Last night, Ree Drummond - The Pioneer Woman, was in Tempe at Changing Hands Bookstore on her amazing cookbook tour. How I completely blanked and did NOT have this event on my Crackberry calendar is beyond me, but let us all take a brief moment to thank God for creating Twitter:
It's sort of tough to read but take note of the time she posted that she was in Phoenix. 11:57am. Seriously, why in the world was I not in the know that she would be a few miles down the road from me in a mere seven hours?!
Naturally I gave my gal pal/fellow food fanatic,
Rosemary Watson, a text that read, "Um, are we going to the PW appearance in Tempe tonight?! How did I miss this." Yes, sometimes I am grammatically incorrect when I am overly excited. Surprisingly enough, she was just as unaware of the signing as I. Utterly bizarre since we both make avid attempts at her divine recipes.
After little debating, we decided to meet at the bookstore at 7p. Remember, if
WE didn't know about it, how many other people would know about it? Lots. LOTS and lots.
I was like a crazy super model, minus the super and the model, ripping on and off outfits as if my life depended on impressing a fashion forward ranch wife with no interest in women, let alone what I chose to toss together from behind my close-to-bare closet doors. First it was a dress and leggings. No, too "dressy". Then it was liquid leather pants, black beater, leather jacket, and boots. No, too I'm-off-to-meet-Jesse-James. Lost the liquid leather for skinnys, swapped the black beater for a gray tunic and the leather jacket for a lightweight, black shrug sweater thingamajig, and kept the boots. I was decent. I even showered
and slapped on some makeup
AND straightened my hair. Aren't you proud?! I was thinking of being a stand-out by sporting my sweats, but I didn't feel like embarrassing Rose. Contrary to popular belief, I do have some class in regards to going out into public with friends I'd like to keep.
Quittin' time rolls around and Husfriend walks through the garage door and upstairs to find me all purdied up. A rarity much like a snow leopard. No, no, not the MAC OS. I mean the majestic endangered species. Um, weird. End obscure wildlife tangent. I rambled off in what I think was the English language, that "Pioneer Woman, you know that lady I make recipes for dinner and stuff, has a new book out and she's going to be in Tempe at seven, and Rosemary wants to go meet her, and, well, I want to meet her too, and would you hate me forever and ever if I went?!" To which he so Husfriendedly replied, "Go. That'll be fun." Cue ear-to-ear grin and incessant squealing. I was like a little kid who got the go ahead to live off of their Halloween candy stash until Thanksgiving dinner rolled around. Ridiculous old me.
I packed me a bag of butter cookies (Costco put them by the entrance. Blast!), shook up a pomegranate lemonade in my water bottle and was over the baby barrier, downstairs, and yelling an inaudible goodbye as I pulled the truck out of the garage. Again, ridiculously over excited.
I got down to the strip mall that housed the bookstore and it was bonkers. Nay, it was the NFL decided to have Super Bowl XLIV at Circle K in podunk nowhere bonkers. I have never seen so many disgruntled hippies trying to get to Trader Joe's in my life. Parking...nonexistent. I managed to find a spot under a street light around the backside of the strip mall next to the Trader Joe's loading dock. Safe. SUPER safe. I had boots on that could probably severely injure a person trying to start something with me. I shop for footwear that can easy transition into alley fight weaponry.
Lethal footwear, wondrous wildlife,
Pioneer Woman, right. I make my trek from the dark recesses of my makeshift parking area to walk into, I kid you not, the mecca of middle aged women. The place wreaked of a department store cologne pit. Goodnight San Francisco. I immediately felt overdressed, underage, and as if I'd missed the memo to "Bring every child you have ever birthed or thought of birthing."
Placed my tush in line to snag two copies of the book. (No, I am in no way popular enough to do a signed giveaway, the other was an early Christmas gift for Rosemary. Sort of like a signed giveaway. I gave it to her and she got it signed. Works?)
A store employee hops on the mic and reads a few excerpts from a book about wolves or something completely uninteresting to either of us, so we do what comes naturally to most all mature, mothers at a public speaking event...giggle and take pictures in the back. We were THOSE broads. One of the millions of attempts at getting a good picture for Twitter even has a disapproving "fan" of our antics in the background. See:
**Yes I am aware that my unruly mane is concealing the entire cover of the book I'm supposed to be posing with.
Since we couldn't see over the grown women scaling bookshelves to catch a glimpse of the guest of honor, we ventured into the cafe for a drink to quench our parched pallets. I did manage to snap this quick picture beforehand:
Upon journeying back out into the masses of people and kids (Did I mention that there were a gaggle of children EVERYWHERE?!), we pulled up a bench, people watched, I surely offended a blonde woman by making an obviously sarcastic joke that included the line, "Damn those blondes!", had a deep conversation about the changing seasons of friendships, took a pit stop at the potty, planned a book-inspired, blowout crafting day, and snuck our way into the B group. They were making a solid effort to have the signing order efficient by utilizing a lettering system, but it was pushing eight, we were M group, they were still on A group, and we're both Sissy McGee.
As we inched our way closer in line, Rosemary proposed a photo plan since there were two of us and two cameras to snap some shots. I would hop on stage, she'd snap two pictures, we'd switch, and I'd snap hers. In theory it was a flawless plan. That is, until I placed my foot on that first step and my brain leaped out of my head and burrowed in my backside. Rosemary's book, though given to the attending book interceptor after mine, was being signed ahead of mine. Uh, um, er, I, no brain, huh? I stared blankly into space as I walked swiftly around Ree's chair, squatted next to her, fully invading any inch of personal space she thought she possessed, spoke not a single word (a simple, "Hello" would have been nice), Rosemary snapped the two pictures and I was off the stage before you could say "Great Aunt Etheline wants her nightly sponge bath dontcha know? Giddyup now Junior!"
Who? What? Okay, bad pre-meeting scenario? All in my head? Nope. Real life. That just happened. I will be perplexed until the day I die as to what happened to me in those few moments. This could go one of two ways: IF I ever happen to be in the same place at the same time as Ree in the future, she'll either have absolutely no recollection of my prior existence or I'll be remembered as that bizarre girl in Arizona who didn't utter a word and was gone as quickly as she came. I'm hoping for the prior. Please forget my inconsiderate lapse in mental ability to function as a normal(ish) human being.
Are you a visual person? Let me set the scene for you real quick:
There it is. My mortifying, most wonderful night so far this fall. This weekend holds many an opportunity to make an ass of myself to bloggers I look up to so this may very well be the first of many uncomfortable posts.
Enjoy the ride!
