Lateshoes

Now, where was I? 

Oh! yes, we were on our way to the MST3K reunion line (2 hours early, I should point out). We got to the ballroom and were promptly, metaphorically bitch-slapped by another Dirty Harry security dick.

Us: Did you just say the line was closed?

Dick: THERE IS NO LINE.

Us: What?

Dick: THE LINE IS CLOSED.

Us: Wait – so, the line is closed?

Dick: THERE IS NO LINE.

Us: But, wait – so is this the line for the Mystery Science panle?

Dick: YES! THERE IS NO LINE. IT’S CLOSED. THERE’S TOO MANY PEOPLE. BLAH BLAH BLAH. 

*Sidebar – this fucking VIsa commercial where Morgan Freeman tells us about the runner who “didn’t finish first…or second… but, he…AND his father, finished.” It’s emotional terrorism. I get teary on command every time it comes on and when I remember it’s a fucking Visa commercial, I feel like a stranger just jammed their thumb up my butt. 

Anyway, so slightly defeated we sat around for a minute, before remembering that we have balls and that we don’t take shit, from glorified Michael Chickless impersonators. We decided to find the end of the line and stand in it. Take that. 

Luckily, on our way outside the building and presumably out into the street we found Debra (Lars and James’ highschool friend). She sweetly allowed us to join the line with her. Now, I realize that butting 5 people into a line is kind of rude, but line etiquette, as we all know it, allows friends to save spaces and places and that’s just the way the fricking world works. It’s happened to me a million times, waiting in nerdy movie lines. But, apparently the rules of the universe don’t apply to a dipshit Torgo impersonator and/or his apparently mute, hairy-backed brother – who were so pissed that they bitched for the entire two hours… even AFTER we let them get in front of all of us. 

They kept turning around and giving us shit looks and mumbling..and talking shit to anyone who would listen. Let me repeat myself – this was AFTER we let them go in front of us. Let it go, Torgo. How can someone so obsessed with a comedy show have NO sense of humor?

10 years later, the line that wasn’t a line started to move and unbelievably we got closer and closer to the entrance. That’s when the panic set in. Holy shit – they’re actually counting every person now – holy shit, holy shit… 21, 22, 23, 24, …. holy shit, holy shit…. 31, 32 (Torgo and shitbird are in), 33 (me), 34 (Brooke)… 

I turned around to make sure everyone else in our and Debra’s party were getting in and uttered, “Oh man, I’d feel so guilty if…” and before I could finish the sentence, Shitbird turns around and says, “WHAT? If those people don’t get in because you cut in line!”

Like – as we’re fucking going into the ballroom. I leapt to the most obvious response, “Fuck you, asshole.”

BUT, we were in! So fuck ‘em. 

7:45pm- The MST3K Reunion Panel. It was awesome. Mostly because none of us could believe they were all right there, in the same room with us. Even Tom Servo. Nerds. 

9pm – Kayla (James and Brooke’s and now my friend) had a great idea. She decided to get a “bathroom pass” for that ballroom so we can help out some poor soul in the next enormous line. So, we ran to the other side and started scoping out prospects – until we find the perfect guy, who is actually in line by himself. Kayla gave him the pass, but he was skeptical (for like a second). Once we turned around to make our way back to the crew, he finally understood what was what and started hauling ass to the door. Good karma all around. 

9:20 ish – San Diego Critical Mass has completely corked up the gaslamp district and specifically, the Con crowd. At first we were cheering them on. Hey – we’re all bike riders, woo hoo!! But, as pedestrians, we just wanted to cross the street so we could go to a place that wasn’t a convention center, a place where we could eat something called real food. So, James and I busted a move when the light changed, when all of the sudden Critical Mass decided to mass up our walking asses. What the hell? I’m not a car. They were totally biking right into our knees and acting like total fucknuts. 

We walked many blocks back to the car and finally ate some yummy food. 

Comic-Con was awesome, but it’s not the end of the story. 

TO BE CONTINUED

On the way to San Diego we watched an episode of Angel and I had a teeny tiny nervous breakdown.

There was a very, very weird flight attendant who looked a little like Valerie’s husband on t.v.’s Valerie.

We were at the very front of the plane, so we got to sit across from him. It was awesome because I could never look directly ahead because he would consistently try to catch my gaze. BOO!

The plane finally landed and I took this picture in the Buca di Beppo bathroom in the “gaslamp” district. I know – it’s not very original, but it did the trick for two strangers in a strange town.

James picked us up and took us to our host, Ann’s house. We did some hanging and then went straight to bed to prepare for our big, nerd day.

9:30-ish in the morning we arrived and picked up our badges.

*James and Brooke (our amazingly sweet Comic-Con benefactors) look through their shwag.

At approximately 9:45 – I lost my badge.

9:50 – James discovers Starbuck’s ass at the SciFi Channel booth.

9:55 – Lars and James find Jaba. He was just chillin.

*10:00 – Brooke and I begin our quest to get me a new badge. This seems like it would be easy, but after asking 16 different “security” donkey-fucks, who had no idea what to tell us to do, it turned into a much longer adventure. I mean, it seems only logical that more than just little ol’ me, would lose their badge at such a chaotic and busy event, right? So, one may assume they would be prepared for the question, “What do I do if I’ve lost my badge?” But, no. In the end we had to go all the way back to registration – to the “Badge Resolution” booth. (Or something like that – I’ve honestly blocked some of this out). After a hefty wait and $7, I was presented with a shiny new badge and a brief scolding to not lose it again…even though they fully admitted to most likely giving me a faulty lanyard in the first place. Whatevs.

Yes! There were THIS many people… and yes, I still enjoyed myself.

James spotted Mark Sheppard, AKA “Romo Lampkin” from BSG at the SciFi booth. When we asked if we could take his picture he sort of rolled his eyes, sighed and said, “Uhh, just take it.” He was so NICE!!!

We met the Owl ship from Watchmen.
I impersonated the Owl ship.

After a good amount of time exploring the Expo or “the floor” as we geeks like to call it, and being man-handled and bumped up against approximately 900 times – we made our way upstairs to stand in a 2 hour line to see Joss Whedon & co. at the Dr. Horrible panel.

*The dumb part is, we had been in the very front of the line. Well, James was in the very front of the line, so we thought – hey, we’ll go check out the “Gay Legion” panel while he sits here for a bit. Only, while we were enjoying our homo-awesome panel, James texted to say that they let him him already and that we should hurry back and get in line. First, we tried sneaking in – (we’re talking about ME, people – I mean, please, I had to try) BUT, we got magnificently busted by some Dirty Hairy security hack with a headset, so off to the back of the line we went. Within 5 minutes our “back of the line” turned into the dead, early middle. Nerds love their Whedon. Here is what the line looked like:

*The panel was fun, but the room was ginormous, so the whole thing felt a little surreal and weird. Joss & Co. were cute and funny, but it was kind of a dicksuck fest in the end – which has got to be a tired routine for someone like him. I mean, he is a frickin’ genius. I’m on board with that, but still, enough already. Dr. Horrible is awesome and you should download it from iTunes this instant – just don’t call up Joss Whedon and refer to his “verse” or I’ll have to put your balls in a vice. This is what the Dr. Horrible panel looked like (some pics are from the gigantic screen and one is of our “actual perspective”):

After Joss we headed to the Lynda Barry panel, which was seriously phenomenal…and kind of criminally easy to get in to.

*Lynda Barry was by far my favorite panel at “the CON.” She was funny and warm and nervous and brilliant, but more than that – she was inspiring. As James said, “she alone was worth the price of admission.”

After Lynda Barry, we went back to “the floor” to look around…and I for one got more than I bargained for. It shouldn’t surprise anyone that there are girls, women, etc.. who roll around “the Con” in teensy, weensy outfits doing all they can to entrance the nerds into photographing them. One such feeemale was in the bathroom, top down – wiping the sweat off of her fake teeters with a paper towel. I violated her privacy by taking this blurry photo. (She’s behind me in the white cheerleader skirt)

After I got to see a girl’s cans, Lars got to see Matt Groening at the FOX booth. (That’s him in the background). *This is more our style of “celebrity” photography. We’re more drive-by shooters, which is admittedly almost as lame, but at least Matt never had to say, “Uhh, just take it.”

After finding some amazing “indie” scores on the floor (*including our “igloo tornado” Hall & Oates t-shirts), we headed up to the MST3K 20th Anniversary Reunion panel. So young, so innocent. We had no idea that standing in a 3 hour line could be so dramatic.

TO BE CONTINUED.

I’ve fucking started this post about 9 times, but for whatever reason, say, oh! being awake for 20 hours and being high as balls on caffeine – I keep fucking the thing up. I’ve tried to add a current (as in up the minute) photo of myself, sitting in the San Diego airport waiting for security to open at 4am, but, I keep deleting it and out of frustration , deleting and and backing up so far that I lose the post entirely. I’m determined to not douche this one up. Here goes. 

*Sidebar– there’s currently an older woman walking around with a baby-blue-neck-pillow around her neck, dragging her overnight bag all over the place. The airport confuses me. 

So, our Comic-Con adventure is coming to an end and I have so much to share with you – of course I might need to sleep first because as you can probably imagine, it’s a long – long story. For now, please do enjoy my photos on Flickr and look forward to hearing about:

-the losing of my badge

-the endless, walking/ sweating/ waiting (sounds bad, which is was, but it wasn’t. Sorry, that was some Tom Cruise-like circular bullshit I just spewed at you, but it will make sense later, I swear). 

-the fucking LINES. Holy Jabbering shit! The lines.

-the costumes

-the panels (that we could actually freaking get into to. Did I mention the lines?)

-the balls-up security detail

-the food

-the bacon-greasiness of me

-soft water and how San Diego gave me pretty, soft hair…

-and swollen, puffy cankle feet

-new friends

-yummy food eaten

-cute pets of new friends

-the finer points of “line etiquette” 

-fucking “Torgo” and his hairy-backed brother – who are forever my enemies

-Plan 9/ Rifftrax

-Lestat’s 

-awesome James and awesome Brooke

-and finally, how in the end I never met John Barrowman or sat on David Boreanez’ lap, but it was still a fanfuckingtastic time anyway. 

Amen.

I go to Comic-Con now!

Will try to write and post pictures from “the road.”

It should be no surprise that I went to the movies this weekend. I mean, I’m a geek who’s going to Comic-Con, so you KNOW I saw The Dark Knight on opening weekend. And if you really know me and my rather embarrassing penchant for musical theatre and unabashed, obsessive love of ABBA – then you know I also saw, Mamma Mia. (I think my friend Shannon just disowned me forever). 

Both entertained me in ways that I can only describe as: erotic. Okay – maybe not erotic, but close. Very close. 

Mamma Mia was completely stupid. Let me admit that outright – but, it was so enjoyably, infectiously stupid and fun that I pretty much laughed my fanny off for two hours. Please, Remington Steele rocking S.O.S. – you would love it too, even if you didn’t admit it. 

Dark Knight was beyond awesome. So much so that talking about it here seems like a betrayal of it’s massive amazingness. Like when my “Beat Literature” teacher explained that Jack Kerouac didn’t write about his sexual exploits in On the Road because they were too special or sacred or whateverthefuck… or in High Fidelity, after Rob sleeps with Marie “the Predator” LaSalle and talks about the Charlie Rich song, Behind Closed Doors – Well, that’s how I feel about the Batman. I can say we had a good time. I can say that. 

S.O.S.

So, it was my brother’s birthday last week and while I don’t normally embarrass him here – I’ve decided that sharing his unbearable cuteness would be kosher. 

When my brother was born, he hypnotized my parents with his adorableness and I quickly and officially got the “oldest child” shaft. 

I’ve tried not to hold it against him. I mean, I wasn’t made of steel. I was just as charmed by his sweetness as everyone else, but really.

Case and point #1: Halloween 1982

“Angel” in a bag vs. “Home-made, super-sweet, bumblebee” costume. 

Case and point #2: Halloween 1983

“Fairy Princess Ballerina” in a bag vs. “Home-made, super-sweet He-Man” costume 

English surname, or Irish surname meaning ‘descendent of the fierce one’.

I’m just assuming they mean Tyra Banks, right?

So, you might have noticed that I haven’t really been blogging this week and you should know it’s not because I don’t love you. I just – haven’t felt like it. 

Some major “life” things have been going down and you know how it is- sometimes you want to “talk” about it and sometimes you just want to breathe in and breathe out and try not to freak out in silence. 

Money is particularly tight right now and for some reason we just can’t seem to catch a break or catch up. It’s been kind of emotionally suffocating me because we’ve been doing everything right. We’ve made and are sticking to a budget – but, shitballs! could things stop breaking, dying and being sick?? The universe’s answer lately has been – NO! So, the unexpected, unplanned for things are KILLING our bank account and therefor, my soul. Just a little bit. I’m sure it will all work out, but for now, I cast blame on George Bush and the lesbian couple who bought that house for $105 thousand bucks on our street. BLAME. Blaaaaaame. 

The good news is, despite our crappy finances we’re taking a weekend holiday trip to San Diego for Comic-Con. Nerdfest, geekgasm extravaganza – Comic-Con and I can’t bloody wait. 

Our good and wonderful friends Jim and Brooke got us tickets (as a wedding gift – don’t you love them already?) and we pretty much spazzed ourselves silly.

The “cute” aspect is that it will be the weekend marking our 7th anniversary. Holy balls! SEVEN YEARS of Tracy & Lars!

I plan to celebrate by dressing up as Nurse Chapel and sitting on Edward James Olmos’ lap.

It died again – on the 4th of July.

I know you’re all just dying to hear more about my adventures inside the sick, sad and obsessing world of Fertility message boards, but that will have to wait because a) I’m too tired. Lars and I just watched Jonestown: The Life and Death of the People’s Temple so I’m also b) depressed. 

Anyway – what I did want to talk to you ever so briefly about is Dexter. You wouldn’t think a show about a serial killer could be so delightful, but really – it is. 

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