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!