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Thanks to Dave for guest posting for me yesterday and kicking off the Summer of Love with a bang. Tomorrow will be Karen Sugarpants, who I love immensely and who designed the new and improved 2HT.

Right, onto the BrittCon recaps. I’m not doing one monster post about it this time. Instead, I’ll be breaking it down into days because I know how much Jester loves when we drag shit out when he couldn’t attend. But as Britt is fond of saying, “It’s called BrittCon! Suck it!”

I drove up to Britt’s house a day before BrittCon officially began. That way I could leave my car at her house (no sense in parking two cars at the airport) and leave with her in the morning. Easier than meeting up at the airport.

We set out early Friday morning for Orlando International.

There’s Britt on her daily phone call to her mom. Aww, isn’t that sweet? The conversation was regularly interrupted by spontaneous bursts of Britt screaming things like, “What the fuck are you DOING, asswipe?” and “Way to cut me off, motherfucker!”

I burst into song throughout the weekend, singing extemporaneous songs such as, “We’re going to the airport,” “We’re parking at the airport,” and “We’re on the parking shuttle to the terminal.” Oddly enough, they have yet to hit the Billboard Top 100.

At the terminal, there were long lines of people waiting to check in both outside and inside. We opted for checking in outside because the line seemed to be moving faster.

There’s Britt in the Jetblue “Express” check-in line. “Express” is apparently French for “moving at the speed of snail.” It took us 45 minutes to get up to the front of the line. It was then that we were told we could only check one bag each at the Express line. This put a crimp in Britt’s plans because she was planning to check TWO bags (including her toiletries and copious amounts of hair product). So she quickly shoved all of her bottled liquids and sprays into her other bag and we were once again okay.

We went through security without a hitch and waited for our plane, eating a “breakfast” of a big pretzel (her) and pizza (me). Missed the breakfast hour by like 10 minutes. Dammit!

I have to say that Jetblue was perfectly fine as far as I’m concerned. It was our first time flying on them and the seats are really nice. Lots of legroom. And TV’s in every seat complete with DirecTV satellite television. Britt got the window seat and I got the middle. Not exactly the aisle, but it was just fine.

And Jetblue also has REAL snacks, not just micro bags of pretzels. That was cool.

As we approached NYC we saw the Statue of Liberty (yay!) and Britt did lots of little seat-wiggle dances. Very cute. We landed at Laguardia and parked the plane to get off. (TWKS) Thanks to the miracle of Twitter and texting, we saw that Becky had just landed, too. Her plane was delayed so she got in at the same time we did.

We wandered to baggage claim and met up with Becky, then went immediately outside to commence the making out.

After we made out, we collected our luggage and caught a taxi to midtown Manhattan, where our hotel was.

Here’s our cabbie. He was pleasant enough until Britt decided to take a picture inside the Holland tunnel. Then he got all medieval on her ass, screaming “No pictures inside the tunnel!” Apparently, NYC is worried about terrorists taking pictures in the tunnel so that they can somehow analyze the photos and get structural details of the tunnel. Whatever.

Got to the hotel (Club Quarters) on 45th between 5th and 6th and I waited outside while the girls checked in. I guess Britt told the hotel that there were only two of us.

This is Jack’s World, right across the street from our hotel. They have EVERYTHING. This is why you may have seen my twats each morning start with “Oh no! Jack’s World is closed!” Because we woke up at the asscrack of dawn each morning and, well, Jack’s World was still closed.

Took about half an hour to get our bags up to our room. This made some people a little cranky since we all wanted to break out of the room and start molesting NYC. But I had to wait for my bags because my smokes and camera were in there. But during this time, Cissa met up with us and so did, Rich, an online friend of Britt’s.

There’s Cissa, Britt, and Becky (in the mirror). Our room was pretty small and they only provided us with TWO towels. Seeing as how women each use around 78 towels, that was totally unacceptable. But we’d wrestle with that problem later on.

Our bags finally arrived and out we went into the heart of Manhattan.

There’s Rich and Britt right outside our hotel. They seem to be in awe of Jack’s World. Rich is a really cool guy, though his wife is apparently a ninja hitwoman. He was in constant fear of her discovering where he was. Great tour guide. We took a walk a bunch of blocks to Grand Central Station.

Once we got to Grand Central, a HUGE freaking place, we went downstairs to the food court. We each got our food from different places and sat down to eat.

Becky got the big-ass Fosters can, while I sampled the sangria and a chicken jalapeno sausage wrap thingie.

We sat around and talked and people-watched. Rich had to leave us to go back home and get his balls out of the freezer. When we finished eating, we went to the Grand Central Market. As soon as you opened the door to the market, the overpowering stench of fish poured out. Smelled like a whorehouse in August (with no air conditioning). Nearly wall-to-wall people, which freaked me out a little, but I maintained my sanity (or what there is of it left) because we were constantly on the go, so it wasn’t TOO bad.

Outside we went and we made our way to Times Square. There we were set to pick up our sightseeing bus tour weekend passes and our Empire State Building tickets (which we bought online). And we were meeting up with Dawg, one of my favorite new peeps.

After we made a couple of stops (Payless Shoes - I TOLD Britt not to wear heels, but she didn’t listen - and Ben & Jerry’s for smoothies), we hooked up with Dawg and went to Starbucks to hang for a while. He was in his EMT uniform, looking slick and cop-like.

He recounted his 9/11 story and it was just mindboggling, all the shit that went on that awful day. His company lost 17 trucks that day. The rubble blew cars and trucks over like they were Matchbox cars.

After a while, we split off from Dawg and said we’d see him the next day. Then it was across the street to catch our NY sightseeing bus night tour.

Britt and Becky became girlfriends for a while…it was a glimpse of things to come, since we hit the gay pride parade on Sunday. There was a lot of spit-swapping but I didn’t get any pictures of that since I was too busy whacking it, jacking it, and peeing on the floor.

Times Square is a hodgepodge of huge mega stores like M&M’s World, Hersheys, restaurants, and Virgin Music. Lots and lots of neon and big jumbotrons, lots of Broadway musical ads and movie ads.

Kind of weird to see a giant dead man on a billboard.

This was the giant mutant Red Lobster outside the, well, Red Lobster restaurant.

We didn’t get to go there, but I could tell it was my kind of place.

This was our tour guide. We made fun of him a lot, particularly in the second half of the tour when we went across the bridge from Manhattan. The first half of the tour was really interesting, but the second half had us all falling asleep with factoids such as: “The city sidewalks of New York are comprised of 13,486,847,003 concrete squares and are made at a small factory in Poughkeepsie where the manager’s name is Fred Parkingson, whose wife makes a hell of a green bean casserole. She uses those dried up onion bits in a can and adds a little honey, which is what makes the flavor pop. Incidentally, her fifth cousin is a friend of a friend of Rachel Ray’s.”

Most all of my night time shots came out shitty. Here’s an example.

There’s Becky, Cissa, Britt, and me. We asked a lot of people to take our pictures that weekend. New Yorkers have a reputation for having gruff dispositions, but that simply isn’t true. SO many friendly people in NY. Everyone we encountered was more than friendly. We helped out a number of people by offering to take their pictures for them so they could all get in the shot together. A lot of people asked me for a light for their cigarettes. I even sold two cigarettes to two folks for a dollar each.

Course, I brought a carton of smokes with me from Florida because the taxes in NY are INSANE. It costs $9 for a PACK there, as opposed to just over $2 a pack in Florida.

And that’s Radio City Music Hall, believe it or not.

After we finished the bus tour, we were dropped back off at Times Square. We said our goodbyes to Cissa, who was staying at a different hotel and the three of us wandered back to our hotel on 45th. We were exhausted, especially me since I’d only gotten 3-1/2 hours of sleep the night before.

Went back to the hotel and asked the front desk clerk for extra towels. He said there was a “guest closet” on our floor. But when we got there, the cupboard was bare. So we went down to the 7th floor. Nothing. And the 6th floor. Nothing. And the 5th. And then the 4th, which didn’t have a closet at all. Either did the 3rd.

By this time we’re all pretty punch drunk. You could tell because Becky and Britt were both laughing at all of my jokes. We were about to say fuck it and just go back to the 1st floor, but when the doors opened to the 2nd floor, JACKPOT! There was a big maid’s cart there, full of clean still-in-the-plastic towels. We stole a shitload of them, along with about 53 washcloths and a couple of extra blankets, and giggled our way back up to the 8th floor.

Britt and Becky got the bed. I got the floor, which might have bothered me if not for the fact that I was so tired I could have slept on, well, the floor.

And that was the end of Day One.

Ass as Art (BrittCon Day 3)...Could You Box That Up With Extra Roaches, Please? (Brittcon Day 2)...Shh! I’m Trying to Hear if Britt Makes Jungle Noises...

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