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Which we did, just today.
Or should I say, Orlaaaandooo? Oh, Viggo. You girls kill me. Come on, Miranda, do your impression again!
She's gotta be so sick of us by now.
MegaCon is perhaps the most Diet Coke of conventions I've ever been to. Michael, however, was as handsome and charming as ever. It is entirely possible that his manager was wearing the same shirt he wore to WizardWorld in Chicago. We walked around, admired James the graphic artist, and made ourselves comfortable around the snazzy round-table seating in the back of the chartered shuttle bus. Rock star style, baby.
We killed some time wandering around an outlet mall. Walking arm-in-arm, we passed through Bass shoes, made gushy if slightly lamenting that they weren't men's flower-print pants at XOXO and braided my hair. We were more girly for those forty-five minutes than the year's total.
Ahem. Speaking of rock star style, our next stop was the Hard Rock Cafe at Universal Studios Citywalk. Our waiter, Vegas, was biker-cool and stoned guitarist-enthusiastic, and made Miranda stand on a podium-ledge with her sundae as the entire restaurant screamed Happy Birthday to her. She got the good one, too. We walked and danced and made merry there for a while before heading back home.
And then, we made the mistake of deconstructing the meaning of a pop song. *points at musical selection* Am firmly convinced that it's about a Slayer in a club swarming with vamps picking people off, and she comes in to get her Chosen One duties on in style. It might also have been a very long day.
It's murder on the dancefloor
But you better not kill the groove
There are people dropping out there, but seriously, my ass means business tonight, so don't flee those turntables if you know what's good for you.
DJ, gonna burn this goddamn house right down
An ill-timed metaphor.
Oh, I know I know I know I know I know I know
About your kind
This spawned the Slayer theory.
And so and so and so and so and so
I'll have to play
Well yeah, where else would the fun be?
If you think you're getting away
I will prove you wrong
I'll take you all the way
Boy, just come along
It sounds a little like she wants to make it good for them. They should (all) be so lucky. Heh.
Hear me when I say
Hey, It's murder on the dance floor
But you better not kill the groove
So long as we have our priorities straight.
It's murder on the dancefloor
But you better not steal the moves
Nobody likes a lemming. Get your own Dance. ;)
*nods* Yes.
Or should I say, Orlaaaandooo? Oh, Viggo. You girls kill me. Come on, Miranda, do your impression again!
She's gotta be so sick of us by now.
MegaCon is perhaps the most Diet Coke of conventions I've ever been to. Michael, however, was as handsome and charming as ever. It is entirely possible that his manager was wearing the same shirt he wore to WizardWorld in Chicago. We walked around, admired James the graphic artist, and made ourselves comfortable around the snazzy round-table seating in the back of the chartered shuttle bus. Rock star style, baby.
We killed some time wandering around an outlet mall. Walking arm-in-arm, we passed through Bass shoes, made gushy if slightly lamenting that they weren't men's flower-print pants at XOXO and braided my hair. We were more girly for those forty-five minutes than the year's total.
Ahem. Speaking of rock star style, our next stop was the Hard Rock Cafe at Universal Studios Citywalk. Our waiter, Vegas, was biker-cool and stoned guitarist-enthusiastic, and made Miranda stand on a podium-ledge with her sundae as the entire restaurant screamed Happy Birthday to her. She got the good one, too. We walked and danced and made merry there for a while before heading back home.
And then, we made the mistake of deconstructing the meaning of a pop song. *points at musical selection* Am firmly convinced that it's about a Slayer in a club swarming with vamps picking people off, and she comes in to get her Chosen One duties on in style. It might also have been a very long day.
It's murder on the dancefloor
But you better not kill the groove
There are people dropping out there, but seriously, my ass means business tonight, so don't flee those turntables if you know what's good for you.
DJ, gonna burn this goddamn house right down
An ill-timed metaphor.
Oh, I know I know I know I know I know I know
About your kind
This spawned the Slayer theory.
And so and so and so and so and so
I'll have to play
Well yeah, where else would the fun be?
If you think you're getting away
I will prove you wrong
I'll take you all the way
Boy, just come along
It sounds a little like she wants to make it good for them. They should (all) be so lucky. Heh.
Hear me when I say
Hey, It's murder on the dance floor
But you better not kill the groove
So long as we have our priorities straight.
It's murder on the dancefloor
But you better not steal the moves
Nobody likes a lemming. Get your own Dance. ;)
*nods* Yes.
