying to make a good impression.)

Wha the hell are those?  They're...um, steer. They put contraptions on their heads to prevent the creatures from getting rope burn when they get lasso'd. 

Isn't that sweet?  (Please God, never..EVER let Braja remember I'm alive.) Braja lives in India. (No cows were hurt.  I SWEAR!)

The Cowboys treated the kids with fatherly humour...tossing them on horses, pulling them off and letting me corall steer.

At 9:00 PM the men called it a day and loaded their horses onto trailers.We all drank a beer.  Not the kids...they drank Vodka.

Real cowboys...are cool.

I'm Cowboy CRAZY!

There is just ONE thing to cure what ails me...

A Cowboy.

Lookee ratch hyar...(faints).

The thing about cowboys is...they're sincere.

The cowboy is the only varient of man I have not yet dated.

The cowboy above called me.  With a relaxed, confident drawl he said:

"When you're done with those other Rodeo Clowns why don't you give me a call?"

So...after months...I DID.

He suggestively demanded I DRIVE to his ranch immediately.  "Huh...wha?" I responded. "I mean, why on earth would I do that?"

"Because I can't leave the horses." he replied

"How will the horses know you're gone?" I said

Silence

"I had high hopes for you", he said.  "You're soo cute.  If you don't drive to my ranch tonight...forget it."

And so...forget it I did.  Then I met some REAL cowboys.

Where have I been? ... that's a story for tomorrow.

Tune in, won't you?

Love,
Charmaine