Do gay men appreciate cleavage?

Because I know straight men do but what about gay men?  Same effect?  Probably not. 

David Sedaris, David Sedaris, DAVID SEDARIS.  Seriously, I’ve never been so excited to meet someone in my whole life.  You’d think I was meeting Becks or Rinaldo or  Brady or someone else that I want to tie to a bed and teach a lesson.  But I’m not.  I’m meeting someone even BETTER.  Someone I crush on so much that it’s not even healthy.  I am so crazy about tomorrow already that I’ve spent the last two hours pacing around my house like a nutjob.  I’m nervous and excited and I’ve been laying on my couch staring at the ceiling, sighing and tossing and turning like most people would do only if they’re heartbroken or depressed.  I’m neither.  I’m plotting.  Plotting because I need to be memorable tomorrow and cannot show up in Munich and blank and look like a moron in front of David Sedaris.  Of all people, I cannot fuck this one up.

I don’t know what to say.  I don’t know what to wear.  I have turned into a groupie.  I feel like I’m trying to impress some guy, which I do not care about BUT JESUS.  Becoming memorable in a matter of 2 minutes, during a book signing, is much more difficult than seducing someone into wanting to see your pants on the floor.  And so tomorrow, on a VERY big day, when I’d normally opt with jeans, a necklace and a healthy dose of cleave, I’m feeling helpless.  What in the world to you wear to a book signing to catch the eye of someone who likes a daily dose of penis?  Do I stuff a sock, put a picture of his face across my chest or wear chaps, sans skivs?  Who fucking knows but everything I own is in the dryer right now.  I even considered straightening my hair for this shit but then I realized I was going over the top.  And so crazy and curly it shall be. 

And so what am I doing for the rest of the day, while parading around wearing different outfits and practicing my captivating one-liners?  Charging the camera and staring at my gift I’m bringing.  Which I’ve already announced but I’m not talking about it anymore because I’m so proud of it and if anyone in the greater Munich area thinks for a second they are going to outdo me, they have something coming. 

So, best case tomorrow is that I’ll have two minutes to burn myself into the mind of a genius.  But that’s not my only goal.  I want to make him laugh.  Out loud, and if possible, I want him to accidentally spit water or something on the table.  Or slap his knee.  That, friends, is fucking pressure.  I can certainly fill a two-minute slot.  I can blab about the most random of shit that will make him wonder if I just escaped the psych ward.  But I’m so jazzed up about wanting to make him laugh, you’d think the world will end if I don’t.

Mine might.

And also.  I don’t want to scare him and it’s becoming very clear to me right now that I am going to be overly aggressive and I promise you, that is never good for anyone.  Ask around.  Furthermore, I’m paying three of my friends to join me so that I can get all MY books signed and I may even get pushy and make them let me use their 2 minutes.  That, or each one gets $50 to mention again that I’m in love with him and that technically, my only legit goal in life is to be a younger, straight, vagina version of him.  I may actually have one of them say those exact words.  That is what good friends do for each other.  Shamelessly plug and praise.  We will be practicing on the ride up tomorrow.  They are going to hate me.

And so.  From now until I get back from Munich, I will be talking about nothing else.  Feel free to ignore me.  And if all goes well, I will NEVER talk about anything else, which is going to be really fucking annoying for us all.  So, sorry in advance.  Now.  I better get back to practicing my quickest, most effective short story EVER.

PS-I know this post really doesn’t do much except prove I’ve lost my mind.  I’m fine with that.