Geeking Out

I am pretty certain my 20 year old self would be mortified that my 33 year old self was out alone on a Friday night. Wearing glasses. At a book event. Mentally fawning over other women. I'm at a Powell's Books writer event, and the place is packed. I happen to be in close proximity, as we speak, to two of my female idols, girl crushes if you will - Sheila Hamilton and Cheryl Strayed. And I just spoke to Sheila. For several minutes. She was as thin, put together, eloquent and kind as I would have imagined.

"May I geek out for a minute?" I say, leaning forward from my stool against the bookshelves in the back of the room where the writers' events are hosted upstairs at Powell's. "I just want to tell you I'm a huge fan, and am looking forward to when your book comes out."

Her long blond hair is curled in a messy, beachy kind of way. She wears skinny jeans and a Rolling Stones shirt with a trim black suit-like jacket. Her eyes are squinty, in a kind way, that I'm sure many men find sexy. 

She tells me her book releases in October, and that she will be speaking in this very room at Powell's on the 20th of next month. She references Mary Karr by just "Mary," and relays that Mary told her how her heart still flutters nervously when she sees her name in print and when people want to hear her speak. Sheila laughed that she couldn't imagine being that well spoken in such a context. 

"That's so funny to hear you say that," I tell her. "Because that sounds like something I might say about someone like you. Must just be the human experience."

I tell her that I just recently sent her book information to a former professor/mentor, whose husband committed suicide when I was under her tutelage at UO. She asks me if I'm a writer, if I was in graduate school for fine arts. I laugh, self deprecating, and tell her I'm a speech language pathologist, that I was in a Masters program in the Communication Disorders and Sciences program.

She inquires further about my interest in writing. I tell her that my husband and I met when we were newspaper reporters in a small town, before needing "real" (higher paying) jobs. I share that I just put my daughter in an extra half-day of care, to allow time for me to start writing rather than just talk about writing. I tell her I've been in touch with Salon.com, and she looks impressed. I like talking to her, and part of me wants to tell her, tongue in cheek, that I want her to be my mentor, my BFF, my mother figure. Instead, I end our conversation politely by thanking her for letting me be a geeky fan, and confess that I even follow her on Instagram. 

If my 20 year old self wasn't already embarrassed at the entire premise of my evening, she's totally mortified now. 

And then my night got even better. Cheryl and Mary opened their talk with their idea for a talk show they would call Girls Gone Mild. They referenced their potty mouths. Cheryl says she's known for saying the f word. "I think I out fuck you," Mary says in return. 

Perfection.