So last night I went out to the Houston Social Networking Something-or-Another because my fabulous friends (and Sk*rt creators) Design Mom, Girl con Queso and Laurie were going. Even better, Happy Katie, who I’d never seen before was going to be there and I was so excited about finally meeting her. I was nervous I wouldn’t be able to spot her since in my mind she is perpetually doing fishy-lips.
I was also nervous about the fact that I was going alone to a party, that I’d fallen a bit behind on my anti-anxiety drugs and that I wouldn’t know a single person there. I walked in, intent on pretending like I belonged there (I didn’t) and immediately saw the Goddess-like, brilliant photographer Karen who actually waved me over and I was flooded with relief and gratitude. We got into a conversation with another photographer and after listening to their amazing stories of photographing Stevie Wonder and other famous icons I mentioned that Magnum PI once heard me throw up. Because that’s how I roll. So, pretty much filled with verbal diarrhea even before I’d even had my first drink.
A bit later I ended up loudly yelling something about denying the holocaust to a total stranger which in context of the conversation was
totally almost totally slightly appropriate but did not go over well with people standing nearby. Then I went to order a glass of wine and (knowing zilch about wine) threw myself on the mercy of the waitress who poured me a glass of some fizzy wine. Of course, I wanted to be prepared for the inevitable wine-bar-question of “and what are you drinking” so, naturally, I gave the waitress my pen and asked her to write down the name of the wine on the palm of my hand. Like you do. So she gives me a weird look and writes it on a coaster and I’m all “No. I don’t want to have to dig in my purse to tell people what I’m drinking. I need to be able to surreptitiously glance at my hand though my glass to read the name like a cheat sheet” and she stared at me like I was a total moron. Several people watched us through this whole encounter, no doubt assuming that was trying to get her phone number and was striking out badly.
Oh and then I told a Quaker chick that all I know about the Quakers is that they make good oatmeal. Also, I may have agreed to be a Quaker.
Oh and most everyone in the room had a moustache (for charity) which gave it a weird yet awesome 70’s mixer kind of feel.
Then at the very end I finally met up with Happy Katie who does kisses on the cheek in a very hip, European way and she was adorable.
And she did fishy lips for me.
Then we sat in the parking lot talking about Burt Reynolds’ moustache and she invited me to come sketch pictures of burlesque dancers, which, yeah. How am I going to turn that down?
It’s weird because I look at events like this and think, really? This is my life? Because this is far more grown-up and exciting than what I would have ever suspected and so much of it is because of blogging and because of the support and encouragement that you guys have given me to be myself and embrace my “uniqueness”. So I guess my point is that I shouldn’t be allowed to go out in public ever. And that blogging is one of the best things that ever happened to me. And also, that fishy-lips are the new international sign of friendship.
Also, Courtney, who last night was the first person in the whole world to recognize me from my blog and call me a “rockstar”? You made my entire year. For real.
PS. Did I mention that I was carrying a full urine specimen in my purse that almost fell on the bar when I was fishing for my wallet?
I’m so classy it ought to be illegal.