Okay, there is a phrase I am seeing a lot in the blogging community..."I am SO blogging this" and it was definitely made for times like today, the day I decided to go to a partyl1+e party. Let me set the scene for you. A huge log cabin, set back from the road...you start to get an idea of the type of decor based on the huge stuffed snowman in red plaid fleece on the front porch. I think you know what I mean. the place is jammed full of the most hideous country crap known to civilized man today. This woman actually has "names" for all of her rooms...the daisy room, the hollyhock room...you get the idea. This was only a little more pretentious than the fact that she had people giving guided tours of her house as if it were some kind of museum. "We're walking...we're walking...on the left, you'll notice an entire wall devoted to dried eucalyptus sprays...we're walking, we're walking..." The guided tours are supposed to give you the idea that these are the kind of digs you'll be set up in once you sign on to join their little candle cult. The Leader herself was a study in 80's hair gone terribly terribly awry and HELLO! just because you are a size 8 does NOT give you the right to wear crotch skimming low rise jeans past the age of 19, let alone pushing 50, MEEEOW!
Down in the main "meeting area" (actually, I believe that the room was the "pond algae" room or something like that) she had chairs set up as if she expected about 350 people to show up. We were jammed in like 10 year olds in a bangkok sweatshop. I knew there was going to be trouble when I saw the pink heart shaped "clappers" in the little packets on the seats. The debacle opened up with a bingo game, in which winners were expected to SHRIEK their triumph while being hailed with clapper fire. If you didn't show proper excitement, you were beaten soundly, or at least severely frowned at.
Next was the Q&A session. Unbeknownst to me, there was going to be a quiz and as expected, I was unprepared. We were supposed to shout out the answers to questions about the company, all the while receiving raffle tickets to pick from the exalted basket o' crap at the front of the room. I was woefully inadequate, and didn't show proper "flair" (haha, remember "office space?") OH WAIT. Did I happen to mention that there was a ledge around the top of the room which held (god, this makes me ill) "Precious Moments" figurines. Dozens of them. My friend, ever alert to my cranky disgust with anything "cutesie" pointed this out to me, while laughing heartily at the widening look of horror on my face (similar to Indiana Jones realizing he was in the spider/snake pit)
The leader called up the "consultants" from the audience, and they were supposed to give their names and what they Luuuvvvved about parrtyl1te. I think we were expected to believe that candle parties would stamp out our social ills, feed us, clothe us, free us from egyptian bondage, cure cancer..etc. Then, and I am NOT making this up, she instructed one of her minions to pass envelopes out to the people who looked as if they "loved money." (I must mention here that she gave an envelope to my friend, but not me) Inside the envelopes were different checks made out to the leader which I guess were supposed to represent her "income." They ranged from the 2000's up to the 9000's. Interestingly, it didn't mention how long of a period the checks were supposed to represent. She didn't mention it, either.
Then, the Coup de Grace! The elite first 10 to arrive at the party were permitted to enter the "SALE ROOM" (actually a 2 car garage with a bunch of candle boxes piled up on the walls, and a table full of apparent tag sale items in the center) The losers were sent to the kitchen to eat snacks. damned losers. I glared enviously at them as they herded us "winners" off to the garage. I wandered around the room trying to stem the tide of cynical commentary that was washing through my brain. While I circled the room, I heard the leader talking to someone else who was a "virgin." "What type of work do you do?" she asked cloyingly. The woman played into her tentacles with her description of some menial job which held little satisfaction for her. "Well..." and she launched into her pitch. A little later, she came for me, but I was ready. "Soooo, Robin! You want to sign on to throw a few parties?" "ummm, only a little more than I want to take a scalpel and remove my right eye to get at a key to open a nasty spike filled lock box about to snap shut on my head like a bear trap (SAW II SPOILER!!!) She didn't appreciate the reference (why would she? She lives in frickin thomas kinkadeville) but was undeterred.
"What kind of work do you do?"
"As little as possible!"
She got the hint, I think...but I also saw her nodding towards a few of her minions, who in turn, glared menacingly at me. I decided that I had enough of the "sale room" and headed out to the punishment snack plates and stuffed my face full of 7 layer dip before the bouncers threw me out.
The fun was definitely not over for me, since I got to drive home and try to convince my hubby that I had signed onto the cult and was going to start throwing parties ASAP! He was satisfyingly horrified at the idea, but I couldn't keep a straight face and was found out right away. My poor friend is a nice person who makes friends easily. Meanwhile, she is my ONLY friend...big surprise, eh?