It's Convention time...

Every two years (give or take a year) I help a friend of mine put together a convention.  It's a Soap Opera Convention, for two of the soap operas that are still on TV (you have a 50-50 chance of correctly guessing which two).  The announcement of Soap Opera Weekend signifies the start of my slow descent into the depths of despair.   It starts out innocently enough....  

• Can you help me pick a good weekend? 
• Sure. 
• Can you help write a flyer? 
• No problem.   
• Can you help me pick a Hotel?
• Well...   I'm not a good judge of Hotels, but OK...
• Can you create an Excel spreadsheet?    
• Not really, Excel isn't my specialty, but I guess I..
• Can you start stuffing folders full of pictures?
• Well, no, I have plans, so I really...
• Can you do them RIGHT NOW?
• ok...
• Can you re-do them?   You can't put (name of actor playing a butler) on the top.  The (name of actor playing the town harlot) will complain.
• Really?   No one will even notice -
• Can you do them RIGHT NOW?
• ok...
• Can you do another 200 folders?   We are selling more tickets than I thought.
• ok...
• Can you seal and stamp 1000 invitations?
• ok...
• Can you write the show? And make it funny...
• thlrp...  (can't move my tongue after sealing 1000 envelopes)

And so it goes, deeper and deeper until the actual event arrives.  By that time, I am a mere drone, a slave to the cause, one of the army of helpers that gives up a weekend to help the fans have that once-in-a lifetime experience, yes, wait for it...    Their seventh meeting with (excruciating good looking actor who just happens to be the harlot's lawyer / lover).  Yes, the same people come to this event EVERY YEAR to get the same autograph they got the last seven years, and get the same picture with the actor or actress they most admire.   The only difference is while the fans get older in each picture, year after year, the star looks the same.   They never change.   It's like posing with Dorian Gray. 

The big event is this weekend, so you may not hear from me for a few days.   But think of me whenever you hear a shriek of girlish delight.   That will be me, happy the weekend is over.