Total Jen-cognition!

Total Jen-cognition!
Jen Lancaster tour, 2010

aka – Benjamin has a biiig mouth (but, you already knew that)

So, yeah, remember how I swore that I was gonna be solely writing in my YA Urban Fantasy thing-a-majig thingy? Promising nothing but fantasy and edgy material? Stuff that may or may not make your head hurt with all that thinking? Yeah. Me neither.

Okay, so maybe I’ve mentally avoided that much-needed re-write and e-mail to the 3 literary agents I’m supposed to be ‘in-talks’ with (pressure + stress = ooh, shiny). BUT, that doesn’t mean I can’t write, does it?

Honestly, as much as I love my project, I also know that in my heart of hearts I still love writing my snarky humorist bitch-fest shit. So, here we are. Well, her I am and hopefully … over there, you are. Reading me from the safety of your own computer. Shall we?

……………………….

May 20^th, 2010, an evening which will live in infamy (no, not for the fact that it’s Cher’s 60-something birthday, or because my uncle turned 35 … which makes me almost … uh, never mind, not going there) found me trundling into a car with my mother for a second signing of Jen Lancaster at the 12^th and L Street Barnes & Noble. This makes it year 3 of her touring that I’ve been able to get to. (Does anyone else remember last year’s adventure? If so, remind me, the trip has been selectively been blocked out – well, large chunks were, anyway.)

The drive up to Springfield went much more smoothly this time. Mum met me at my apartment (cutting a good 14 miles off of the drive) and from there we pelted ourselves with the cast albums of GLEE – seriously, if one can be cranky while listening to Lea, Chris, Naya and the crew, I do NOT want to know you. We made it there, caught the Metro and made it into downtown DC without incident.

I know, color me surprised, too! Anyone who knows my mother (and by extension, me) knows that when traveling to even mildly-unfamiliar locales, she gets, well, a tad tetchy. Okay, who am I kidding, we snipe back and forth like the old men in the balcony on The Muppet Show (or Mame and Vera in Auntie Mame). It’s like a minefield of snarky remarks and bitchy undertones.

Hence the complete shock that, despite a few colorful adjectives thrown about, we made it there with nary a fist-fight.

Here’s the deal; over the years since I came across Jen (March 23, 2006 – a week and a half after I joined myspace.com and during the weeks right after Bitter is the New Black’s releasee, thank you very much) I’ve converted many of my friends and family members – and random customers and co-workers – into Jenennites and Followers of the Snark of Jen. So, I’m usually asked to take a book or three for friends to get them signed (which I don’t mind), but, this year the only extra copy was the one Mum was bringing for her mother. And each year I am pleasantly surprised to find larger and larger crowds for her events.

Of course, when a big crowd gets between me and my comfortably sitting? Not so happy with them. I may – read may – have felt mildly stabby when the Barnes & Noble once again woefully under-prepared for the event. Year two, you’d think they’d have more chairs than 7 rows of 7 in a store that big, right? (Although, they did handle the actual signing portion better this year, I must give proper recognition.)

49 small folding chairs are NOT a good idea for an author’s signing who declares herself the “Queen of fat chicks and gay guys”.

But, despite lack of seating, I was in a good mood. High on arrival? Yes, high on Glee and Jen.

On top of that, my acquaintance/internet friend Michael – another Jenennite – had gotten ahold of me two weeks prior and agreed to meet there (see, told you, we’re here). Thank God he was there; I mean, I love bitching with my mother – I am gay after all – but, it’s always good to have another person (bitchy fat chicks aside, gay men do it best) to trade sarcastic witticisms with regarding some of the more awkward fans (one squirt of Lysol in the bathroom doth not cover up B.O. lady in checkerboard gingham) or those obstructing our views (“Thank U. I feel short next to Precious.” –Michael text, and he’s a good 3 inches taller than me).

And speaking of being the Queen of fat chicks and gay guys, shouldn’t there have been more than 3 of us (gay guys) there? Seriously. Although, of the other gay guy there the only thing I can say for him is ‘nice hair’ (I didn’t get to meet/talk to him, so, no real opinion there, although we made jokes of following him into the bathroom).

Espying Jen sneak in with the staff escort – dammit, I looked cute in blue and black combo (black skinny jeans, cerulean dress shirt, black tie and vest), but, I didn’t channel her ensemble this year – resplendent in green and black, we squeal. The girl next to us (eavesdropping much?) turns and glows – damn her, she’s in the same shade of green as Jen.

Jen walks up to the podium, surrounded by cooking books and S-E-X books (she may drop f-bombs, but, she is a modest lady, after all) and talks to the crowd for a few moments, gauging us.

“Can you guys in the back hear me? Or should I be more shouty?”

And then I? Open my big mouth (being a mere 12ish feet from her) and reply,
“Shouty-er is always better-er.”

At this, Jen laughs (as do a few others I think), then places her hand above her eyes searching out the crowd, catching my eye (yes, standing on the balls of my feet so that I can lean against the shelf and still lean on my mum, seeing over the big hair of the chick ahead of us) and then says,

“Oh, hey, there’s my friend Ben – hi ben!”


To which, I may have blushed a deep crimson, shrunk down and glowed.


Okay, as much as I may regularly talk with my particular acquaintances who may or may not be NYTimes bestselling authors on their own, Jen-cognition makes me smile down to my toes. I could have died right then and there.





Jen was amazing, as always (she really was born for this sort of thing, delivering her zingers to an audience). About half-way through her Q&A period Michael pointed over my shoulder to the left, looking, I saw a lady with one of those professional cameras aiming the thing DIRECTLY AT ME.

Once I was aware of this, I gawked for about 10 seconds (deer in the headlights), then did an awkward pose, then just said ‘screw it’ and turned back around.

I have no clue who that lady was or why she was taking photos, but, hey, that rocked (right?).

Michael and I got to spend some fun time gossiping while Mum shopped (mmm, Sex and the City 2 art books, so. Much. to. Say.)

………………………..

Cut to the signing queue, despite the large crowd the line moves rather quickly while Jen still makes time to be personable with her fans. After giving her my goodie/swag bag (another fine tradition, I tells you) and posing for a photo (stupid me, I hunched and left my bag on … not my finest photo moment, as a note) Mum and I say goodbye to Michael and head on home.

The Metro ride was even smoother, due to me riding home on giddiness – so much so I barely noticed (read: only mildly ogled) the slew of rugby playing scrum-yums and I hardly giggled (read: choked on laughter) when I watched a woman cradling her “Coach” bag (which looked exactly like the one Wal-Mart was selling for $19.99 a friend got me as a gag gift).

As each time, I walk away from seeing Jen – my hero and a writing idol – feeling warmth and pride. I am proud of her, she is an amazing person whom I shall always respect.

I take away from my Jen-cognition that I still want to do certain projects – of course, that other friends and esteemed colleagues think well of my writing them doesn’t hurt – and I will still attempt my ‘Buffy Project’ (Revelation/Annihilation’).

After all, I’m me. I’m fabulous. I’m a rock star. And you? Are too.

You better Jen-cognize, mutha f*ckas!

Blogging is the New Bitching and Moaning

(oringinally ran in June 2009, but count this as a preview for this site, okay?)

Blogging is the new Bitching (and moaning)

Okay – so, originally this blog was slated to run back in early May as a follow-up to the events of book-tours I got to play a part in at the time; however, due to time constraints, a hectic schedule and constant lack of sleep the two blogs I had aimed to do fell by the wayside.

Sorry.

Now, here I am, writing it and cross-posting this blog on both of my pages (as there are still people who find me through my wrting-idol’s page – Jen Lancaster – and assume that my last blog on my personal page is indeed my last blog.

Nuh-Uh.

I may not be a blogging machine – like I was in 2004-06 – but, I can still put out a good one when I get the time.



So, yea; where were we? Oh yea – setting up the blog. This blog – as evidence by the title, is in reference to my writing-idol and one of my favorite authors: Jen Lancaster. I am proud and flattered when I read e-mail comments and hear from her fans that they enjoy my work (*note, I am NOT – repeat NOT – trying to piggyback off of her, I just love her work and happen to have a similar style, although our subjects and style of delivery do differ). And yes, I do find it flattering when they find me through her (as a fan/friend I have known her since the week Bitter Is The New Black was printed), on her myspace or reference in Bright Lights, Big Ass. (There may or may not have been an embarrassing moment last year when Jen commented – upon hearing two fans recognize me from my comments on her photos – that ‘yes, Ben is my friend, he’s in my top 11”. Embarassed much? Yes, I was.)

In May I was lucky enough to catch a week of fun – my boss had a signing on Thursday and that Friday I traveled to DC to see Jen.

Traveling with my mother – yes, I took my mother for a second year in a row, thank you – on our way to anywhere outside of the basic city limits is always an adventure. This is the same woman who raised me, held down a full time job AND full-time education, mind you. Yet, whenever we go anywhere resembling a road trip she gets nervous, ‘tetchy’ and downright argumentative – fraying my nerves with her own frayed ends.

So, there we are, driving from Fredericksburg to see Jen in DC (and take the metro from Springfield to DC), not that far of a drive, and due to the sporadic rain showers and clogging traffic, our tempers were both flaring; hers from nerves, mine from hers as well. In the car on this 20ish mile drive we fought for a good, solid 20 minutes. 20 minutes of commuter, steamy weather. LOVELY, right?

Instead of driving into the city proper – several arguments on that front are cut from here – Mum and I pull into the parking plaza in Springfield, drop off the car and wait in the interminable heat for the Springfield Blue Line.

Escalators, work on the tracks and high volume all add a 15 minute delay to the trip and by the time we arrive at the 12^th Street Barnes & Noble, Jen is a good 15 minutes into her reading.

FUCK.

That’s like going to a Madonna show and arriving in time for Music – sure, you still get some entertainment, but, you’ve missed the big stuff. Ahh well, c’est le vie.

Okay, I am the last person to begrudge adoration from fans and success, but, where she had had about 110 or so people last year at the Borders in Bailey’s Crossroads, this year, on the second floor of the store in downtown DC, Jen had at least 200 people jam-packed into the area; crowding, jostling and obstructing views and hearing.

Again, FUCK.

Sucking it up, smiling because we’d made it and got to see her, mum and I watched, listened and had a pretty good time.

That is, until the jackboot B&N employee – drunk with power, or just a latino-Napoleon complex (coupled with bad hair and atrocious fashion-sense) – decided to line up people for autographs not by asking us to line up or queue up in any semblance of simpleness. No. He called up groups of 50 people (by the numbers on wristbands, ick) and made them line up according to the numbers thereon and would not let the line proceed until it was perfect.

Cut to 3 hours after the reading/signing began (that’s right, 3 hours of waiting next to aging debutantes and 80s preppy-induced fashion (some cute, some not, some REALLY lame wannabes) and listening to fans who just found her and think she is some newcomer to the scene (right, not like she was new back in ’04 or ’06). After 3 hours of this, my hair had deflated to a degree and I was feeling a tad peckish – okay, really freaking hungry – as I bounced to the 80s music (cue Madonna and Stacey Q) as I waited behind 3 really nice young ladies for my turn.

*Note* by the time that the last group – mine/mum’s – was called up, mister jackboot/latino-Napoleon was no longer doing his full routine, which sucked, as I was number 702, grrr.

Jen, in her cute Izod canary/light lemon polo had pulled her hair into a ponytail due to the heat and long hours, yet still looked fabulous. In her rich New Jersey/Chicago accent she beckoned past the wrangler (*side note* I am often an author wrangler at events, so I know what is the usual and what is extreme, mister jackboot) to me and said “That’s Ben, he’s my friend – c’mere.”

Okay, you know how faggy I can get, I may or may not have squeeled (okay, big squeal on the inside, calm composure on the outside).

Taking a photo with her, she looked me over as she signed and noting that I looked “fabulous” – even better than I did last year (thank god I had lost the 10 lbs – which I’ve put back on, thank you birthday dinners, cake and working in a place with a coffee-shop) . I totally did like my ensemble this time around MUCH more, the pink dress shirt and black vest both flattered my shape and fit with the whole ‘80s vibe’.

So, the fabulous words (which she greeted my mum with as well, but this isn’t her blog, it’s mine – she can tell you about hers side in her own forum, thank you) helped buoy me in the heat and grime as we made our way back home (thankfully, no arguments on the way back, *phew*).

The adventure of seeing Jen again reminds me that not all of my author-contacts over the years have been … well, productive. Or pleasant.

In 2006, after having chatted off and on for a year or so, I got the chance to hang out and have a non-date/date with a gay author I knew from gay.com. Yes, I know, not the best place to make friends, right? Haha.

Although I knew he had a penchant for dating younger guys – 15-20 years his junior – I wasn’t out for that as a goal. Yes, he is an attractive, muscled man (still good looking, today), but, I do have more than just lust on the brain (I also enjoy eating, drinking mocha lattes and reading books or watching telly, again, thank you very much).

So, it was with such intentions to talk, learn and get to know this 3-book author/tv producer better that I rode with him up to his place in NoVa for a weekend visit.

So as not to name names (either insult him OR give him more readers here or his books), let us call him Tom. Tom, despite any misgivings on either of our parts took me to his townhouse where we relaxed over a light dinner and watched a little tv.

Following this, and some discussion about his work and ideas to help break block for his next book, we retired to the ‘lounge’ side of his downstairs rooms where we sipped (read: gulped) Jack Daniels – my first taste of whiskey (at 23) – and talked, playing a mildly adult-oriented version of Truth or Dare (I shan’t reveal some of the naughtier or racier things we did, as I am still somewhat classy and wanna save SOMETHING for my book), which ended with us naked and him playing the piano.

Following naked piano-time, Tom led me onto the patio for nude-hot tub time (again, a first for me) which led to heavy kissing (followed by heavy snoring, as we curled up on the bed and promptly fell asleep).

The next day, we hit Tysons Corner to shop – despite living so close, I had never been (another first, can we see a theme?) – and talk with his roommate. Afterwards, he headed back south on a shoot, dropping me off en route.

Not a bad time, right?

One would have thought that I’d at least get called back – I carried my share on the non-date/date and was charming (roommate loved me) and witty, but, not too much so.

Yeah, no. Instead, he ended up going after even younger guys – a habit he still has, dating guys between 20 and 24. As I think on him, I am reminded of that seedy character line – “Dat’s what I like about ‘dem high school girls – I keep getting older and they stay the same age.”

Ick.

We’ve chatted occasionally since then – more my attempts at being nice to him, than anything – and as I grew up more and got older and wiser, I came to peace with what had happened (or hadn’t) between us.

No, I am not particularly fond of him, nor am I buying (or recommending) his books, but, I can understand his fascination with youth and the boys he chases (I mean, c’mon, who doesn’t enjoy a handsome, prime-life guy?) – he indeed wrote a book about the proclivity of older gay men for dating/chasing younger men. I can accept it, for him, but that doesn’t mean I condone his choices.

Plus; he totally cast my friendship aside and looked down on my intelligence.

You can think me average looking (my weight issues and body image problems aside) or even call me ugly; belittle my writing or artistic talents and you can insult many things about me, but, calling into question my intelligence? I am sorry sir, that is taking it one step, too far.