After getting some directions, I found my way to the SFCanada party that I was now nearly a year and half an hour late for. It was held in someones private room, and it was pretty packed. I got in far enough to get an alright look around; to see what was going on, and that was about it. The ages were varied, but at 34, I was the kid in the room. No biggie, I know how to talk to growed-ups.
Topics wandered all over, but I had a really deep talk with.. oh frig, I forget her name now. Her son had taken his life in the last year, and I told the tale of Cheryl N, to whom Watching Yute was dedicated. At one point she told me that I reminded her of her son's friend, by my way of talking and my facial expressions. That entire talk was the most memorable part of the party for me.
2nd place went to a singing performance by an actor/writer who had been in a stage production of... Beauty and the Beast? erk.. probably not. It was a humorously sexist wedding proposal song. The whole room was impressed and amused. He had used a version of the song to propose many a year ago, and this night's performance was (if I heard right) and anniversary demand from his wife.
A lady I'd not met before (Sandra Wickham) was modeling her new bustier nearby, talking about how she could manage to work it into an everyday outfit. It was plenty sharp. I jumped in, (not into her bustier, you pervs) and gave my two cents.
I knew she was going for an every day usage, but told her that a character I was working on might wear such a thing as a phony gypsy fortune teller. I went on to describe the tall neckline collar as I gestured to her neck, then down to her legs as I went on about a long, flowing, layered, latticed skirt. She said she could model for some illustrations some time. Haha. Ha?
Conversation wandered into the pets department, someone had a little dog with them, and while I'm happy to gibber on about pets... well, I was getting worn down in general. I excused myself, saying I was going to peek in on the nearby dance before heading to bed.
I got into the hallway, and could hear the faint pounding of the music. Heh. Yeah, I gotta go have a peek. At the doorway, I saw a mixture of 50/50 wallflower types, and dancers.
Dang. Now I felt old. I mean, even before I was in the wheelchair, I wasn't into clubbing and such, citing that I liked to be able to hold a conversation, but the energy was infectious. Fine. I rolled in, and wandered around a bit. Who was on the far end of the dance floor, but Professor Whovianart. And he was RIPPING IT UP.
He wasn't one of the kiddies dancing, he had no partner, probably as he would put any partner to shame, or into the hospital. He slowed down for a moment, and I thought he was tired. No, he was just following the music. There wasn't any playing at that moment, and after he wiped sweat out of his eyes and the music started to catch up to him, he was speeding up again. He later told me that he was only dancing at a '5', due to bits of his costume/outfit he was still wearing. Otherwise, he would be going at '8'. '10' was for days gone by when he was a 'mascot' for sorts for a band that called him the blur. He was a machine, interesting enough to watch that I didn't do any girlwatching, for which there was ample opportunity on the dance floor.
But not interesting enough to hold me so long that the call of bed didn't drag me away. I got out the door, still kind of hooked by the music. To be honest, it wasn't that amazing, but an OK bass line is an OK bass line.
I lingered by a fellow who I think was a casual sort of security presence, and his gorgeous husky, Jade. How gorgeous was Jade? Gorgeous enough that within 5 minutes, 2 other people passing by stopped to say that she was Gorgeous. No one complained when a well endowed lady with a low cut top bend over to give Jade some attention. When SHE left, I think I heard someone recovering from a slight aneurysm.
Cleavage and huskies aside, I was headed to bed.
Wait, no, here's Sandra Wickham coming my way with her husband in tow, and a bottle of wine in hand. She asked me if I was going in.
"No, actually, I was headed to b..." ugh.. know what? I went to the effort of getting a room for this VCON SPECIFICALLY so I could spend extra time at non-vendor events. This time last year, I was suffering on a bus. Suck it up, go hand out by the amp.
I refused a glass of wine, but a song came on that got to me. I think it was Firestarter.No, no, no. Not that one. The prodigy one.Thank you. And yes, it's an old, overplayed song, but it hasn't been played recently, and not with that much bass. Head a bobbin', I nudged Sandra, and nodded at the wine bottle. She raised an eyebrow, and I silently mouthed (as words would be lost to the music) "I think I'm ready. Half though."
With the lack of food and sleep since yesterday morning, and me operating on taurine, she may as well have unscrewed my skull and poured the wine directly on my brain. I was a certain degree of drunk very, very quickly.No, no, no, no. Not as bad as that guy. but I wasn't feeling any pain anymore. For all the painkillers available out there, a wee touch of alcohol has always proven to be the most effective. I'm a lightweight to begin with, I don't drink often. When I do, (My official drinking day is my friends' Halloween party,) I do it RIGHT. That said... I don't plan to have much at this year's party. Meh.
Mrs. Sandra Wickham mentioned modeling again... hm. I didn't think much of it.
Eventually, the music stopped, and people were disassembling the dance floor, stacking the pieces on a couple racks. Frig, what time was it? I think it was a hint to piss off! On the way out, the good Professor joined the conversation.
Lemmie tell ya bout him. His persona is inspired by Dr. Who and a number of other sources, and in a way, is rather manufactured.. but at the same time, so natural. It's hard to tell where the character ends, and ****** ****** begins. Yes, I know his real name, but I dare not utter it, lest he evaporate into smoke!
I made the journey back to my hotel, (stopping to chat with the DJ and some of his ilk outside) with my shoulder spikes on still. The night before, I'd left them in the vendor room. I got another bag of chips and a chocolate bar, having last ate in the morning. I wasn't hungry, but I feared by body going into revolt. Thankfully, my room was neither hot, not cold. I gave my worry-wart mother a single ring on her phone, did what else needed to be done,and passed out.
In the bed. Not like the picture above. For the record, that was just a pic I got from google. No one at VCON was that wasted. As far as I knew.
Next post: Dealer room finale, and the fulfilling of the prophecy of Gabe!