Where in the world is….

I’m so glad that I didn’t do something completely stupid and make a New Year’s resolution to write more. Because then I’d feel guilty, or something. Nah. Although, if there’s stuff that is mildly okay to feel guilty about, it probably should be that I don’t do something that is actually helpful in making my brains work (except when it doesn’t) more often. Then, if it gets in the way of doing other crap I want to do, then… well, you know, sometimes things have to give.

Anyway, I can’t say I feel guilty. There’s just annoyance. The web. It is looking at me.

So I am writing right now from lovely Rhode Island, in a pretty nice hotel. Mr. Shoe is off watching other people push little painted metal Barbies around and making sure they aren’t cheating (or being cheated upon.) Penny is at the end of the bed, passed out in an exhausted drunken stupor, like any celebrity should be. And people have no idea who the hell I am. They’re all like, “Is that the pug with the tongue that I see online?”

And Penny is like, “Who are these people? Can I walk slower without being completely stopped or going backwards? Can I trip this person with all this breakable stuff in their arms?”

I don’t know, yes, and yes, Penny.

So this thingee we’re at is Templecon. I’m here because it is a pet friendly (really nice, too) hotel and Mr. Shoe loves this event and I feel like the past two years I’ve screwed it up a bit for him. Okay, year before last, I didn’t. He was here the whole weekend and then some while I sat at home thinking about having major surgery the next week. Ahem.

Last year I made him come home on Sunday night, when he was tired and I know that was unsafe and uncool, but I felt crappy. Then I learned the hotel is pet friendly and I was like… Y’know, if I have to feel shitty and bored in an enclosed place, why don’t I just do it there, if I can take Penny? It might be less boring. I won’t spoil Mr. Shoe’s fun, cause he deserves fun. He won’t worry, I’ll worry less.

It works out. I mean, I’ve seen Mr. Shoe for all of six minutes since last night. But I have my stuff here, and I can take Penny downstairs to see people, and it’s no harder to take her out here than at home. Penny and I ordered room service (chicken wings!) last night all by ourselves and watched Cash Cab. Yeah. We did. Because we are goddamned awesome.

There is a lot of steampunk people here. Now, steampunk is a cool look, because it can support all body types and is pretty expressive and neat looking on all types. Big guys and girls don’t need to to look like dirigibles, and can rock a look as neat as the skinnier types (actually, definitely helps to have hips, ass and boobs. Skinny girls probably get the crap end of the look here). But here’s the thing: creating a steampunk look is a lot like writing poetry. It is something best left to professionals. Fortunately, there are a buttload of professionals here. (Unfortunately, it definitely highlights those people who are not professionals. Avert your eyes, and look at the people who do it right. There are a lot more of them).

Pictures? Not yet. Um. I have only two hands, there are a lot of people, and I have to take Penny out with me. My camera requires hands. Two hands. I didn’t bring the tripod, as… well, Penny already tripped over a tripod of a camera that costs a lot more than mine (which was not insignificant). Fortunately, tripod and camera were damn near immovable.

There is a zebra effect here… the vast majority of dudes are gamer medium (2XL) and wearing black shirts. Therefore, Penny and I are running up and licking everyone.

Okay, I am, anyway. God, Penny and I are both tired. I am just socked out here. Something about grabbing and licking random dudes that makes a tired, tired, celebrity out of you.


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