Monomer — check.
Polymer — check.
Sculpting brushes — check.
Towels — check. Paper towels — check. Dappen dishes, acetone, nippers, pushers, files, buffers … Check, check, check, check …
You know there's something that isn't in there! Something. Something that I am sure not to realize I forgot until I open up my kit at the competition and expect it to be there.
I promised Ashley (my model) that I'd bring her a blanket and pillow, and possibly some Tylenol. I should really try to remember those things.
I can't believe I've agreed to participate in something that requires my presence at 7 a.m. Why would I do that?
So if you hear any screams followed by uncontrollable sobbing from the vicinity of Las Vegas over the weekend, it might be me.
Meanwhile, if you happen to be at the IBS Las Vegas tradeshow this weekend feel free to say "Hi" and remind me that in a hundred years, no one will care. Wait. Don't. That line always reminds me of the beginning of the first “Terminator” movie. I don’t want to be Sarah Connor. Just pat my shoulder and smile sympathetically. Maybe bring me chocolate. Or coffee. Or chocolate-flavored coffee. Yeah, that'll make everything better.
I also promised my model that every time I snap at her she can count it as one more $12 daiquiri I owe her at the Rain Forest Cafe. Oh wait, maybe those daiquiris are $18. Never mind the chocolate-flavored coffee, just donate cash.
And no excuses about how you couldn't find me because you never saw the pink hair. It isn't pink anymore — despite the fact that I'll be competing on Team Pink. My hairstylist (and salon owner where I work) hates putting pink in my hair. She says I'm too old to have pink hair.
Well, it's time to get going. At least the BF didn't drag me out of bed at the crack of dawn this morning insisting that we were already running late. Oh yeah, the BF is tagging along this weekend.
I am going to need a vacation after this.