Saturday, August 23, 2008
Hollis Gillespie and the Idiot.
I know, I know, I'm on a roll with tales from our Cape Cod adventure, but I break for Hollis Gillespie.
I also make an idiot out of myself. For Hollis Gillespie.
She had to reschedule Sunday's writing conference, but still came to town for a book signing.
Of course I had to go. And stalk.
You know those nightmares you have, the ones where you are so anxious about the first day of school or the first day at a new job that in your dream, you show up naked?
Well, I actually remembered my clothes (this time), but I was so tongue tied at getting to meet my favorite writer that I'm fairly certain I came off looking like:
1) The stalker that I am
2) Super conceited
The stalker status is what it is. I took pictures from afar. I spit on her trailer so I'd be with her at all times. I stared longingly at her brain in hopes of stealing some of her talent and I tried to sleep with her editor.
All pretty basic and common stalker stuff.
Now for the embarrassing part.
The part where I came off looking as though it was MY book signing and Hollis MY biggest fan.
Help me. I'm an idiot.
There Hollis was, personalizing my copy of her third book (Trailer Trashed), and she said:
"You better put your pictures on your blog! I'll leave a comment."
Hollis knows I have a blog because she's already swung by and commented on the post I wrote about nearly peeing my pants when I signed up for her book seminar.
What she couldn't see, when she said she'd visit my blog again and comment, is that in my head, I became a four-year old, running around in my feety pajamas, screaming as though I'd finally gotten the pony I'd always wanted.
What actually came out of my mouth was a very pious sounding "Again."
It was a statement. As though, I was doing HER a favor by allowing her to comment on MY blog. Again.
I have no idea why it came out of my mouth that way. It certainly didn't sound like that in my head. In my head, the word "Again" was excited, as if it had smoked crack in honor of her latest column in Creative Loafing.
It was an excited AGAIN! Not a pious one. Not an ungrateful one.
Hollis was very gracious, of course.
Her response: "Yes, AGAIN. Because I'm a blog whore."
You see why I love her.
And why I wanted to kill myself. Slowly and painfully.
Hollis was the bigger person than I, and still agreed to give me one of her famous pink flamingos.
Of course, my pink flamingo is legless, but somehow, that just seems fitting.
Not that I am legless, mind you. I have legs. Big legs.
It's fitting none-the-less.
ps. HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOM! Thank you for having sex, not drinking too much wine while pregnant with me, and for believing that I could be more than someone who quits jobs after 9 days just because they "don't feel right." I love you.