And finally…part 4 of my Blogher experience (as lifted directly from my journal). Parts 1, 2 and 3 are here. I swear I’m almost finished, y’all.
Walked to a public party at the Volstead. Hid in the bathroom, as usual. Was invaded by a group of women putting on impromptu KISS make-up. The usual. I left with them because you know that pretty much everything that happens at a party after people randomly put on KISS makeup is going to be anticlimactic.
Then I walked to another public party for SexIs where women were encouraged to decorate dildos. Then I looked out the window and wondered to myself what must be going on at the exclusive private parties and I hoped for the sake of the attendees that it was the exact same thing as the public parties but with more swag.
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My inner thighs are chaffed from walking so much. And from being fat.
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Went to the panel I was speaking at 10 minutes before it started and there were like 6 people there. Tweeted “My session starts in 10 minutes and it’s fucking PACKED” along with a picture of the audience:
A number of people complimented me on a full house of bloggers who must also be ninjas but most of them just tweeted back stuff like “Of course it’s packed! You’re a rock star!” because I guess those people don’t know how to open my pictures. 15 minutes later though it was fairly full and I think it went really well but all I can really remember from the session is someone in the audience not being able to remember the name of an esoteric gay p0rn star that she didn’t want to name her son after and another woman in the audience helpfully yelling it out to her. I’ve found my tribe, y’all.
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Just intentionally crossed a do-not-cross police line on purpose, so I can totally cross that off my life list now. Except that that wasn’t actually on my life list. But it is now because it makes me feel like I accomplished something if I can check something off of a list. Except that I haven’t actually written my life list yet so now I technically feel worse about myself than before. I should start a life-list in reverse order and just write down shit I already did so that I’m always done with it. Like “Button a shirt: Check“. “Don’t murder kittens: Check“. “Get gingivitis: Check.” Oh my God, I am awesome at this.
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In airport security heading home. Apparently this is a problem:
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Handed the chick in the airport bookstore a copy of the Twilight Bree Tanner book and a copy of True Blood and asked her which one was less awful. She was all “Well, they’re both pretty bad”. I went with True Blood because the cover had more stuff on it. Then I clarified to the clerk that I own many, many non-stupid books. She totally didn’t believe me. (Note to self: When my memoirs come out, put lots of stuff on the cover. Stuff like naked vampires. Also, meet some naked vampires so I can put them in my memoirs.)
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I was mentioned in the London Times but my name was misspelled so I’m not sure if that counts as being mentioned as all. Victor says he understands because the same thing happens to him everyday when the newspapers write about him but use the wrong name and write about shit that never actually happened to him. Victor is very good at keeping me grounded. And by “grounded” I mean “stabby”.
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The end.
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I’ll stop now.