I was ordering at the cash regsiter on behalf of meerkat and I while she entertained a fellow by the name of J- who played some part of her ancient history. The register guy is looking at my goggles and asks me about them. I mentioned that I got them at a snowboarding shop and he asked me how long I'd been riding.
...when did I get biker dude cred? Wow! Leather jackets, vampires, and hogs! HERE I COME!
And then I feel my hair being petted. I turn around and see someone kinda short and human shaped with an almost malicious grin. "Hi", she says. "I'm saraphina_marie".
"Nice to meet you."
[ turn back to the register guy ]
"Wow -- I'm being met. I'd better go."
So, we're shooting the breeze at and somewhere in between various tales of shared exploits, shared spit, and shared rooms, saraphina_marie mentions she has a book.
Note: meerkat and I (cerkat? meerise? rootkat? meeroot? Ph'letchen?) passed the 2 Julian month mark last night. In this time, she's told me *tons* about saraphina_marie. She neglected to tell me that her best friend/ex-supposed-lesbian-lover/&c was an author. Much shit was given on this account.
I now have a copy of the book (it's something about "a sexy, but stubborn angel" -- oh man, am I ever in for it. : ) ). It was defaced by the author on my request with an message that, so far, is in a state of quantum superposition.
It'll wait. I think. Maybe.
(Did she sign it with invisible ink? She might have done... Evil! I'll have to remember this potential slight!)
In one hour, I'm heading down to LA for the weekend. The Los Angeles Times Festival of Books is this weekend at UCLA, so I'll be going down to hear Ray Bradbury speak and exchanged hard earned bucks for books.
This'll be the MR2's second journey to Los Angeles and man, oh man am I looking forward to it!