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In which I spend lots of money, walk a lot, and get lost in a parallel dimension

Today began for me when my alarm went off at around 4:30 am. After a few moments of staring blearily at it, trying to figure out what language the numbers were, I hit the snooze button. A few minutes later, it went off again, and this time my husband and I rose (willingly, albeit grudgingly) to begin the morning's ablutions.

At 6:30 (normally the time when I am stumbling out of the shower) we set out for the far city of San Diego, in the fabled Land of No U-turns. We arrived a scant hour and fifteen minutes later, having encountered no traffic whatsoever (everyone else in the world being more sensibly employed in having their Saturday morning lie-in). We gave a red-polo-shirted convention center employee an absolutely scandalous amount of money in return for a plastic badge and a baggie of free con goodies each. We then sat reading said goodies and waiting for the doors to open, while the large room behind us filled up with people who had lacked either the foresight or the willpower to rise as early as ourselves. We were joined in line by the Captain, who produced an absolutely fantastic surprise that he had found for Green Tea, which shall go unnamed in case she reads this before he gives it to her.

When the doors opened, we followed the Captain into the convention center proper, where he steered us towards the most important sights available, including the original Lord of the Rings costumes, the Star Wars booth, the independent animations on show, and the concessions stand. We tooled around for an hour or two pausing at random booths that caught our eyes. Bill bought me a copy of Circle of Cats, signed by the illustrator (he read my badge and inscribed "For Marie - Purrrrr - Charles Vess"). 

We went to visit some friends of the Captains, who had a booth selling prints of their work. The table next to theirs was devoted to a thoroughly delightful independent webcomic "Boy on a Stick and Slither". I bought a button of Slither, who is amusingly cynical. I was browsing through the other related merchandise at the booth when Bill pointed out that they were also selling what turned out to be the Best Shirt Ever. Black, baby-doll tee with "Wench" written in red sports-slogan font across the front. I pointed, said "Buy that for me now!" and was accordingly handed a size medium.

We attended a panel-type thingy called the "Quick Draw" where three comic artists vaguely familiar to myself were put through a number of highly entertaining challenges including drawing themselves as sexy as possible, drawing a signature character on a time limit or blindfolded, and drawing a creature half octopus and half Connie Chung. I don't believe I've ever laughed so hard in my entire life. Well, maybe that one time when Green Tea tried to run through a glass door that was closed. But other than that, no.

Stood in line for a maximum of five minutes to have Jimmy Palmiotti sign my copy of Daredevil #1. Managed to contain my irritation with the gentleman in front of me, who requested a sketch of Nightwing. The man is an inker, not an artist! And even if he were an artist, how cool is it to ask someone for a sketch of a character they've never even worked on? Palmiotti had to ask who Nightwing was and what he looked like. I mean...hello? 

We left the convention center for lunch, paid further ungodly amounts of money for fair-to-decent food court cuisine, and sat in the sun reading comics and munching our over-priced meals.

When we returned to the convention, I struck out on my own to toob around the artist/illustrator section while the boys went off to do more interesting things that did not involve flipping through eighty prints of Brian Froud fairies. We agreed to meet later under the aisle banner marked 5300. I did nothing of much note during my hour or so alone, but enjoyed collecting cards and other freebies from artists I liked and got the advance adverts for some neat-looking independent stuff. 

One thing that I totally failed to do (and for which I am only now kicking myself very hard) was to check out the Pants Press booth for "Flight", which I have been intending to buy forever. Also, I wanted to possibly meet Vera and tell her how much her comic truly rocks. Ugh. I cannot believe I did not think of that. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Ah, well, I imagine she and the rest of the Pants Press crowd will be back next year.

At the accorded time, I found my way to the 53000 banner and sat flipping through some picture books and disconcerting David Mack art waiting for the gents to turn up. Ten minutes later, I was beginning to get annoyed because we were on something of a schedule, having a surprise party to be at later in the evening. My cell phone finally rang, and on picking it up and demanding "Where the heck are you?" I was informed that Bill and the Captain were waiting for me underneath the aforesaid banner and getting irritated at my failure to show up. 

I insisted that I was under the proper banner, no I had not gotten the number wrong, 5300, yes, in the illustrators and artists section. Bill insisted just as vehemently that he was also under the 5300 banner, at which time I pointed out that if that were true, I would be able to see him and given that I could not, he must not, in fact, be under the 5300 banner after all.

After further discussion and snarkiness, it became clear that either I was in a parallel dimension or there was more than one 5300 banner. The latter turned out to be the case, thank goodness.

So, after being reunited with my spouse, who was several trade paperbacks heavier than I had left him, we made our merry way back to the Parking Lot of Simply Stunning (in a Bad Way) Prices, retrieved our vehicle, and made our way back home where we were assaulted by very bad karaoke as we passed the pool on the way to our apartment.

And that was our day. Now, if you don't mind, there is a new copy of Entertainment Weekly claiming to contain the Greatest Movie Lines of All Time waiting for me.