It is really early and I cannot sleep even though my sad pre-corpse is still feeling petulant and stiff from the abuse of the last few days. The life of a Wisconsin cube dweller simply does not prepare one for the physical demanding life of a rock star. My feet hurt. My ass hurts too. Must have been all the furious shaking it did in Vegas.
I have a big entry planned, as I have been warned by one Ms Fu that if I skank out on my travelogue like I did on the second half of the San Francisco trip, she will be very cross with me when she sees me next weekend in California (not really, but it’s one of the little ruses that kept us from being sad when we said goodbye yesterday). However, for right now, my friends have been doing lots of updating, so check out their prospective pages and also my flickr page has some pictures from the weekend, with more to come as I resize them.
But now, the inevitable recovery from the exhaustion and exhilaration of being invincible and fucking hot (in both senses of the word) for forty-eight hours straight. My favorite cure for the mental decompression after a whirlwind weekend is the knowledge that I have another trip coming up. Better than Prozac. Or drag queens. No, nothing’s better than drag queens.
Next stop, San Diego and Journalcon. You might have missed MJ’s party (ooh, that is such a good story) but you don’t have to miss canoodling with the internet literati in a few weeks. Fares to San Diego are very reasonable and then you don’t have to just read about the Second Annual Sweet Suite party, you can be a part of it. Seriously, what are you waiting for?
The rumors of my extramarital affair are completely unsubstantiated. Mr. Ramsay and I are just very good friends.
