Bar Camp is at the Exit/Inn, which is a big black box with some orange lights that appear to be radiating heat. I’m convinced that we are slowly baking, like pigs in a slow smoker.
Thank god I’m sitting next to Brittney, because she brought me some water, but damn… Give it another ten minutes and my water will be boiling.
I feel bad because people are so interesting and talking about interesting things and all I can think about is whether it would be rude for me to just take off my pants and let the girly bits get some air.
Also, usually, when I come to stuff like this, I have a funny co-blogger to amuse me, but dude totally ditched me to go watch rasslin’.
Newscoma is here, and she knows everyone.
My only thought is “ice cream” “ice cream” “ice cream.”
I wonder if the guys talking are stoned.
You know, they say that fat is a great insulator, which means that my internal organs should be a little cooler than the skinny chicks, but they don’t appear to be less comfortable to me.
Jackson Miller is interesting, engaging, smart, and cute. If he smiled, man-oriented folks’ clothes would melt off. Ha, well, everyone’s clothes are already melting off, but if he smiled, it would be one of those “forced coincidences” we talked about the other day. Smile, Jackson, smile!
Ugh, too hot to have the computer on.