Sorry I'm still talking about this. Part 3.

After this post, things will go back to normal, but I feel the need to clarify what Comic Con actually was.  Well, kind of.  I still don't really understand it myself.  Don't worry, next post will be filled with the gloves I finished knitting, and cats that have decided that peeing inside the litter box is something only cats that aren't mad that their owners left them for a week decide to do.

Contrary to what you might think (this is for you, Steve-oh), Comic Con has, how you say, like, no comic books.  It seems no one knows why it is still called Comic Con.  We went to the Will Eisner Awards and the host said he was told that somewhere on the floor there was rumored to be comics, but he hadn't seen them yet.  It should be called Media Con or something.  While, yes, there are nerds there (lots and lots of nerds), there are more shops selling toys and artists selling art and movies and tv shows and video games taking up massive amounts of floor space.  There really is something there for everyone who is into any of those things.  And I'll be the first to say the comic books section was lame.  But see?  I'm not into comic books.

Oh, I did see one artist's tramp stamp.  I bought a Dr. Horrible print from Russell Walks and he bent over to grab it for me and said to his friend who was in the booth with him "Hey, stop looking at my tramp stamp."  And then he stood up and said, "You know, years ago it was not odd for a guy to get a tattoo on his lower back."  And his friend stopped what he was doing and looked up at him and said, "Do you really have a tramp stamp?"  I saw it guys.  It was...awkward.  That's a lie, it was awesome.

Oh, and another thing, I have officially become an old worried woman, because when we were driving home in LA, motorcyclists kept riding between the lanes, bypassing all the traffic.  And you know the only thing I was thinking?  YOU'RE GOING TO GET YOURSELF KILLED!  Motorcyclists, please.  My nana rides a motorcycle.  Don't be stupid.  The thought of killing you sounds like it would ruin everything I had planned the rest of the day.

How glad will you be when I stop posting about my vacation that happened over a week ago and wasn't that interesting to you in the first place?

Oh, and Jessica, please follow my blog, and not just Susan's.  Remember me?  The sentence I had originally typed trying to get you to follow me had a lot of CAPS and I think this was a much more pleasant sentence full of begging.

You stay classy, San Diego.  I'm Ron Burgundy?