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

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.

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.