Things here all flurry and hurry after returning from Wednesday’s road trip: visiting writer in town for the O, Canada! reading (exotic Canadian authors in the flesh + hockey fetish = “authentic” Canadian literary goodness), the newly-revived Women’s Research Conference this weekend at the University (among many other wonderful offerings, an amazing panel session with four iconically legendary American Indian women activists), best buddy P. in town for the conference (we read together on a panel and got to catch up in person, for once, instead of our usual M.O. of what S. likes to refer to as “teen phone”).
I read fiction here in the home stadium for the first time, as opposed to poetry. Mind you, I’ve read fiction elsewhere a number of times, but this was the first time most of my colleagues/students/friends had actually heard any of my fiction. Honestly? I was surprised at just how nervous I felt about it.
Then, at the conference banquet, I read some poems, after which I ate the most delicious chocolate cake of my life. It was so delicious and shiny that I couldn’t stop obsessively talking about it in embarrassingly fulsome sexual terms at the party I went to afterwards.
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SAUCY PARTY BADINAGE:
P: It’s amazing how it all fell into place and made perfect sense after meeting people I’ve heard you talk about.
P: Oh . . . so that’s what you were laughing about earlier? Those guys all standing in a circle?
AH: Yes! With the postures! And the pants! And the pockets!
[We all pantomime the postures with the pants and the pockets.]
L: I’m telling you. You don’t want no scrubs, Artichoke Heart. (Pointing to her left.) See? Those are scrubs. You don’t want no scrubs. (Pausing.) Well . . . maybe I’m kidding. I guess they’ve got graduate degrees.
SK: (To B.) But you’re a lesbian!
B: But sometimes it’s just there and it’s long and it’s hard and you just want to take care of it.
BJ: I don’t know where the hood is.
L: What kind of a lesbian are you?
GF: So are you going to watch The L-Word or Battlestar Galactica tomorrow night?
AH: Well, I’ve been invited to The L-Word party. You, however, never invite me to your Battlestar Galactica parties.
GF: I’m not sure if I’d call it a party.
AH: How would I know? I’m not invited.
GF: Mostly it’s just me watching Battlestar Galactica by myself.
GF: With a bottle of wine.
GF: In my boxers.
AH: So I guess what you’re telling me is I’m watching The L-Word, then.
DL: My absolute favorite is tattooed handcuffed Barbie.
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