I met Sam Lipsyte tonight, and for instinctual coping mechanisms beyond my control, I have forgotten what happened clearly. Please just know that hyped on caffeine, I forced him to shake my shaky hand (because I'm a journalist and that's what I was trained to do! I did it to the Arctic Monkeys, who wanted none of that), and my first words to Sam Lipsyte were, "I'm Georgette. Make this book out to me!"
Boom. Swagger.
I then proceeded to tell him about how I first read "I'm Slavering" in workshop. He asked who my professor was, and, hey! He knew him through an e-mail correspondence, which I killed as a topic of conversation. A lot. And quite often. Like, I could hear myself ramble, but my mental editor figured we'd just see how it played out.
Fwap.
Let's not relive it. Let's just focus on the fact that I was still shaking when I left and am reeling in over thought now.
But, hey! I got my book signed.