I'm amazed that I'm actually awake right now, because by all means I should have passed out cold a few hours ago. I was asked to pick up Chinese food on the way home, so by the time that works it's way through my system, my heart should stop just long enough to knock me out.

I had a fun weekend, but an exhausting one. It actually began Friday night when I was busying myself in the kitchen making sugar cookies shaped like unicorns. I was up late and woke early so I could finish making deviled eggs. My friends and I planned a picnic together at some place I'd never even heard of, but I'm all for picnics, so I agreed to sign up for my share of the grub. I packed up my bags, got in the car, and blindly followed my good friend TomTom as he took me through some windy back roads up into the woods.



When I got to Egleman's park I spotted our pavilion, parked, and toted my goods to the table. I then saw my friend Erin coming up with a guy tagging behind her, whom she gleefully told me she brought along "for" me. She has a thing for playing matchmaker. I have to kind of blame myself on that one, because I failed to mention to her that I'm off-limits right now. I think part of the reason I wear so much heart jewelry is simply because I like to remember what hearts look like when they're still whole. Emo, I know.

Now despite the fact that I'm the kind of chick that thinks $16 is a totally acceptable price for body wash and that nails not only need to be filed but also buffed, there's one big truth about Mystie that I try to make everyone understand. Never, ever assume anything about Mystie. I like gallivanting around in the woods, making rocks into thinkin' spots and drifting away. I'm not so sure how keen I'd be in staying overnight in a tent because honestly, the trees could rape me.



I headed out into the woods, leaning up on stumps and trying my hardest not to fall into a patch of poison ivy. I'm much better at picking wild flowers than I am at trying to start fire with sticks, so it was all for the best. Shortly after our feast of burgers, hot dogs, and the likes, a large white van rolled up and a couple Mexicans came out with huge speakers and were eying our pavilion. To make a long story short, there was a hostile takeover and we had to pack up all our shit and move it. By the time we had everything re-set up the wind had picked up and we had to move the last of our festivities completely inside. The joke was on them, though, because the bathrooms were locked, we brought toilet paper, and they did not.



I didn't get home until late and was up early again to head over to the Reading Expo Center to help my brother with his convention. Yep, that's my brother there beside me, being awesome as usual. He's older by two years,  taller by about 9" and one of the few people that's not only allowed to call me "Vickie" but knows how to spell it correctly. He's been running these things for years and I always help run the front door because he knows I can be trusted with the money. It's fine with me, I get to enjoy the convention and he always gets me lunch and gives me a small cut.



This year they had sponsorship from Jolt, and I drank nearly half a case during the duration of the day. It was a sweet deal -- hand out tickets, watch the cash, make the gamers feel all welcome as they enter, sign up the contestants for the national Guitar Hero championship, and drink free Jolt. I even got to schmooze with people from various gaming sites and blogs and people from the local news team.

The funniest and possibly greatest part (at least for me) was getting to reacquaint myself with one Rob Faraldi, writer for Gamers Unite. Two years ago this guy was co-oping with my brother and among the various stories of the horrific drunken tirade he engaged in that year is one that wasn't told until recently. Essentially, he tried to molest me then made some comments about how if he didn't get pasta ASAP he would die because he's Italian. This year, well, let's just say I finally got an apology but not without my toying with him and watching him squirm in fear.

Thanks to the Jolt I couldn't get to sleep last night so I was curled up in bed talking with one of my 'net buddies on the phone as he school me on the greatness of Waffle House. When I finally got to sleep, I wound up waking up in the middle of the night with a belly ache. Worth it? Yes. Exhausted? Yes. Gonna go to bed early? Probably not. I'm just a glutton for punishment.