Let's hear it for the girls

Ever have a flashback to being young and single?

You know, when all you needed was a sturdy duffle bag and big, ole Thermos full of coffee, and before you knew it, you were on your way to some sort of ambiguous adventure on half a tank of gas and the promise of maybe, just maybe, catching a glimpse of a celebrity or two?

That's the kind of weekend I had.

What started out as a 2.5 days with some of my blogging buddies turned into a full-frontal laughfest.

It was nothing like I imagined it would be.

It was better.

Because something happens when you throw together four very different women who are grounded in one simple thing: Blogging.

Upfront honesty and comedy ensue.

It's glorious, really.

So glorious, in fact, that I'm stalling. I'm afraid to write about it. Because I fear I won't do it justice. Because these ladies had me in stitches, and I'm afraid you really just had to be there.

Still, I'm going to try. For the sake of married women everywhere, who all a deserve a weekend away with the girls.
So, let's meet the characters, shall we?

First up, we have Justine. A young, married blogger over at Almost There, she works as a nanny by day and has various other specialities by night. One of which includes public vomiting. And the ability to laugh about it later.
Next up, we have Jess. A hip, happening radio promotions aficionado, who blogs over at All-American Jess, she has connections like no other. And she has a freakishly good sense of smell. Which can prove to be dangerous in a variety of situations.
Third, we've got Lil' Woman, who hails from Little Woman, Little Home. This engaged little fireball will say anything, to anyone, at anytime. And leaves you with the pictures to prove it. She's also willing to hug a lonely military wife, just to give her some personal contact.
Finally, we have me, from, well, here. You all know enough about me, already. But suffice it to say that, on this trip, I managed to get us lost in my own hometown and struggled with a skin irritation brought about thanks to my extremely pear-shaped figure. My thighs will never be the same.

So, let's started, shall we?

Friday, 5:30 p.m.: I meet Lil' Woman in the parking lot of a random Best Buy. We both scream so loud upon seeing each other that her fiance' all but pushes her out of their car.
5:58 p.m: Lil' Woman and I arrive at our hotel. We are met with valet parking, which is distinctly "too classy" for the two of us, as evidenced by the fact that we both ran helter-skelter to the hotel door with about 18 bags slung over each arm, positively giddy with excitement. Still, we manage our way through it and find a seat in the lobby to wait for the other two girls. We also take a photo with an Orlando Magic fan who just happened to wander by dressed like a chicken. To better capture the local color, of course.
6:18 p.m.: Lil' Woman and I realize we're at the wrong hotel after the other girls call us, telling us they're standing in the lobby, too, and they can't see us. Whoops. Thirty minutes into the trip, and I'd already gotten us lost. In the very city where I was born and raised.

6:19 p.m.: We rescue my car from it's first (and only) run-in with valet parking. I'm now $5 poorer.

6:32 p.m.: We arrive at the correct hotel, hike up nine floors, and find our room. We begin to converse, catch up, and talk about - what else? - cervical mucus.

6: 45 p.m.: After Justine explains to Lil' Woman how fertile cervical mucus resembles the texture and stretchiness of egg whites, Lil' Woman swears off men, conception, and child-bearing forever. Or at least considers it.

8:30 p.m.: After several other confessions in our new "Circle of Trust," we all head out to dinner at the classiest place on Earth - the Olive Garden. At this point, we were basically holding hands, skipping, and revealing exactly what names we want to bestow on our first-born children.

9:00 p.m.: The waitress brings us our first order of salad and breadsticks. Lil' Woman, starving, goes in for a big bite of iceberg. But spits it out before she can even taste it, yelling, "Oh, &#*^, are we supposed to pray or something like that?" This makes Jess laugh so hard, she almost chokes on her unsweetened iced tea. People are officially staring, so Justine and I give the most hasty of graces ever.

9:05 a.m.: We begin to discuss our favorite topic: Blogging. Justine and Lil' Woman - a Midwesterner and Northerner, respectively - mentioned how so many bloggers were "obsessed with that thing. That thing called Seck?" Jess and I just looked at each other, until finally, we muttered, "Wait, do you mean the S.E.C., as in the Southeastern Conference?" Word to the wise for Southern bloggers: SEC reads as "seck" to Northerners who don't watch college football. But don't worry. Jess and I immediately rectified the situation (and threw in a little propaganda about how "Seck" is the best college-football conference in the country to boot.)

9:10 p.m.: Justine begins to feel queasy and retreats from the table. The rest of us are stumped, having never actually had to physically comfort a blog-friend through nausea before. I seriously ponder if I should leave a "Feel better soon!" comment on her blog while she's in the bathroom.

9:18 p.m.: We leave the restaurant quickly so we can get sick Justine to bed.

9:25 p.m.: We return to the hotel and begin to book it toward our room. But not quick enough. Because before Justine - who is power-walking like no other - can make it to our bathroom, she throws up. Right smack dab in the middle of the lobby.

9:26 p.m.: Lil' Woman - who's apparently overcome her recently confessed fear of bodily functions - accompanies Justine to the nearest bathroom. Jess and I wither under the stares of hotel staff who seem to think we've been on some sort of bender, though none of us - including our resident projectile vomiter - had imbibed a drop.

10:10 p.m.: We finally tuck ourselves into bed but continue to talk about a host of different topics, including how several of our friends - knowing we were meeting up with "people we met on the Internet" - feared we were walking into some sort of trap, where we'd end up tossed into a Dumpster after being harvested for our internal organs. We all made a pact not to steal each other's kidneys and then dozed off around 3 a.m.

Saturday, 9:00 a.m.: Desperate and hungry the following morning, we arose in search of food and found a little gem called Keke's Breakfast Cafe, where I expressed my undying love for their pancakes and swore that if my husband didn't return from boot camp, I'd have my marriage annulled and marry into the Keke family, just so I could have "Florida Style" breakfast goods every morning.
9:15 a.m.: Another group of women watch us from a table away, until one finally turns to her friends and whispers, conspiratorially, "Oh, they're all bloggers." We're all thrilled by the fact that we've been coined with our much-preferred job titles.

11:10 a.m.: We headed toward Universal Studios, where we made our way from attraction to attraction. We humored Lil' Woman, who has an apparent penchant for all live characters and had our photo taken with every Homer Simpson, Spiderman, and stuffed bubble-gum shrimp in the park.
12:00 p.m.: We bounce from attraction to attraction, laughing all the while.
1:15 p.m.: Due to all the profuse walking, my capri pants start to irritate my legs, or, more specifically, my inner thighs. I begin to wish I'd worn spandex athletic-wear.

2:00 p.m.: The inner-thigh irritation worsens.

2:30 p.m.: We decide to see/ride "The Disaster" show/ride at Universal Studios. The ride engineer asks for some volunteers to help make the ride's "disaster movie." Lil' Woman jumps at the chance to play an evil villain. Justine and Jess shove me on stage after the man asks for "someone over 19 wearing close-toed shows and pants, who considers themselves slightly athletic."

2:31 p.m.: I'm not thrilled about my new acting gig.

2:35 p.m: But before I know it, I'm dunked in a pit of balls and told to flail my arms about, scream, and act like I'm drowning, all in front of a live studio audience. This, mind you, is all captured on film. Meanwhile, Lil' Woman is laughing maniacally.
2:45 p.m.: We watch a video where I appear to be drowning in water - not balls - thanks to the wonders of green-screen. The entire 200-person audience laughs.
2:46 p.m.: I'm not thrilled.

2:55 p.m.: We exit the ride, and I realize my inner-thigh irritation is getting worse. It's now graduated to full-on chafing.

5:00 p.m.: We wander over to Islands of Adventure to force Justine on at least one roller coaster before we leave.
5:01 p.m.: My chafing worsens.

5:35 p.m.: We wait in line to ride the Incredible Hulk roller coaster, only to realize we're standing in front of a middle-aged man and three scantily clad 13-year-old girls - all of whom were attending the theme park for a cheerleading competition.

5:36 p.m.: We observe the man kissing, hugging and downright ogling the girls.

5:37 p.m.: We realize the man is not the girls' father.

5:38 p.m: We are legitimately freaked out and ponder calling the police or grabbing one of the girls and asking her if she needs help extracting herself from this wholly inappropriate coach/chaperone/sexual predator situation.

5:39 p.m.: We all proceed to glare at the man, and Lil' Woman even manages to sternly say, "Please take your hands off her."

5:40 p.m.: The line finally splits, and we're separated away from the now-coined "Lester the Molestor" and those poor adolescents. I'm still kind of worried about them, and I vow that I will never let my future children wear a bikini top, be a cheerleader, or go on a trip with a creepy male chaperone.

5:55 p.m: My chafing worsens.

6:15 p.m.: We finally ride the coaster, and though I've done it before, I'm not as young as I used to be, and I almost trip getting off it. I'm disoriented from the spinning and looping and intense speeds by body underwent. And also from the intense pain of my chafing.

7:00 p.m.: We finally go to leave the park, and I'm forced to waddle, so as to minimize contact between my inner thighs. Justine tells me that it's A-OK, though, because, after all, it's "good practice for when you're pregnant."

8:00 p.m.: We get dressed in some finery and head out to dinner at The Cheesecake Factory. But not before I lotion my thighs, though even that didn't make the waddle go away.

8:40 p.m.: We meet Ro, a nice waiter who poses for pictures after Lil' Woman tells him we're all in Orlando together because we're at a (fake) bloggers' conference.

9:00 p.m.: I order a salad for 12; Lil' Woman orders a grilled cheese the size of her head. We're not shy about food around these parts.
9:30 p.m.: Ro adores us so much, he gives us free Godiva chocolate to go with our cheesecake. We tell him that this officially earns him a spot on our blogs. Here's to you, Ro!
10:15 p.m.: We return to our hotel and run into the poor staffer who had to clean up Justine's vomit incident. She inquires if he's "the guy who had to clean up my throw-up yesterday." He nods sorrowfully that he is. We wonder if he deserves a tip.

11: 00 p.m.: We head back to our room for some more slumber-party fun. Though the fun became all too much for this teacher, and I passed out talking - literally - mid-sentence. I'm blaming the burning pain in my inner thighs. The girls then send me an e-mail while I'm snoozing at 1 a.m. so I can know what parts of the conversation I missed out on. Only in a group of a bloggers...

9:00 a.m.: We arise, but not before I proceed to put pajama pants under my maxi dress so I can minimize Sunday's chafing.

9:30 a.m.: We head back to Keke's Breakfast Cafe. The waitress gives us an odd look and shakes her head, mumbling, "You're back." Yes, we are! Bring on the Florida-style pancakes!

10:10 a.m.: We return to Universal Studios because, lo and behold, Ellen DeGeneres is taping two episodes of her show. Both of which include musical guests. One of which is Rascal Flatts. Whom I adore.

11:00 a.m.: Lil' Woman fashions a flashy, hot-pink sign that says "Bloggers 4 Ellen," in attempt to get us onstage to meet celebrities.
12:00 p.m.: The show begins taping, and we are unfortunately not onstage. But we are dancing away in the crowd and peering as a host of celebrities - Mario Lopez, Sharon Osbourne, some girl from American Idol, and Portia de Rossi - come on and off the stage, including Ellen and her stunt double.
12:34 p.m.: We watch Usher perform. We realize that Rascal Flatts is performing later.
1:30 p.m.: We hop in line in hopes of getting in to see the second taping. I grab some staffer and tell him we're bloggers, in hopes that this will give us an edge. Instead, he hands us ponchos and water bottles. I was not entirely sure how that was an equivalent, but we took the free loot anyway.

1:45 p.m.: It begins to rain, and we are ushered into crowd by Ellen staffers to watch Rascal Flatts sing. We are also forced to throw away our hot pink poster. But not before putting in a good word for our friend Gina and her little boy Logan. It was the least we could do, considering the only reason we got out of bed after four hours of sleep Sunday morning was because we knew Gina would have done it. (Hence our new motto, "What Would Gina Do?" WWGD bracelets coming to infomercials near you.)
2:00 p.m.: It begins to rain.

2:02 p.m.: I begin to sweat under my layers of pajama pants, a maxi dress, and the most unbreathable poncho known to man.

2:30 p.m.: Rascall Flatts and Ellen come on. We cheer and sing along to "Life is a Highway" together in the pouring rain. The girls are reminded about my penchant for cheesy country songs. I don't care. I do care that Ellen is freakishly tan and tiny in person. I want to know if she's really using all those Oil of Olay and CoverGirl products she endorses.
3:15 p.m.: We fight a torrential downpour and a huge crowd to vacate the park and head back to our car. But Ellen actively waved at us through her own rain-soaked hair and poncho. Success!

3:17 p.m.: I report to the girls that, although I'm soaked in sweat and rain, that the pajama-pants and maxi dress minimized the chafing and put a halt to almost all of my inner-thigh pain.

3:30 p.m.: We find a Walgreens, where we exchange photos, and we hit a Chipotle up for a super late lunch.

4:30 p.m.: We plan our next bloggy meet-up, which will celebrate a certain somebody's bacherolette party, and we're inviting all of you! Stay tuned because you won't want to miss out on this!
5:15 p.m.: We finally wrench ourselves away from each other, remembering we have jobs and families and responsibilities that are way less fun than celebrity-stalking, sober vomiting, and soothing chafed thighs.

6:15 p.m.: I fight the urge to call in sick, turn my car around, and head back toward the girls. But my sensible Teacher Self wins the argument. And I keep driving down the rode toward home.

***

Whew! Re-living all that made me tired again. I'll be honest, if I wasn't storing up personal days for my husbands' return, I'd have called in sick to work yesterday. And probably today.

Because unlike those younger, single days - when I could bounce back from sleepless nights and day after day constantly on my feet - I can't do it anymore.

Fun times like that leave me with deep, body exhaustion; headaches; and a strong desire to bathe my legs in aloe vera and never wear abrasive fabrics again.

Still, just like when I was younger, it was worth it. Every last minute of it. I'll sing along in the rain with Rascal Flatts any day, thank you very much. Especially with these girls.

But now, somebody hand me my sweat pants. My thighs need a break.

***

Happy Tuesday, everyone!