Friday morning was a wee bit stressful in room 2526. If Kellygirl and I model our attitude on pulp novel heroines (or those cute makeup palettes by Too Faced, click here!)
, then Kellygirl is the Sweet Tarte and I am the Naughty Girl. This blend of sugar and spice works for us but may have rubbed
others the wrong way. Who knows who I pissed off in my capacity as Tribe Staff last year? Either way, a month before Con,
I found out the Fabulous Girls were being blacklisted from our annual interview.
As I am a person with an overdeveloped
sense of will-power and never one to let things go, I made a hundred phone calls to various people, trying to figure things
out and land the interview. In the end, I didn't have my suspicions confirmed about why our awesomeness was being denied until
after the interview but it didn't matter because we did our usual Fabulous Girl thing that Friday. Which is of course, to
rock our interviews. Even if we were threatened with expulsion from the press room five minutes before our start. Even if
my hair took on a life of it's own and made me look like a Disney villainess. Nothing keeps a Fabulous Girl down.
we were initially challenged by the prospect of mining new and interesting information from guests we had already run through
the wringer (mixed metaphors, yay! That's the Fabulous Girl way!), I can already offer you some tantalizing tidbits that will
alternately make you chuckle with wry amusement or make your head explode while you wait for our transcription and video upload.
Take your pick:*Laura Wilson says she gave up trying to understand her character midway through the series.
Robinson says he considers himself more "rugged" than "pretty."
*Tom Hern says that if was up to him and not his career
prospects, he would not have fixed his teeth.
*John Muhlanney is voluntarily thinking of adding a messageboard to his professional
*Caleb Ross doubts that his fans would continue to think of him as "sexy" now that he cut his hair short.
as Caleb Ross was one of my last t.v. crushes of my adolescent years, this one really makes me wonder about this kid's sanity.
I hope his agent sets him straight. And he stops conducting interviews with his hand over his mouth. Everyone was not like
I remembered them from previous years. Oh sure, Matt continues to say way too much which is always entertaining in person
but then irritating when I have to transcribe it- *is bitter*- but Caleb was much more outgoing and relaxed- this may be because
he did not have Tom stepping all over his comments. The latter's voice was distractingly deep, causing us to speculate on
the fickle nature of puberty. When John was so relaxed and chatty, we felt a twinge of regret for scaring the boys so badly
last year- but only a twinge because after all, we were very amused with ourselves.
After our interviews, the Tribal
Welcome commenced. The room was awkwardly silent and there did not seem to be a moderator for the questions that were posed
and should not have been posed. I took advantage of the boredom to scan the room for familiar faces. Kellygirl and I were
pleasantly surprised to see that Cunt Boy was back- apparently not beaten by last year's embarrasing question at Tribe Q &
A, nor his smackdown for daring to ask someone what their religion was. We hope he spent the Con humiliation free this year.
If he did, can he write us and explain his secret? We'd like to learn how not to leave a Con with egg on our faces. At one
point, I think I accidentally put Caleb Ross's musical efforts on par with that of K-Fed. Oops, I meant to be encouraging!
went to panels, while I shopped. The shopping this year was abysmal. Booths and booths of the same damn things. I did end
up buying a very pretty sake set for my sister and a bracelet for our wonderful camera-woman, princessbride24
was nothing really that inspired me to buy for myself.
I wish I knew what it was about me that encourages crazy people
to talk to me. Honestly, I get the strangest feedback. Friends have told me that strangers often feel I'm too haughty and
avoid me because they're intimidated. If that is so, why are all my con experiences punctuated by random folks who just spill
over with needless information, thinking I am thrilled to listen to their inane chatter or innapropriate comments?
the guy who sold me the sake set had nothing better to do than tell me all about his business, graphically using sexual euphemisms
redundantly to advertise his costume making services, to advise me on my purchases and to convince me to take his card so
that I myself would not be "raped" by another dealer. No amount of me flinching or looking uncomfortable seemed to derail
I did have a memorable time at Colonial Day. Kellygirl and I walk in only to be dismayed that the party is dying.
Apparently, the DJ didn't make it. My query of "doesn't anyone have an Ipod?" seemed to be received as a suggestion that I
get mine. I was nervous about being the DJ- would the BSG fans at a convention where Cruxshadows rule, dig my predilection
for early 90's hip hop? I feel ashamed for even doubting DJ Kool, Black Sheep and the skinny white kid who could really bust
a move across the room. Geeks love Ice-T! And I was promised a priority seat for the oh-so-hard job of dancing around the
amp, pushing "play", over in the corner. Why is it every Con I end up next to the amp in the corner?
Of course, I doubt
anyone remembered the music. Mostly I remember the really intense awkwardness I felt when I met Aaron Douglas. The men of
BattleStar Galactica came to the beginning and very end of the party. They gave out awards, shook their tushes on the stage
and generally gave us all a thrill.
Now, let's get one thing straight. AD (Chief Tyrol on BSG) is not my type. Ok,
well, in the last episode of last season when he is rallying the proletariat and forming a union, that was hot (mmmmmmmsubversive.....),
but usually, I don't go for big men. I like them young, lean and pretty. So, I confidently march up (my name does mean Brave
after all) and ask for a picture.
However, Aaron Douglas turns to me and just stares at me so intensely that I become
convinced there is something horribly wrong with my face. I wondered if I had stumbled, a la Alicia Silverstone, into a patch
of really bad lighting. Has my mascara smeared? Is my face all red and sweaty? I hold my jacket protectively in front of me,
fighting the impulse to just hang it over my head and hide my deformity, whatever it may be.
After a long, excruciating
moment of silence he says, very slowly, "Wow, you are gorgeous. You have the most beautiful face." Thank you, I say. He continues
to stare into my eyes, I begin to squirm and blush. Why isn't anybody saying anything?! Why are we standing around in silence?!
He asks Sam and Shannon whether or not I am beautiful. Those bitches laugh merrily at my growing horror and assure him he
is right. This isn't flirting! This is just...I feel that...I mean...I don't know what this is but I'm sure it's mean! Why?!
Why must the boys stare into my eyes! That always gets to me! Is my weakness that apparent? I can never keep my cool!
asks my name. I tell him and he mutters under his breath that of course, that would be my name. He asks where I'm from but
I'm melting under the heat of his stare and suddenly, I don't know quite where I'm from! Do I feel like a New Yorker? Does
my sentimental attachment to Boston count? What of my love of my birth place, Los Angeles? Suddenly nowhere feels like home
and I stupidly turn to Shannon and ask, "where am I from?" Wrapping his arm around me, drawing me towards the camera, he whispers,
"stick with me and we will make beautiful babies."
Ah, the baby topic. Five years ago, if you asked me about my new
marriage, I'd become uncomfortable. I did not like the intense scrutiny of being a young bride. I know what people thought.
And it was not positive. And now, living and working in the community I am in, people think there is something strange about
me because I have not had children yet. You wouldn't believe what people say to me. I have a bunch of answers designed to
get people to shut up and during this encounter I choose to bust out with, "I'm saving myself for Bono."
gets a laugh or this just wierds the person out and they drop the topic. But Aaron kindly coos, "That's right, honey, you
save yourself for whoever you want." Oh My God, he thinks I've just declared my virginity! And then, when I am choking on
the foot that I have managed to swallow, he continues saying, "but isn't Bono married?" Shannon helpfully chimes in, "So is
she!" Oh My God, now he thinks I'm an adulterer. Or want to be anyways. Or worse, now he thinks I don't have sex with my husband.
No! Or worse-worse! Oh My God, he thinks that I think that he seriously propositioned me.Oh My God. Somebody kill me! Please!
Douglas continues to question me, wondering if I planned to be single for just a weekend. I can't remember more after that
because my PTSD kicked in and I've mercifully repressed the rest of the evening. I do remember asking that Aaron take a picture
with Shannon. He embarrassed her too. Good, she deserves it.
I'm not an idiot. A dork yes, an idiot no. I know that
Aaron (look how I use his first name, like I know him and stuff) and the rest of the outgoing and lovely cast of BSG are at
Con to do a job. As cast, they flirt, cajole and pretend to connect to us common folk so that we become an even more loyal
fanbase. Being male, I'm sure they also partake of the very willing female population at DragonCon. And they get the side
benefit of going to parties and getting drunk for free. While it was nice to walk around the rest of the evening thinking,
"Aaron Douglas thinks I'm beautiful!", I know it is all pretend. They pretend and we pretend and we all have a good time during
this weekend of escapism and fantasy. But somethings are just unfair. I know, I know, don't hate the playa, hate the game-
but really, it's not fair to play against a girl who lives with the taste of her own beautifully pedicured foot in her mouth.
Totally not fabulous. And totally not what a pulp novel heroine would do.
I really need to email Cunt Boy and find
out how he lives with himself.