PAX. Like K-PAX, but with less Kevin Spacey.

I have to keep this short, because due to a cruel hoax perpetrated by my fitness center’s physical trainers, I am unable to keep my arms elevated from my sides for any period of time without tearing up.
I know, I know, I said I wouldn’t pay for their bollocks, but they made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, namely, holding up a picture of me eclipsing the other bridesmaids at the bachelorette party. Anyway, now would be a really bad time for bad guys to break in and try to kill me. I consider myself a pretty savvy girl, and before my mind drifts off to dreams of kittens and rainbows at night in bed, I always make a mental note of the most easily accessible or readily improvisable weaponry which could assist me on my various escape routes I have planned out of my house. One of my current favorites is wielding Scamp’s scratching post as I monkey out the back window and up the avocado tree.
Anyway, as a present to myself for working out so hard, and as a peace offering and apology so I don’t give myself the silent treatment and make myself sleep on the futon, I am taking myself to PAX this weekend. Justin can come, too.
I have actually never been to a “con,” which, for all you non-nerds, stands for “confidence man.” I’m unsure what to expect. Should I dress like Tycho and/or Gabe? Do I need to get there early so I can make it in time for the heat-sweltering lines wrapped around the block? Am I going to be the only one there with a second x chromosome? (Hint: NOT what the x stands for in PAX.)
Well, I’m super excited, and I wish I had planned ahead better so I could make all three days of it, but I was afraid of making a commitment, because…well, just read this if it isn’t obvious already that I have a few issues that need to be dealt with.
I’ll be sure to take lots of wacky pictures!!!!