Neener neener neener, and all that childish stuff. And no, I didn’t take this picture in a mirror, I used my webcam, which apparently is all sorts of backwards.
…but I had a really weird morning. Didn’t hear the alarm and didn’t get my kid to school (he’s a half-day kid), had a crazy ass dream that I was back in high school and was supposed to remember my locker combination, and I’m just all icky icky morning sicky. So, I’ll be back probably tomorrow.
Okay, dear readers, last night, something marvelous happened. I was sitting in the lobby lounge with Mr. Jen, Jill, Christina Radish and Bronwyn Green. Just after Bronwyn got up and left to go “chisel off these contacts”, and shortly after I became enraptured with watching Jurassic Park 3 on the bar TV that had no sound, someone, I don’t know who, says, “Oh my gosh, that is. That’s Fabio.”
I snap to instant Fabs alert. There he is, standing at the check-in. It’s him. Oh my God, that’s Fabio.
I grab my camcorder, used previously to record bits of Heather Graham’s amateur theatrics for posterity. Now, I put it to a more holy purpose: getting actual, video footage of Fabio checking into the hotel.
It’s like getting a video of the Loch Ness Monster or Bigfoot. You’ve always known in your heart that Fabio is real, but you’ve never imagined being this close, ducking behind fake foliage in a crappy hotel bar, filming the creature in his natural habitat.
At one point, he tossed his hair.
Then, with preternatural instinct, the beast spots me. Fabulousio turns his deliciously chiseled features in my direction. I slam the camera closed and duck, though by now he can clearly see me. But I do not care. I have seen the face of Fabio and lived.
The good news, dear readers, is that when I return and have proper USB connecting type thingeys (and way more time than I’ve had of late), I will show you this shining promised land, hair toss and all.
I’m proud to be an American, where at least I know I’m free to watch male cover models lip sync to Lee Greenwood while making inappropriate pelvic thrust motions. I’m fairly certain my brains will never recover.
I’m about to head off to my panel on Romantic Suspense with Tara Taylor Quinn and Brenda Novak. I know, I don’t write Romantic Suspense, but that didn’t seem to matter.
Tonight is the Faery Ball. If I’d remembered my USB cable, I would promise pictures. But guess what? I suck and totally forgot it, so you’ll have to see pics when I return to the frozen north.
Okay, let me tell you about my day. We got almost to Indiana before having to turn around because we forgot shit. Important shit.
Then, we got to Pittsburgh and found out that the hotel doesn’t validate parking. I guess I shouldn’t have expected that, although I’ve never been somewhere that didn’t.
The hotel room was small, sucky, and in a hallway that was still under renovation. It was like if ‘The Shining’ was filmed in Tehran. Fuck that. Got a new room after much complaining.
Still, hotel NOT unsucky so far. Very destroyed and renovation-tastic. So, so going to try and get my money back after this week.
In other news, trying to find a better (read: cheaper) place to park with in-and-out privileges (read: someplace that isn’t going to charge me for a whole day when I leave the garage).
Off to improve my opinion of the city that is going to break me this weekend.
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If my dog does not stop farting I will sell him.
I usually don’t share too many details of my very cool and super important personal life, but today I thought I would share this tidbit…
I am currently expecting the arrival of Jen Jr. v2.0 in November.
So, when you see me at RT, no, I’m not fat, I’m just pregnant.
Okay, also fat.
Okay, so here is the absolutely true tale of Harrison Ford being dead:
Once upon a time, I had a party. And my parties are epic bacchanals with drinking and lowered inhibitions. I used to have a life-sized replica of Han Solo frozen in carbonite, and it got hella molested at one of these parties.
So, anyway, during one party, I disappeared to my office to “check my email.” This should have been clue number 1 that I was up to something, because who checks their email during a party? But my drunken friends were too far gone to see this.
After an appropriate length of time, I go out of my office and go, “Oh my God, you guys! Harrison Ford died!”
And everyone goes, “WHAT? HOW? OMG!” And I was like, “I don’t know, it was a heart thing, apparently. He died like, three hours ago, it was on TMZ.”
Only one person in the room didn’t believe me. My husband goes, “Whatever. Shut up.”
It was the best party prank ever.
I will not believe a word of anything anyone blogs today. You are all goons.
Also, I’m going to quit writing Urban Fantasy and start writing Paranormal Christian Inspirational novels. Think “The Dresden Files” if Harry were Jesus and the council was, you know, God.