Okay–so BFF’s Michele Bardsley, Renee George and I hit the sci fi con known as Conestoga in OK hardcore. Kinda like Amy Winehouse hits a good bottle of whiskey with a crack chaser. (Ohhhhhhh, bad Dakota. But it’s true, no? She’s all over the news…)

The hardcore plan? Pray and read passages of scripture… No, seriously. The plan was to figure out where and IF we’d fit in. And if we didn’t, we’d make merry anyway because we could do that in a morgue. given a Darth Vader mask and formaldehyde

I gotta admit, we were a little unsure about what to expect. It is a sci-fi con and we ARE paranormal writers. I know like bupkiss about anything sci-fi ‘cept the tribbles on Star Trek, and that’s only because when I saw it as a little kid, I was worried they all wouldn’t have homes to go to because they reproduced in the thousands and I didn’t think I had room in my closet for that many tribbles. Both Renee and I figured there’d be mega Spock ears and Jedi ruling the joint. I personally worried I’d look like a total dipshit because I know so little about sci-fi books, shows etc that I made Renee promise if I gave her the “WTF is he talking about–and what exactly IS warp speed in correlation to the Big Dipper ?” look, she’d interpret for me.

Dudes, we was sooooooo wrong.

Conestoga was a frickin’ RIOT! I mean, a total blast. It’s definitely a much smaller con than RT or the like, much more intimate, but a blast just the same.
Indeed, there was the occasional costume, but mostly it had nothing to do with sci-fi shows and everything to do with people who love to read. And not just sci-fi. I also worried about this thing they call filking. I don’t care what you say, the filking thing sounds downright naughty, yes? Like I wasn’t sure we were even gonna get to keep our clothes on for it, and I just don’t know if I coulda gotten back into my Spanx after all was said and done.

But filking has nothing to do with unveiling your cellulite and everything to do with some serious singing and funny parodies. Once I got past my fear of filking, I was all in for shakin’ my tambourine and dancing with a wreath of dandelions in my hair. Well, sorta. My hair was prolly too big by cons end for you to see anything in it.

And that’s because it was flippin’ hot, people. I know I’ve said TX is Hell, but if TX is Hell, OK is the ninth level of Hell. I don’t want to insult all you FAB people in OK, cuz ya are FAB–but holy Dakota fried to a crisp on a stick. Jesus, it was so humid by the time we were done filking, paneling, eating, drinking, and author speed dating, I could’ve clubbed someone to death with my frickin’ left foot it was so swollen.

Anyhoodles, we did have some crazy-assed fun. I followed the snort-mistress Jaye Wells (read her book in April 2009–Red-Headed Stepchild), in my car, and cuz we live in the same town. She had her friend Leah with her. I’m just gonna say this publicly–and only because I want everyone in OK to know I had shit to do with the roadside trail of debris I’m sure I left behind me because I was throwing things out my window at her car, she SUCKS at using her cruise control. You’d have thrown gum wrappers, too… We’d have been in OK six hours earlier if not for the fact that when Jaye yaks, she wanks at doing the speed limit. But she’s awesomeness, anyway, and I’m grateful she let me follow her or I’d be in Harlem even as we speak Her pal Leah, now ours, too, was pretty funny, but as a student of the fine art of smoldering (you know, the eye flirt thing), she blew chunks. I can only guide–it must be YOU who taketh my hand Leah can so take a good razzing–and that makes her double awesomeness.

We hung out with Mark Henry (a one time therapist) who analyzed me at The Cheesecake Factory and told me I was an ETQYZDWPLMS type personality–or something like that. By the time dinner was ovah, I was ready to hand him 125 bucks and go back to Michele’s emo out and hack into a vein. No, I kid However, I still don’t know what the hell is wrong with me–so I think he owes me cash. Mark’s totally up for some raunchy frisking–lurve that in a dude.

Michele Bardsley and I paired up for the author speed dating gig where we went from table to table and had four minutes to get to know the readers (whomever thunked this up is a GENIUS) before we shipped off to another table. OMG–these people were so totally game for snark. See the pics below of some of our unsuspecting prey…

I did panels on Saturday from 12 till 4–terrorized–brutalized–and all sorts of other ized people until my throat was dry and my bladder was on full. Did a panel with Rachel Vincent (Stray and other coo stuff) who said she was going to get a T-shirt that said “I survived not one but TWO panels with Dakota Cassidy.” Did a rollicking fun panel with some cover artists who know their craft, and really helped to explain some of the hurdles authors and artists have when the cover art issue comes up. Did another one with PC Cast who was pret-ty damned funneh and Jeaniene Frost who was a treat. Sat at the signing table with Ms. Frost, Melissa Marr, Marie Brennan and “dead to me” Dean . I’d put the pic up of me sitting on Melissa’s lap, but my I-Phone just doesn’t want to send it to me…

Then we met Caitlin Kittredge whom I’ve decided to file adoption papers for because she’s sooooooo young, and smart, and totally knows where she’s going and absolutely fabulous that I want to bring her home with me and like make her PB&J. Oh, and I’m old enough to be her mother. Ya know, if I was like dat in HS. We had a loud, verbally viper-ish dinner with the lovely Jaci Burton and Biker Dude at TGI Fridays and chased away all the people at the tables near us. I met Jeanne Stein (The Vampire Chronicles) who had the gnads to dispute the idea that I vacuum because she’s under the sorely mistaken impression that I’m like some diva. And she did it in public at a panel. I know… The. Nerve. Right? But she says the eff word like a pro–so I’m keepin’ her. Plus, she’s so funny and easy to banter with that we decided she’s totally in the BFF circle of trust. Love me some Stein. Had a moment or two with the above mentioned Dean (I suck, can’t remember his last name) who’s written some major stuff for Hollywood and totally dissed me, thus getting the hand in the face and the “you’re dead to me” mantra. But before he was dead to me–I dug him. LMAO

And last but not least, met a bunch of killa people like India, who saved my life, though maybe not my lungs, by picking me up some smokes. Tami and Carrie (the Book Girl) who saved my hide. I’ll say no more than that about the reason the lovely Tami and Carrie had to save me other than this–it involved breastesez, followed by a roll of my eyes and an “only me” statement. Went to a cool tea party Madhatter style hosted by a super cool girl and aspiring author named Dianna. Hooked up with Pam and her daughter Alicia who taught me the fine art of bull castration and are hereby forever dubbed faaa-reaks for telling me such farm story atrocities after my long, trying day. Lovable ones–ones I’d bring home and shower with hugs and kisses because they’re so fantastically cool, but still do some freaky things in their downtime. Plus, they gave me Godiva. Means they’re in for life Jeff, who I couldn’t remember by name because I’m old and confused him with someone so totally wrong I want to club myself for it, but was a complete peach and emailed me when we got back to say hey.

I’d so do it again if not for the fact that it’s at the same time next year at RT which I’m already in for and the utter travesty I was forced to bear witness to–THIS

Yeahhhhh, thass right–I had to drink COKE!

Heathens

Dakota

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