I'm screwed. What the hell is he doing in here with a camera, anyway? I'm angry. Fifteen minutes later, I hear another click. Smarter this time, I stand up. Some harsh words are exchanged, and I get the camera. A few guys come by throughout the day and ask politely if they can take pictures of my paint job. I smile and pose with them. Pictures are fine, but you damn well better ask first.

It's a fairly nice day. A few bad seeds, but a lot of really good ones. Everybody wants that damn sun-moon design or the heart-looking knot thing. Thirty dollars, sign the waiver, step on in and pop up when somebody yells "next!" At this point in the tour, I have my henna speech so well-memorized that people find it kinda amusing.

"How long will it last?"

"Somewhere-between-a-week-and-a-month-
depending-on-where-on-your-body-it-goes-
and-how-fast-your-skin-exfoliates-the-palms-
of-your-hands-and-the-soles-of-your-feet-will-
hold-it-the-longest-because-your-skin-there-is-
more-keratinized-upper-backs-and-chests-
don't-take-henna-very-well-because-the-skin-
there-is-so-soft."

"Oh."

Later in the day, the naked breasts at the airbrush booth cause some drunken rowdiness-- girls who don't share my training in niggapleeze are getting stupid and acting cheap. When Sorority Sluts Get Too Much Coors Light! Gee, if only the camera crew from Girls Gone Wild were here. Actually it's getting kinda bad. The last time I left the booth, some guy wanted me to dance for him. The blood alcohol level in this place is rising, and the IQ is dropping. I lean over to clean up the tables and organize the boxes and, when I look up, there are easily thirty drunken frat boys standing in front of the booth trying to look at my bat-boobs and the crowd is too big for any prospective customers to get through. I put my shirt back on and they whine. See ya. Things degenerate, and we pack up. We don't have to be in until ten tomorrow morning. Yay!

I decide to keep my shirt on as today's crowd doesn't seem quite as polite. Some of the venue employees are unhappy about this.

It is obsecenely hot out. Oh, my god. It is so hot. I look at the little waterfall pools and wonder how long I could lay in one before security would ask me to move. Probably not very long. Business is mediocre, but dehydration is making this crowd completely insane. Drunkenness is causing further dehydration. Frat boys come by wanting their penises hennaed and I call their bluff. They get drunker and one propositions my mother. Security is unenthusiastic. Someone please turn down the sun. I take a sanity break and go sit under some trees in a very pleasant wooded area. Hey, look! People having sex! I move. One of the girls from the bondage booth is having problems carrying some stuff. I offer to help, and she's incredibly rude. Fine, then. It's hot out.

Later, CJ from Drowning Pool stops by. He's cute. A pleasant girl with Edward Gorey illustrations tattooed on her arm gets vines hennaed on her palm. We like her.

The sun goes down and the heat breaks. Having been shafted for electricity once again, we pack. As Donny and Marie would say . . . . GOODNIGHT, EVERYBODY!