The event on the agenda was the Pearls and PJs Party, featuring yet another band that would play yet more renditions of Tina Turner songs (can't complain about that, really) as well as a big ass buffet and karaoke.
And yes, I did get on the karaoke mic and yes, I did dominate. Naturally. More on that later.
Once again the real star of the show was the insanity of some of the outfits we saw, including of course the Queens themselves who were trying to convince us that this could pass for pajamas:
At some point during the evening Jill announced that she would be signing books and taking pictures outside the ballroom, so naturally mom and I made a beeline for the SPQ bookstore to purchase anything and everything she could fit her John Hancock on. And wouldn't you know it? The sum bitches were closed. I hope whoever thought that up is overcome with sadness that they couldn't take our money.
As we were lamenting the locked-down-book-store sitch, I remembered that I had, in fact, brought one of my SPQ books with me on the trip, in case we'd needed any entertainment in the car on the way down. It was God Save the Sweet Potato Queens, the second in the series, but it was just my old well-loved paper back. Nothing fancy or new. Nonetheless, we headed up to the room for it and stood in that line for what felt like the length of the St. Paddy's day parade, probably mostly due to the gals in front of us who had Jill sign every book they ever bought in their life, including probably a kindergarten handwriting primer and DEFINITELY an SPQ book that was part eaten by a dog. I shit you not.
So we finally get up there, and again in my body's efforts to keep anything embarrassing from coming out of my mouth I mostly clammed up and lost the ability to form coherent sentences. So mom talked. She told Jill that this weekend was what I'd wanted for my birthday, and HRH seemed tickled. She signed my book, we took a fabulous picture of the three of us (that I would show you, should my mama choose to unhandle it for me from her camera) and she asked us to please go take her husband's shirt off and stick some tattoos on him. For the chirren.
After that we headed back to the front of the hotel where our favorite band of the weekend was still playing, and got just a teeny bit more dancing out of our system.
And then, of course, we headed outside and hopped on the unattended SPQ float to take pictures of ourselves in HRH's throne.
And some time in there, I dominated karaoke with a rendition of my signature staple, Young MC's "Bust A Move." I reprised later with "Gangsta's Paradise," and just so you won't think I'm blowing this domination out of proportion I need to share with you that some 75 miles outside of Jackson at a random ass truck stop I heard voices hollering out at me, "Bust a move! Rap for us girl! Woo hoo!"
I turned around, and of course, saw a big ass van full o' Queens.
After "Gangsta's Paradise" (and the sweet ghetto girls who work at the Jackson Hilton giving me high fives and telling me that they took video, dear sweet LORD where that may end up) we hit the sack, and we were back up early and dressed appropriately for the Bathrobe Brunch.
The buffet at the brunch included shrimp and grits and sweet potato biscuits and other worldly delights that I can only hope are available calorie-free in the hereafter, but the one item that seduced my senses most was a little something labeled on the spread as "Pig Candy." Candied. Effing. Bacon. MOUTHGASM.
After we ate, Jill spoke, and I have to tell you that I could listen to this woman talk for hours and never grow tired of it. I don't know if it's her voice, her lilting accent, her charming humor or quick wit or maybe a combination of all of them, but that woman is captivating.
I think perhaps mostly that captivation is because I am generally in awe of everything Jill Connor Browne has accomplished. She had some shit circumstances thrown her way in life, and her positivity, her genuine and compassionate spirit, her ability to embrace change and commitment to having fun no matter what have brought her from that to this. To a community of women nationwide who have been inspired by her humor and her heart and whose lives are better because of her.
Mostly before this weekend I just thought this was one wickedly funny woman. I feel so lucky to know so intimately now the full picture.
And now that I've gone all sappy on you, in true Queen fashion, I will end this post with a photo of the Queens singing the official SPQ hymn, "Never Wear Panties to a Party."
cheers,
elizabeth
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