Forgotten dates: AWP Chicago

So I went to Chicago for AWP, and I thought maybe it was April, but it turned out it was February. I got to see these lovely people, the Erik/Erics.
And this awesome painting. (I can't remember who painted it, but I'm sure I wrote it down somewhere)
And I had more than one lovely meal with Lisa B, which is a coup in and of itself. I think this was the delicious vegetarian restaurant that Lisa scouted out with her super sleuth skills.
I'll try to figure out what happened in April. If anything.

What Happens in Chicago...You Know

Well, I am maybe partly recovered from Chicago. Enough to tell you my news, which is that on the first day of the conference of famous writers and writers who want to be famous and graduate students so naive and eager they still believe they one day they will be famous, I saw not a famous writer, no, but a famous actor, yes, lo behold, it was Helo (known to people who know him as Tahmoh Penikett, wha?) . I spent some time on-line trying to find out why he was in Chicago (it turns out, he's Canadian), and all I can figure is that he was doing press or it was for the big premiere of "Dollhouse."
So the rest of the conference was gravy. And what gravy! I had three delicious lunches (citiocafe, Epic Burger, Chutney Joe's) and three delicious dinners (Green Zebra, MK, Tamarind). I drank, well, a lot. I bought so many books, that my suitcase tried to escape from me while I was zipping it (like, hey, get away from me. Carry those books yourself, etc.).
I saw lots and lots and lots of people I love.
Also: one friend, who shall remain nameless, asked me where my husband was, then said, "What happens in Chicago, stays in Chicago." Was he flirting? Possibly. But we had just had a conversation about some delicate matters concerning the groinal region. Here's a hint. If you're trying to pick up a woman, don't tell her that stuff. Tell her, "I'm your husband." That's really (with me) the only way to guarantee success. (And yes, I'm forgetting about the waiter I kissed four years ago. I'm old. I forget stuff.)
I reignited my love for Jack & Ginger (even non-Jack Jack) and boy did I get tired.
Also: I had a conversation with Charles Baxter in the elevator. For what it's worth.
I also saw a guy who didn't give me a job in a small, Midwestern town four years ago. He said he did me a favor. He now lives in Alaska.
Had a free drink, didn't go to a Jeff Tweedy concert. Drank way too much on the first night. Will I never learn? No, apparently not.
Now, do I have tons and tons of work to do. Plus I'm sitting here in my running clothes. Apparently dinner is NOT going to make itself. Damn dinner.

This is What I Have the Energy To Say

I am home. From Chicago. I am tired. I bought lots of books. So much talking. Not enough sleeping.
So. Good. to see many and various friends from graduate school and other places and what not. Talking to editors who were kind enough to publish my stories or essays. Talking to other people who always, always reject me. Seeing new, cool magazines.
Talking to Charles Baxter in the elevator. Hearing Stuart Dybek read. Seeing William Gass.
Had to get up at a crazy time of the morning to catch the plane, but then it is worth it, when one is home.
Son likes fancy Diagram shirt I bought him. Husband likes NBA socks. Son likes miniature handcuffs and miniature squirt gun.
So much laundry.
Being irritated at pretty much everyone after the first two or three panelists. Note to self: more than 3 panelists is too many (except on the panel I was on, on which everyone was brilliant and succinct and interesting).
Ate so many meals. Yum. So much wine and beer. Ginger ale.
So many books.
Good to see everyone. Tired. So Tired.