This Year's Con: Come For The Show, Stay For The Afterparty

This is going to be one of the hardest posts I've ever had to make, partially because that infernal I love you I love you I love you song has lodged itself in my medium lobe and mostly because I'm Paris Hilton sloppy drunk right now.

Let's see what survived the Heineken bombings!

So, in bad news, missed Charlize, Kevin Smith, Tenacious D (thanks, completely bullshit last hour switch!), and Clare Kramer. Sadly, I recognized Clare but it was about 3 seconds too late. She's a lighter shade of blonde now. And the Wedding Crashers girls, which was damn irritable because at where I assumed the end of the line was I assumed I would be able to burn my lunch break waiting and having the hotter than fuck Summer Altice do the Voicemail Message of Immortality. And then when I brought up the fact I didn't use my job to line-hop, I still got sent to the boonies! Fucking security bitches. I got a chainsaw with their name on it, I do.

What else? Saw Amanda, who is being hoed out by Uncle Walt and Poppa Mickey for the event. NARNIA NARNIA NARNIA w00t et al terra firma pax requiem. Whatever the FOCK that means. Uhhhhhh...oh, in the daily Fuck Mike Dupin newsbulletin I got Nicholas Brendan's autograph, which adds to the Hannigan pipeline I have going, with Julie Benz and Mercedes McNab on tap in hours. (Funny: in doing this post in my head I of course immediately flew to Donovan McNabb. I blame the firewater.) Oh, and I saw and got a shot of Maggie Grace. I could've gotten a one-on-one but that's what I get for not watching Lost. I know, shuddupp. Saw Gene Simmons and got depressed because from behind I thought he was Wayne Newton.

I think that's everything.

OH! The line for Stacy Keibler was way too long--but even hot without makeup. So hoorah.

So after the show I had a dinner at a establishment less known for food than the frontally blessed ambiance and hit the club. Went great per usual, and I apparently threw out my voice screaming out "You Shook Me All Night Long" and, now that I can recall it, "I Love Rock N' Roll" and "You Give Love A Bad Name" (oh, the pain, the shame) to a lesser extent. Anyway, I was putting the moves on this girl named Danielle but when I lost her I settled for making out with some cute blond named Melissa. I think it was Melissa. It matters, right? So that happened on about three or four occassions.

Best part of the late evening--besides Humpty and DITTY~!--was hanging around outside the club after being exhausted from dancing my ass off after the shift and a guy asking me if my To: Women From: God shirt was true. Cue Rebecca--FREUDIAN SLIP! PROBLEM! MESSAGE!--Melissa or whoever coming out and sucking face with me.

"Truth in advertising laws've gotten ugly", I tells him.

Good thing Liz wasn't at Fumari tonight.

And now, bed, so I can wake up, go to work, and comp my brother and one of his dork friends into the Con.

I'm such a nice boy.

This post brought to you BAH (no, really): "Finding Out True Love Is Blind" by Louis XIV