I enjoy doing nothing :)

meowtardis:

misha-bawlins:

cavaticat submitted:

I did a huge-ass write-up on this in my FB notes, so here’s that with a few edits here and there.

First of all, hi! My name is Charlotte and I direct the Anne McCaffrey fan track at Dragon*Con. I am 28 years old. I don’t have a ton of fandoms I follow like you guys do (well, not anymore, not since I was a teenager, really), but the closest ones are probably The Guild, the Battlestar Galactica reboot, and, of course, the Dragonriders of Pern book series.

I have never seen an episode of Supernatural, and for that I’m sure some of you will probably try to find me and slash my tires. Please don’t. Tires are expensive.

On Sunday night, the last night of the convention, my friends, my ex-boyfriend and I decided that we needed to go make the most of our last night in Atlanta. I’d been going to bed at a more or less responsible hour (as sci-fi conventions go) most nights because I had to get up early and engage in Directorial Responsibilities and such. (I’m an excellent night owl but a shitty morning person.) Even though I was going to need to drive like seven hours the next day, I basically decided, “Fuck it, I’m going out.”

So we put on our costumes and headed out to get noticed. We got stopped many times in the Marriott and Hyatt so people could take pictures of or with us. We had all been HOPING, in the course of our wanderings, that we would encounter some cool nerd celebrities, but between the Marriott and Hyatt found none.

Somewhere around 1:15 in the morning, we decided to trek over to the Hilton and see what we could see. What we found was a party! An awesome, sweaty KARAOKE PARTY smack in the middle of the hotel lobby. They were playing Lady Gaga. NICE. So we stood around and started lip syncing and dancing and acting like a bunch of drunk, nerdy jackasses. Because, you know. That’s what we are.

At one point, my BFF and I noticed a couple of The Guild ladies rocking out to the karaoke, and we ogled that for a while and then resumed dancing and looking like dumbasses.

Not too long after rejoining our group, my ex, Loren, started pointing and shouting.

“Hey, it’s that guy!”

“What guy?”

“That guy from that show!”

This was not helpful.

“What show? What guy, what does he look like?”

“This guy Misha Collins, from Supernatural. Over there in the blue shirt.”

“Oh, cool.”

None of us watch Supernatural, but I’d heard it’s a pretty good show and I thought maybe the name rang a bell. Turns out Loren has a lady friend who’s a big fan; he was determined to get a picture, so that he could return to her a hero.

It’s only a SLIGHT exaggeration to say that Loren bounced off Misha Collins’ enormous body guard like reason bounces off Ann Coulter. He returned to our dance circle looking chagrined, but it was hard to care TOO much when no one really knew much about the guy to start with.

Misha Collins’ body guard may be enormous, but he kind of sucks at his job. Not two minutes later, he disappeared, and Misha started roaming through the crowd unguarded. He must have passed us half a dozen more times before Loren finally found his nerve.

“Misha! MISHA!” The actor paused and turned around. Encouraged, Loren clutched his camera and went on. “I have a friend back home who’s a big fan of your show, but she couldn’t be here. Would you mind if I took a quick picture?”

Misha was sort of vibrating like maybe he wanted to resume looking for someone, but he obviously didn’t want to be rude. “I don’t know,” he said. Then he glanced at me, standing two feet away. “Is the picture for her?”

Loren and I quickly answered in the negative. “No,” Loren said, “it’s for a friend at home.” “No,” I said, “it’s for his friend.” Misha glanced around, and back to me.

“Well, if it was for her, I might consider it…”

Loren was beginning to look a little desperate. I may be The Ex, but that doesn’t have to mean I’m a shitty, heartless ex. I couldn’t let this guy get away. “Well, we could SAY it’s for me,” I said.

“Sure,” Loren said, “might as well be.”

“Okay,” said Misha, “then let’s do it.”

We arranged ourselves side-by-side, in the classic I-don’t-know-you-but-I-want-a-picture-with-you-anyway actor-fan position. You know, shoulder to shoulder, hands platonically located somewhere between the shoulder blades. Let’s get this over with.

And then I have no idea what the fuck happened next, though I saw the whole thing in slow motion.

As Loren positioned his camera for the shot, Misha Collins slipped his hand from my back and lifted it to my face. As he turned me to face him, my hands reflexively went for his wrists, and suddenly he was pressing his forehead to my forehead and his nose to my nose, and reader, I can definitively, confidently tell you two things: one, that Misha Collins moisturizes, and two, that even in a dark hotel lobby, Misha Collins’ eyes are BLUE.

Absolutely no words were exchanged during this process. It was not planned. I can tell you that I felt both calm and exhilarated, because this was clearly some kind of weird game of chicken and I do not like goddamn losing at chicken. So I stared with what I hoped was the appropriate level of intensity, and prayed that Loren wouldn’t fuck up the shot, and then suddenly it was over and I think maybe we shook hands and I thanked him and then Misha disappeared back into the crowd. Loren was staring at the camera in his hands with a kind of half-satisfied, half-deflated look: well, how the hell was he going to justify showing THIS to his female-friend-who-was-not-the-one-in-the-picture?

Well, shit, I thought. That’s his problem. I did my bit. My bit was to just not wet myself.

Well, you know. With URINE.

I turned around and my friends were staring at me with big, baffled grins: what the fuck was THAT about?

I don’t know, but I guess I’d better start fucking watching Supernatural.

And I guess you all had better seriously consider Dragon*Con next year. ;>