I recently got together with my brother and sister. While discussing resolutions, I complained that all great writers are insane. I’m just slightly neurotic. Their answer. “Do more drugs.”
“You probably don’t remember but I sent you an email because I couldn’t get pregnant and I think you are amazing and you are my idol and can I hug you.”
Tonight did not disappoint. A reading filled with win that only references of Wil Wheaton, Pegasuses (pegasi?), Six hour marathons of the Tenth Doctor, and Neil Gaiman could accomplish. After two lorazepams, an hour waiting in line after a tearful (on my part) story, I finally got to meet my idol Jennifer Lawson.
I bumbled my way through introductions and made a half way coherent attempt at a sentence. (To be recreated later.)
Best part, I got to hug her. I have been hugged by The Bloggess. Or strangled, because as we all know, A HUG IS LIKE A STRANGLE YOU HAVEN’T FINISHED YET!
One of the scariest and most exhilarating moments I’ve ever had.
There have been several times that I have wanted to get out there and meet these people who have inspired me. So many should have’s, tucked away to haunt me. But not this time. I got my signature and I got my hug and for one moment I got the attention of a person I hope to be like.
This post is brought to you by John Mayer. And some guys illustrations. And a lot of blood apparently. Weird.
So I took out my voice recorder and said, “Hymen, sex, Hoyt, Jessica.”
I placed it back into my bag and promptly forgot about it, until as I was leaving the library with a stack of children’s books I ran into the door with my purse, (which is an often occurence) the stupid thing went off, on top volume,
“Hymen, sex, Hoyt, Jessica.”
I glanced around trying to make it look like I didn’t know where the sound was coming from and hoping that the scary librarian with the yellow hair would assume it was some punk kid from the school across the street.
When I looked up voice recorders I found this. I don’t know what it has to do with voice recorders but I secretly want one, just wear around. I totally thing have a thing for hats and this would really add to my collection.
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I am obsessed with true crimes. Especially ones that involve serial killers. I love serial killers—not in a killer groupies, marriage in a prison chapel way. (He hasn’t returned my letter.) No I’m simply fascinated about the psychosis behind a killers mind. What drives them to kill and how a person can look so normal and be burying young boys under his house ala John Wayne Gacy.
In the Pacific Northwest we have a lot of serial killers; Robert Lee Yates, Gary Ridgeway. Kenneth Bianchi was convicted of the murder of two girl in Bellingham. My sister, Toby Tyler actually lived in Ted Bundy’s house in the U-district of Seattle. I devour books about true crimes. I have read almost every book Ann Rule has ever written and obsessively watch shows like American Justice and City Confidential. A few years ago Mr.’s parents got me Time Life’s collection of True crime stories. I religiously watch CSI, (Except Miami—I want to go Gracie Lou Freebush on his ass.)
Mr. always jokes with his friends that if he goes missing they should question me first and I’m all Hello!
One, the spouse is always the first to be interrogated and two, I would totally get away with it.
Okay, so I’ve officially hit an all time creepiness factor here. I think it’s time for me to shut up.
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The day is finally upon us. We have made all the preparations and this night should go without a hitch, er well actually, there is one kind of hitch that is perfectly acceptable.
Cantante and I have gotten our outfits, courtesy of the sixteen year old who eyed us unappreciatively at Nordstrom. We even got our make up done in the MAC counter by Cruella DeVille while listening to French trance music. I was a little apprehensive, the last time a MAC girl gave me a make over I looked a little like Brittney Murphy in Spun. I ended up looking okay but Cantante looked a little like a hooker and were not talking Julia Roberts hooker.
I hold on to certain items for a long time in the hopes that perhaps I would pass them on to my daughter that hasn’t been conceived yet. Because that is a great way to spend my time. I have the scarf a friend gave me when I moved down to Arizona with the Hubby. I have the tank top I was wearing when Hubby proposed. The shirt from No Doubt with Cantante. Toby Tyler’s Alpha Chi Omega bid day shirt. Sentimental things, for a sentimental person. And now I will add to my collection the Eclipse night. Because it’s that big. As my little brother (The Mon) hates when I say, “Shit just got real.”
So now that we have our killer outfits we are going to arriving at 6:30 to watch Twilight, New Moon and Eclipse all in a row. I can’t decide if I want to smuggle a turkey sandwich or a meatball sub in my Betsy Johnson mega purse. (Don’t worry I took out the dead body.)
When Jacob and Bella walk on the beach, because really, we already know that shit, man.
Any time during New Moon. Okay maybe not.
So that gives me When Mike, Bella and Jacob go to the movies. (As long as I’m back by the time Jacob calls Mike a Marshmallow)
Instead we have the ugliness of other drugs. Instead of Kate Moss we get Amy Winehouse.