Entries in Ladies of the PQ (1)


Nerd Prom + PQ Inferno 2005.

Got back from Nerd Prom early yesterday evening. I’d planned on leaving the con Sunday afternoon and being back in LA sometime later that night, but the Ladies’ Inferno turned out to be considerably more fun than I expected. Which is to say, some amount of fun at all. As part of one relay event, I had to smoke an entire cigarette as quickly as I could, put on a skirt, cover my face in acne cream, eat a small bag of Cheetos® and reach into a dirty toilet in the middle of a field and pull out condoms. All of those acts were on the list of things I felt were least likely to occur when I woke up that morning (except maybe the condom bit), but I’m the sort of person who enjoys it when my day turns out like that. 

The rest of the afternoon was similarly deranged. Some insolent child stole my handle of Absolut®, forcing L. Clyne and myself to take a trip to Vons for new supplies. Lauren talked incessantly for the duration of our mission, and I can only infer from this that she is so attracted to me that our being alone made her nervous, or she thinks I am so attracted to her that she needs to talk so as to preclude any opportunities for me to ask her out, or that she’s just a huge tweaker. But I suppose each possibility has been true at one time or another.

And speaking of huge tweakers, [info]6satanic6ninja6 created this elaborate contest that necessitated her getting on my shoulders just so she could have my hands on her bare thighs. It was very cute.

There was also a math contest that I apparently would have come very close to winning if only I’d realized there was a second page. I still would have lost to Mairead because she is some measurable amount of genius when it comes to maths (and handjobs), but because my name isn’t “Mairead,” I’d still win, really.

After the games concluded (my team lost — pathetic, bitches), the party went to Lauren Behrle’s house and everybody got funky in the hot tub, and by everybody I mean me and Alana Massey, and by getting funky I mean her totally striking out with me. 

I woke up Monday morning in North Park with this psychic e-mail from the Devil telling me that I had to call [info]nicklocking and[info]plug_in_babe to see if they needed a ride back to LA. They said no, but the Devil also told me to see if [info]6satanic6ninja6 wanted to get breakfast. She agreed, and three seconds later the Brits called back and said they did need that ride after all. I met Sunny and [info]call_me_stepho back in the PQ and we went somewhere awful called Poway where we had awful food and awful service. I totally undertipped our whore waitress. Take that, peasant! 

I got back to LA in time to read a bunch of hate mail I received from fanboys unsatisfied with my convention coverage at CBR.. In all honesty, I tend to agree. I found it very difficult to write about the panels I was assigned. Basically, the publishers and/or talent have these panels which are ostensibly for discussion but are usually just slideshows to promote upcoming books. This is not to say they aren’t any fun, but my job was to absorb the information and present it to the awaiting public in the most timely fashion I could. Well, as anyone who knows me knows, I do things very, very slowly, especially when it is very simple like regurgitating a press release. The more complicated a task is, the easier a time I seem to have performing it. The Grant Morrison article, for example. I’m not saying it’s any good, mind you, but it obviously reads better than any of the Con coverage I did, and I clearly had more fun doing it. 

[info]benjamintrotter and I worked [info]chadmichaelward’s Artist Alley table while he was off being a rock star at the NBMbooth. She was a very excellent smut peddler, engaging just about every single person who walked by. Also she was really cold, so I loaned her my shirt which pushed her huge… nevermind. Anyway, depending on the hotness of the girl, I claimed to actually be Chad and signed boobs and stuff. One lady came up and scolded Stacy and I for leaving the portfolio open to a supposedly explicit image that children could see. I hope they did see it. Maybe they’ll be scarred by it to such a degree that they’ll be completely asexual and stop filling this planet with raging assholes like the Con employee who insinuated that I was a “squatter,” as in someone who sets up unauthorized shop somewhere on the con floor. This sniveling, bespectacled weasel of a man leaned in really close to read my name tag and check it against his Clipboard Of Crime, but before he could get his dick out I explained to him that I was Chad’s assistant and that if he has a problem with me, he can take it up with my friend Jeremy Love

As if ruining my brief comics journalism career wasn’t enough, I’m fairly certain that I won’t get very far in the industry in a creative capacity either, as quite a few major players witnessed me hanging halfway out a taxi’s window, drunk and screaming at Dan Evans to “GET THE FUCK IN THE CAB RIGHT NOW!!” 

It was after that incident that [info]samhumphries, [info]nicklocking, Brendan McFeely and I went to downtown San Diego’s Tequila Bar and ordered an obscene number of shots and cocktails which we had to drink in just about half an hour. It was a glorious thirty minutes of true male-bonding, and is really the highlight of the entire convention weekend as far as I’m concerned. Naturally, I fell in love with our waitress and we totally did it, I don’t care what any of those guys tells you. After the bar we tried to catch a cab back downtown, but it was very difficult because of all the “drunk ass bitches” in the street. I personally rescued at least one poor woman from what would certainly have been a near-lethal ankle-twisting.

It was only back at the Hyatt that darkness descended across my buzz. Travis Johnson obliterated my state of hyphocity so utterly, I don’t think I can ever completely forgive him. You see, Travis had this swank Hyatt suite all to himself for the con and, after a prompting from Da’Har Master Jason Cornett, agreed to have a Saturday night afterparty. I get a text message from McFeely saying “Travis is going to buy a whole mess of alcohol.” I think, “station.” But what do I find when I arrive? Indeed, all my friends are chillaxin’ in Travis’ party pad, but all there is to drink is ONE SIX-PACK! OF NEWCASTLE! I’m not saying that’s all that was left, I’m saying that’s all that was bought!

I wasn’t really disappointed, though, because I was already so drizzzz, and the company was really good. I got to see Han Q. Duong all faded, which is kind of like seeing Han Q. Duong asleep with his eyes open. I went to the bathroom and used those bottle openers they have attached to the sinks and took a quick tour of the suite and discovered a laptop with the iTunes® player displayed. I distinctly remember saying “Oooh shit, time to get hyphy!” just before Travis yelled “Andy, no!” 

Long story short, Travis was very tired and not really pleased that anyone was there at all. He was concerned about complaints from other guests and was no doubt consumed with a nameless dread when drunx0rz McFeely and I showed up banging on his door yelling “POLICE HERE!” Travis kicked out all our drunk asses pretty quickly. 

My disappointment was profound. I just don’t understand getting a great suite, having all your buddies from around the world whom you never get to see hanging out and just talking, and not getting anything more than six pack of beer and not playing any tunes and constantly telling everyone to keep it down and then leave. What is the hotel going to do? Tell you to shut up! It’s the last night! The bedroom was partitioned, too, so he could go to bed if he wanted. The Party is bigger than just one man, I say. It is a living, beautiful thing and Travis aborted it with a wire hanger the way I wish to god my mother had.

I took what was left of the beer down to a lounge elsewhere in the hotel, but was promptly descended upon by a fat concierge type who proclaimed this ultimatum: hand him the bottle or chug it all right now. So, here’s a guy who knows how to party. I chugged the rest of my Newcastle and went outside but oh wait, the Hyatt staff was ready for us. [info]samhumphries and I had no choice but to go home and finish the booze off with some Tokyopop guys we met in the elevator. Station.

Last night we said goodbye to [info]nicklocking, [info]plug_in_babe, Jamie McKelvie and girlfriend Flur (Fluour? Flehr?). They’re all lovely people and I really loved showing Los Angeles to them and hanging out and getting up to all the mischief and just having a lot of great laughs in general. But I also got drunk every night in a row for something like ten nights, so good riddance to those bastards. It’s not like I could understand a fucking word they said all week anyway, shit.