meme and mid-way roundup

[lagilman]

Rules:
* Post 3 things you've done that you believe nobody else on your F-list has done.
* If anybody responds with "I've done that," add another thing.
* Encourage your friends to paste this into their own journal to list the unique things they've done.

Three Things I've done I don't think any of you have:

1. passed out (full backward-falling thud) in a bar, in public, without having a drop of alcohol or drugs in my system. since deza seems to have the same LBP problem I do...
2. danced on the hood of a station wagon at dawn on the Jersey shore in mid-winter (and got rousted by the cops, although not for that).
3. asked Robin Sachs ("Ethan", on BtVS) in public, in front of an entire convention, about Giles/Ethan smutfic. Never, ever dare me, people. ;-)
4. been warned of public indecency for m/f snogging on a London street.
---------------------------------

Yesterday went well, including a trip into downtown Nashville to look at boots and hats. Look, I say, not shop. Because I don't need that hat, damn it. Especially if I go back and have that antique chair shipped home.... *facepalms, hears vincam laughing* [EtA: I'm not gong to buy it. I just like knowing I'm really really tempted by it, and am thisclose to being whimsical enough to say 'I'll take it!"]

The panels were lively, and an interesting mix of folk. Ran into a fellow Necon-er from Connecticut. Hah. The "dream-bashing" panel didn't make anyone cry, but we did have one person stalk out. Joe Lansdale and I got into a discussion of said-bookisms (he hates 'em, I think that they're useful tools if not abused). Last item of the day was reading from the first chapter of STAYING DEAD. It's still a good opening, but as I was reading I kept thinking "wow, I would write this differently, now..." Fled the site before 11 and actually got sleep.

This morning, coffee and some work on VINEART WAR. Soon, back into the fray...

Comments

[fakefrenchie.livejournal.com]

WOW! for N° 3.

[debg.livejournal.com]

It was in a club in NYC, 1970-ish or thereabouts. Lots of pot smoke in the air, Dr. John (in full gris-gris Night Tripper Mode) playing. I saw a gorgeous head of hair from behind, wove my stoned self between the tables, kissed an ear, asked if I could play with the pretty hair, was handed a comb, and proceeded to play. Wasn't until I went to hand him back his comb that he turned around and said "my pleasure, luv."

Only time in my entire life I can remember that I went fangurl, what my daughter - confronted with Paul McCartney thirty-plus years later - referred to as "deer in the headlights, straight-up fangurl on his ass". Basically, I turned into Ms. Roboto.

I wish I'd had the nerve or the presence of mine to ask him if I could lick his cheekbones. They were worth licking.