That Time I Met John Green at BEA aka Why Can't Jessica Shut Her Yapper?

I am a storyteller.  It's one of the major reasons I blog.  I feel I have a lot of good stories, and I enjoy sharing them.  What follows is a story of epic proportions, one that I will not be able to replicate in awesomeness for a long, long time.  Buckle up and prepare for what will forever be known as...

The Star Penis story.

It's been clearly stated on this blog that I am a John Green fangirl, or rather, a nerdfighter.  If you are a nerdfighter, you know that John's son Henry LOVES sing-a-ma-jigs, and they have made their way into the vlogbrothers videos and thus into vlogbrothers lexicon.  On our recent trip to Japan, I found a miniature sing-a-ma-jig, so I bought it to give to John at BEA.  Of course, I didn't snap a picture of it before this happened, but essentially, it looks like this.

It should also be noted that the one I got in Japan had a couple of tags on it, specifically a purple star-shaped tag RIGHT in the sing-a-ma-jig's... nether regions.  Hubs stated to me on multiple occasions that I should make sure to point out what he called the sing-a-ma-jig's Star Penis to John Green.  Then, he would giggle.  A lot.

Fast forward a few weeks, and I'm at BEA, Day 1.  It's a madhouse of books and totes and people and Gandalf for President buttons, and I'm loving every second of it.  At one point, I'm waiting in line to get a book signed, and JOHN GREEN himself walks right past me.  I shout, "OmiGOD it's John Green!" and proceed to stare at him.  Unabashedly.  With my mouth wide open.  Frozen to the spot.

Smooth.

That afternoon, I walk through the Penguin booth, and there he is again.  John Green out in the wild like a normal person who does normal things.  I figure, this is my chance to make up for the silent staring moment, so I wait patiently for John to finish his conversation.  And then this happens:

Printz Award Winning Author: (leaning toward bag on table) I bet you want me to sign that for you.

Me: No, I just want you to have it. (holds sing-a-ma-jig out toward PAWA like a talisman)

PAWA: (slightly shocked) Really?  That's so nice.

Me: (excitedly and without abandon) My husband would like me to point out to you that since it has that star tag on its crotch, it looks like it has a little star penis.

Yes, my friends.  That is a direct quote from my mouth to John Green's ears.  Not, "Hello, it's nice to meet you."  Not, "I am such an ardent admirer of your books."  Not, "The Fault in Our Stars is one of the most amazing novels I've ever read, and it affects me even months after I read it."

Nope.  I said star penis.

Thankfully, he laughs out loud (LOLed, if you will) and agrees with me.  THEN, he TAKES THE VLOGBROTHERS CAMERA out of his bag and RECORDS MY PRESENT.  THEN HE RECORDS MY FACE.  My initial reaction is to half-cover my face and say, "Oh, it's not going to be in the video, is it?"  to which John's editor, the incomparable Julie Strauss-Gabel hilariously replies, "You really brought this on yourself, you know."

I am such a nerdfighter that I fangirl Julie Strauss-Gabel.

My new BFF John and I share a few more laughs involving him being a Jeffrey Eugenides silent starer, the John Green/Chris Colfer fanfic and how nothing is sacred, and the Author Breakfast the next morning, and then I get a picture with him.

Thank you Susan for capturing the moment so perfectly.

When he put his arm around me to pose, I lose the little bit of cool I've been able to maintain up to this moment because I know how much John Green does not like to touch people, and my hands start shaking uncontrollably.  In fact, they're shaking so much so that I've never been so aware of anything except that he must be aware of it.  Because I'm crazy like that.  So, I smile and thank him and then I RUN LIKE THE WIND from that spot.  Why?

Because I don't want him to see me doing this:

Yeah.

So that's my story.  Hopefully, you'll see my nerdy mug on John's video on Tuesday, but if not, I still think I'll be dining out on this one for years to come.

UPDATE:
The video has been posted.  And I think the 1:30 mark speaks for itself.

In conclusion, I think I'm dead.  Holy smokes.  French the llama.  

This is the SOUND of my SOUL.

So yesterday was spent in an excellent way.  I was able to start New Story Idea, which was totally awesome.  I locked myself down in the basement like Sloth (Baby Ruth??) and started typing typing typing.  I'm doing a 30 day trial of Scrivener to see how I feel about it, and so far... I kind of love it to bits.  I know it's definitely a love it/hate it piece between writers, but I'm falling on the Love It side.  I understand the Hate Its, though.

ANYWAY, after a while, Hubs wanted to go run on the nice afternoon, so I took a break to hang out with the Mutt and watch some TV.  While watching TV, this commercial for the Chevy Malibu came on (note: for fans of early seasons of Sex and the City, please see backseat for SKIPPER, YO.)


I love this song, and I also love to belt it out.

After a while, I decide to let Mutt outside for a little run around the backyard.  It should be noted that, since I had been writing all day prior to this, I was wearing my glasses, purple striped capri jammie pants, a Stars Hollow hooded sweatshirt, a Duran Duran t-shirt, and neon blue house slippers I got for a dollar at IKEA.  While unlocking the door, I start singing to the dog, something I often do.  Of course, I'm belting out the lyrics "Why do I find it hard to write the next line?/Oh, I want the truth to be saaaaaaaaid" when I whip the door open and shimmy out onto our porch...

Where I find our next door neighbor doing yard work and looking at me as though I'm wearing my jammies at 4 pm singing "True" by Spandau Ballet at the top of my lungs in broad daylight.

In general, I managed to be Liz Lemon, Lorelai Gilmore, and Jess Day all in one fell swoop.  Who's that girl?  Who's that girl?

It's me.