Hey everybody! I’m at a retreat!
I haven’t been on a retreat since I was 18 years-old. Why the 23 year hiatus?
1) Several years of repeated attempts to brainwash me and extort free underage child-labor kind of left a bad taste in my mouth, and 2) This is the first retreat I’ve been invited to that involved pole dancers. Am I in? Hell yes.
I volunteered to do the cooking because I’m an idiot and that’s the kind of stupid thing I like to volunteer for. And I’m good at it. And it bought me a price break. I was thinking hard about this last night as my kitchen looked like a bomb went off in it.
I worked up a nifty little menu and posted it to the retreat participants. Shockingly enough there wasn’t one objection, and my menu at it all: diary, wheat, meat, seafood, GLUTEN! Already I was having an 0ut-of-Boulder experience. Lonny surveyed the jam packed fridge and said, “I hope none of these ladies have eating disorders because there is a shitload of food in here.” Yah, me too.
I got up this morning and started packing the cooler, feeling pretty confident about having enough space. Can I just say that spacial awareness has never been my strong suit? I ended up calling all my neighbors at 7am all, “Hey, do you have a spare cooler I can borrow? Like right now?”
My neighbor across the street came through and I packed everything in. Testiclese was like, “This cooler doesn’t close all the way.” and I replied, “It does if you sit on it. Just stay right here until Lemony comes with the truck.”
I felt sheepish about packing so much but justified it by pointing out that if I was serving hot dogs, cold cereal and mac and cheese, I could get everything into a tiny box. That not being the case, I have about 300 pounds of gear and food. Fortunately pole dancers pack very light because of the tiny clothes they wear.
We arrived in Steamboat Springs to a very nice resort, unpacked our stuff and surveyed the rooms. In the interested of being extra truthy I disclosed that I snore. Lonny insists that it is “very feminine” but still. That’s how I ended up getting my own bed. Then Shé disclosed that she liked to cuddle so if you aren’t okay with snuggling up to Raquel Welch’s boobies all night, you should get for your own bed.
I totally played my cards wrong there. (Lonny, stop yelling at the computer screen.) I should have kept my mouth shut about the snoring and been all, “Cuddling? I love cuddling!”
That being said, we unpacked and convened for sangria and some kind of Goddess card thing. I am not woo-woo at all (I’m a self-loathing former new-ager) but I decided to be game. After all, I did see Braco in person.
I pulled this card, which pretty much told me that I am old, tired and going through menopause. Well hell. Tell me something I don’t already know.
There were gift bags for each of us, which was super exciting, although I think Jenny won by getting the best wine glass.
We decided to “take Steamboat” and hit the town for happy hour. We had a lovely dinner on the river at Sunpie, the cutest little shack on the river with “The Best Sandwich You Will Put In Your Whole Mouth”. Their sandwiches were fantastic. I know this because all other women ate half of theirs and stopped so I felt compelled to finish off the other halves. They were that good.
I saw a cooler of pink liquid behind the bar and was like, What’s that? and the bartender was all, Hurricanes, and I was all, I’ve never had one of those before, so we got a round for the table. The upshot was that it led to some street poling and inappropriate behavior but then I got too floppy to rally to do anything else.
We tabled the hot springs for tomorrow night and went back to the room for Porch Swings and girl talk.
Without going into any detail, we had a beautiful evening sitting around the table, answering leading questions and being truly honest with ourselves. I witnessed great acts of bravery and compassion.
I live in a house full of guys with more guys who come in and work. I love men and I love my boys and my boy dog and even my stupid boy cat, but I am seriously down with all this girly shit.