Now, I cannot get too specific about this rendezvous because I'm scheduled to spew the details TODAY on the Mantime show at 1pm EST. (Also, I'm kind of scared of the repercussions.)
However, I cannot help but list some items for you. (Because I hear this is what's called "teasing" but also because I mostly can't help myself.) (Also, amnesia.)
So here are some highlights:
1. Going to a military academy (read: military college) is kind of like visiting a prison. I had a feeling these boys hadn't seen women in a long, long time. My friend and I were the ONLY two normally dressed females in a sea of gray and black testosterone. In other words, cougars are gross.
2. I didn't realize Chuck Norris was such a big thing. No, really. We waited for over TWO HOURS. In what looked like a high school hallway and smelled like a high school locker room.
3. They ran out of books.
4. WE WAITED OVER TWO HOURS.
5. There were handlers. They were everywhere, people, and they wore Secret Service ear pieces. I am not even kidding. They also wore suits and clasped their hands in the front. You know what? There was even a freaking STATE TROOPER. I don't know...presumably to handle the ruckus? Of military-trained young boys? At a book signing? REALLY? (Okay, they may have been called because we were clearly there to start a riot. But kind of, I'm serious.)
6. When we got to the front of the line--did I mention the wait?--there were DIVA instructions that put a damper on all my best-laid plans for fame and fortune. D-I-V-A. It was a little bit sad because I knew then that he would not be demonstrating any roundhouse kicks or signing my boob. But also, just really fucking obnoxious. Because I had shit with me, people. Like, of the Arts & Crafts variety.
I'd made this for my buddies at the Mantime show (Ok, maybe my kid helped.):
And this for my beloved Bloggess after realizing that getting The Norris to sign her boob for her would be difficult without having her actual breast in-hand:
And, lastly, I made this one for myeslf. But realized that it probably wasn't smart to play roulette with things like the word stupid and Chuck Norris:
Let's just say that things got dicey after they told me NOT to offer them to The Norris and I didn't listen...Aren't you INTRIGUED?
But that, my friends--THAT little ditty you must tune in to hear more about. But here's a clue: it involves me getting yelled at by the handlers as they screamed into their earpieces. What? Bad clue?
Whatever. Shut it. I SHOOK HIS HAND, so I'm pretty sure that's given me some residual ass-kicking-ability. You watch your step, sir.
And tune in to chat with me! (Or heckle. I'm fine with any form of attention, really.)
*Well, really, I'm pretty sure it was just the black cloud of gloom that surrounded his handlers. Perhaps what he really needs is conservatorship. Get those goons away from him and his stunningly shiny teeth. Like Britney. And myself. (Except I have bad teeth. But stil...I think my analogy is clear.)