A Wolf at Barnes & Noble

Two years after I saw him at his last book signing, Augusten Burroughs was at Barnes & Noble Union Square promoting his new book, A Wolf at the Table, last Tuesday.

Two years is a long time. If I had a baby right after his last book signing, there would be two candles on his little birthday cake (my first fantasy child is a boy, name to be determined). It's no wonder that I felt less excited about his new book coming out than his last book.

I had heard about his book release a few days earlier and penciled it in my calendar, but it wasn't until Boopy reminded me that I realized it was approaching.

Time had taken it's toll and my interest had waned from previous stalker-ish levels. The disappointing movie didn't help either. But as I reached deep down inside, I found that I was still intrigued by him, his writing, his honesty. At the last moment possible, I decided to stop by the reading.

Stepping off the escalators to the top floor of the B&N at Union Square at 7:45pm (the reading started at 7pm), I realized just how many fans he still had; also realizing that I was definitely still one of them.

I listened to the end of the reading and his segue into the Q&A session as I searched for the end of the book-signing line; it had snaked to the back of the building and rounded back towards the middle. If I had to guess, it was about a billion people on line. I texted Boopy to tell him it was going to be a while; but since I was already there, I decided to wait it out on line, half listening to his responses to fans' questions and half reading the book.

After two hours, 55 pages, wondering if he would remember me (stalker-ish tendencies and all), and half-trying to figure out something witty to say in hopes it will jog his memory, we were standing face-to-face. Except he was sitting. Oh look at that tattoo on his forearm.. that's new...

"Hey there... (glancing at the sticky note with my name on it) Jase."
"Hi."
"Thanks for coming out."
"Yea, I try to make all of these..."
"I thought I remembered you. Didn't you send me a picture? And wore my Abercrombie sweatshirt?"

I shit you not.

"OH MY GOD. I can't believe you remembered that!!"
"Yea, I have pretty good memory."

No kidding! I'm surprised I didn't just crap my pants right then. Though it's probably not a stretch to think he was also signaling to his bodyguards to "be alert for this one..."

That small exchange made my night. And now I'm kicking myself for forgetting my camera at home and not doing anything remotely stalkerish; like making a voodoo love card that says, "Like herpes, even though you don't see me, I'm always with you." Or something.