I think I've finally stockpiled up enough sleep to recap Saturday's event. Although the trunk of my car is still filled with a huge poster of my book cover and lots of pink postcards. Not to mention those cool new Sharpie pens I bought to sign books are now lodged at the bottom of my son's car seat, mixed in with crushed up Crispix and stray milkshake straws.
I've said it before and I'll say it again: Glamorous life? I has it.
Anyway, so yes. The party went smashingly well. There were about 50 people there at any given time. A great mix of family, friends, acquaintances and friends-of-friends. I met a lot of wonderful people and, surprisingly, did not say anything profane or inappropriate. (During the party at least. After a few buckets of beer at Mother Hubbard's later that night, well, yeah. Ahem.) (Sorry. If you wear matching t-shirts, you deserve to get made fun of.)
It was pretty surreal having people buy books from the Borders table and hand them to me to sign. Like, "Are you sure? I could probably find someone else more interesting to sign it." I had no idea what to write. Like, "Hope this book lives up to your expectations?" Or, "I hope the fact that you are holding a book with a pink cover doesn't make you feel any less manly?" Maybe, "Works great as a doorstep when you're done reading?"
Regardless, I'm so grateful for everyone who came out and spent a few hours with me in the city.
And now, I'll bring out the funny. Three hilarious things happened during and shortly after my party. The first was that in the middle of party, I had to run to the bathroom. I wasn't paying attention, as I was rushing to get there and back, so as to continue all of the flustered talking about my book and beer drinking. On my way to the bathroom, I accidentally collided with a girl who, well, um. Let's just say affixed to her chest were Rock of Love contestant style boobs. They hit my arm. And it HURT. I had a bruise and a red mark. She did not even appear to notice that we collided. Either due to all of the alcohol or possibly the fact that her chest has no feeling left due to the boulders strapped to her ribcage. Attack of the Fake Boobs, ya'll.
Then, shortly after the Silicone Incident, my friend Sheryl arrived. She gave her car to the valets and came inside. After a few minutes, I noticed my guests were leaning outside, peering at the front of the restaurant. Apparently, the valets at this hip, swanky, cool restaurant had decided that my friend's car was the only one worthy of being parked outside the restaurant. All night long. Did I mention her car is a Honda CRV that's like 3 years old? Not a BMW or Ferrari. The best part was the valets decided to lean against her car, text and generally hang out and discuss politics all night. It was Awesome.
Finally, at the end of the night, post several beers at a bar around the corner, two of my book party attendees got out of a cab and started walking toward their apartment to call it a night. When, suddenly, there was Naked. A whole lot of Naked. On bikes. Apparently, there was some naked bike race Saturday night through the city. Our poor unsuspecting friends, no doubt slightly woozy from a night on the town, encountered a pack of old naked people, junk flying everywhere. My reaction? WHY didn't they ride past Mother Hubbard's?
I'll shut up now and bring on the pictures. Don't worry, none are from the Naked Wrinkled Bicycle Extravaganza.
Me with my very large book cover poster:
Borders selling my books. Woo Hoo!
My sister and I. She refers to me as her "albino sister."
Sheryl's car. Decorated with optional valets.
And that's all she wrote.
Until next week, when I will recap Book Party v2.0: Ohio Style edition. Gah.
