Everyone in line had sticky “post it” notes of varying colors inside their books to signify tiers of early signing, but we didn’t get there early enough to get a sticky note in our books. In fact, I didn’t even have a book, since I’d pre-ordered the kindle version of Jenny’s book. I decided to buy another, because supporting first-time published authors who were first bloggers is cool.
By the time the signing began, we had a few hundred people in front of us. After about an hour, we too were handed yellow sticky notes.
Normal people put their names on the sticky note, but since I’ve talked to Jenny at each of the past 3 BlogHers, on email, and on Twitter, I didn’t see the need. Right before Heather and I walked up to her, the Barnes & Noble manager looked at my book and asked where my name was. “I don’t need to write it; she knows me,” I responded. She smirked.
I walked up and opened my book. It had already been autographed! For the second time in my life, I just happened to buy an autographed book (“The Four Hour Body” was the other).
Me: “I guess it’s already signed…maybe you can personalize it!”
B&N Mgr: “You sure she knows you?”
At this point, I want to throw one of the cupcakes on Jenny’s table at the B&N manager’s glasses. I smile and pose for a picture while something is written in my book. Something personal, I’m certain.
Me: “So, guess I’ll see you again at BlogHer, right? Congrats on … all this!”
Jenny: “Actually, I’m not going this year, but I’ll be at BlogWorld…go to that!”
Me: “I’d love to! It’s on my birthday, June 7! I was thinking about it, but my wife said something about wanting me to be with family on my birthday, and something about my going to Spain in July and New York for BlogHer in August already. Women…”
Jenny: “You should come! I’ll see you there.”
Me: “Okay, then…congrats again!”
I looked down, hoping for a “Muskrat” or “Michael” reference I could show the B&N manager. Instead, I got something even better. I think.
And while the middle finger aimed at the B&N manager may have stayed hidden in my right pants pocket, believe me–it was there. Even if only ironically.