On Wednesday, we went to see David Sedaris at Gammage. When I rounded the corner and THERE HE WAS! Oh, be still my heart, he was the cutest little man that has ever walked the face of this earth, I tell you. I felt my face grow warm and I tugged annoyingly on r's jacket sleeve, nearly ripping it off, "Squeeeeeeeeeee!!! There he is there he is!"
We strolled past the line of adoring fans, while he was scribbling away in their books freshly bought and not. Ohhh, should I get in line? I don't have anything to sign! Should I buy a book?! I was my normal wishwashy-waffling self. I could tell r was starting to get irritated so I shrieked, "Stay here!" moved him into line with my hands and quickly swiped up a hardcover copy of When You Are Engulfed In Flames and ran to claim my place in line.
Historially, whenever I'm indecisive and decide NOT to do something, I'm always saddled with remorse. I wasn't going to let it slip by me this time, I tell ya. I wish I'd known that I was going to be able to meet him! Else I would've practiced something witty to say, or highlighted a life changing/eye opening passage from Me Talk Pretty One Day, or presented him with a small gift or SOMETHING.
As the line inched forward, I kept thinking, don't say, "I'm a really big fan," whatever you do, don't say that. There's nothing more cliche. I wondered to myself how many times he's heard that phrase. And don't shake his hand, shaking hands is gross, especially if you have to shake hundreds and hundreds of them. Shiver me timbers, pass the Purell!
My heart felt like it was going to burst out of my chest, run up to the front of the line and strangle DS for being so goddamn adorable. The people behind us in line were bona fide retards. They were so loud, stupid, and obnoxious. It made me wonder how many of his fans he would hate IRL.
Finally, it was our turn. I stepped up and handed him my book. I instinctively stuck out my hand and peeped, "nice to meet you" in an unrecognizably meek voice. I suddenly realized what I was doing and retracted my hand hoping that it wouldn't hang empty in the air inbetween us any longer, and hopefully, before he noticed. He elevator eyed r and read my name off the little yellow post-it handed to me back while I was in line. Here's how meeting one of my favorite authors went:
[in that adorable squeaky voice of his:]
DS: Hello. Are you Grace? Would you like a piece of candy? (motions to the plastic orange pumpkin on the table)
Me: Yes, hiiiiiiiii.
DS: Oh, and who did you bring tonight?
Me: This is my husband Ryan.
DS: He has really good hair. Nobody combs their hair like that anymore. Nobody!
R: (nervously) Tha-anks.
Me: It's very JFK, no?
DS: (turning his gaze to me) You have really good hair, too. [whilst drawing what looked like a tin can in the book, which later turned out to be the Abe Lincoln turtle's top hat he very slowly said:] If...there...was...an award...for the couple with the best hair... it would...go to... you guys. Do you have any kids?
Me: No, we hate children.
DS: Oh! But you must! They would have the best hair!
Me: Nah, it's not really worth it.
DS: Well, you could just harvest them for their hair and throw them away.
The show was hilarial, as expected. Save for this stupid little cunt sitting behind me. Her laugh sounded as though a guinea pig was being slaughtered. Maybe even having it's little toes pulled off one by one with miniature forceps. It was that bad. So bad that I was plugging my ears and dreading punchlines. Okay, okay, we get it, we get it... we get that you "get it." Sheesh, shut the fuck up.
He read from his new book, his diary, and a piece from the New Yorker where he told us that they made him replace "human shit" with "platter of shit." Then afterward he answered questions from the audience, skiphop walked off stage and signed MORE books for fans. What a guy. The entire time I kept wondering what it felt like to have hundreds and hundreds of faces beaming love and admiration at you while hanging on your every word. It must be an amazing feeling.
Walking to the car:
R: Are you going to blog about this?
Me: Fuck yeah, I'm going to blog about this!! I blog about how many shits I take a day, of COURSE I'm going to blog about meeting one of my favorite authors!
R: Don't write about how he was checking me out. He might read it...
Me: What?!?!! That was the best part!! And I doubt he's going to ever read my blog. I wiiiiiiish David Fucking Sedaris would read my blog. I'd die. I'd just curl up and die.
Wit of the staircase moments:
- I should've told him that r was my gay friend and he should've taken one for the team.
- I should've told him that r was fixed.
- I should've told him the story about how I saw this guy at work wearing a tshirt with the smoking skeleton a few weeks before the book came out, and how I excitedly accosted him and said, "I LOVE your David Sedaris shirt!!!!" and how the guy scoffed at me and smuggly replied, "Uhhh, it's Van Gogh."
- I should've professed my undying love and affection.
I'm going to send him fan mail. ♥